My Little Gnudren,

First impressions can be grossly misleading, even though they can retain an unforgettable freshness in our minds. Way back in the last century, when men always wore white shirts and a tie – coloured shirts weren’t invented them – and all under 13-year-olds wore short trousers at school, old Gnu had his first experience of watching professional football being played. Once again it was on a neighbour’s Black & White TV. By so doing young Gnu was breaking the rules of the Christian denomination the family belonged to. They regarded television as something that brought the “World” into your own home, and the “World” was considered bad, and would only lead you into dreadful sin. Be that as it may, young Gnu sinned badly by watching his first football match on TV.  It was very exciting. Sin tends to be exciting, though it can leave a bad taste in your mouth afterwards. All depends on what the sin is I suppose.  But old Gnu is rambling. Back to the football.

Whether it was the football or the TV itself that was exciting old Gnu cannot now judge. But after recent meditation and much mindfulness, Old Gnu has become aware that the players didn’t fall over clutching their ankles anywhere near as much in those days. [There are many YouTube highlights from 1950s matches to verify this.]   Old Gnu concludes that footballers get paid slightly more these days because they have to fall over more often, and then, of course, have to get up. This must take a heavy toll on them and is therefore compensated for by slightly higher wages. The average wage of a footballer at the end of the 1950s was £20 [ = £280 today].

However, young Gnu was really terrified when he saw his first Rugby match. It resembled civil unrest which he had formerly witnessed elsewhere. No one had explained the rules of Rugby to him. Poor Gnu thought he was witnessing a football match that had gone badly wrong and had degenerated into violence. And such violence that it had damaged the ball, which was no longer round. Come to think of it, even now no one seems to be able to explain the rules of Rugby to him, try as they might. Old Gnu has a suspicion that many rugby fans don’t have a clue either. But you don’t have to understand everything in life to enjoy it. AND the amazing thing is that, despite the violence on the pitch, Rugby fans don’t usually have to be separated at a match with fencing, police with weapons, or the employment of police horses. The violence all takes place on the pitch.  This may result in lifelong injuries that begin to tell when you reach your more mature years but, obviously, being under a pile of bodies, 3 or 4 deep, because you are in possession of a misshapen ball, is a pleasure not to be missed.

Football however is different. There is not as much falling over or piling up of bodies. What falling over that does take place seems to always happen when the person concerned is not in possession of the ball. Consequently, the ball remains in a regular round shape. On the surface it seems that football has a greater potential for the display of finesse on the field; that is to the untutored eye of course. And the rules seem easier to understand. But unfortunately, because of the comparative lack of violence on the pitch the fans seem to make up for it off the pitch. Although of late things seem a little better.

Old Gnu has never been to a Rugby Match. But some years back, walking through Rugby Fans for a France versus Wales match at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff endeared them to me. Much friendliness between the fans having pre-match drink at the cafes in the pedestrian precinct.  Plus, the opportunity to buy merchandise:  a Wales verses Ireland commemorative scarf from the previous match on sale at a knock down price. A bargain too good to be missed. Old Gnu was very moved by the fact that rival fans should be seen to wear the name of the rival team round their necks. He brought one. But he didn’t go to the match on that day. However, in the will of God he proposes to go to a match when Wales are playing at the Millennium Stadium sometime in the future. He is even learning to sing an approximation of the Welsh National Anthem for the occasion. So, the moral of this tale is, never go by first impressions. And it’s never late to do some things for the first time!

Vetus Pater Gnu
Academiae Musicorum et Theologia
Turris LA
XVI Mensis Martii  MMXXIV