THE rare Sunday occasion was diverting enough and the wintry afternoon for any romantic was full of warming resonance. Jonathan Davies was back for Wales in the scarlet totem's number 10 and in the green and ochre numbered 11 David Campese, one of the game's all time originals, played his 101st and final Test match. The throng stood to acclaim him at the end after his team had run out 28-19 winners.
With Australia often declining to kick goals which sat up and begged: "It was pre determined, the people don't come to watch kickers," the captain, Tim Horan, said and Wales taking a beating in every department except tackling, it was not an ideal script for Davies to work with. While good to see him back in his element, if the ageing sprite kicked his goals impeccably, he had very little else to work on or with.
On the other hand, while not setting the Taff on fire as he has on a few glistening occasions in the past, as ever it was difficult to take one's eyes off Campese in his swansong.
Off the ball his antennae, have always been bristling, keen, his senses razor sharp and often more aware than his younger team mates. Not once yesterday did he get the chance to slip even into one goosestep stride for old time's sake.
A couple of times he nearly crowned the day with a score, notably at the penultimate throw, when Burke, with the maestro outside him and in the clear, chose to head in for the posts rather than out to the flag and was scragged.
As ever, even seemingly adrift and lonely on the wing, Campese made his presence felt. His perfect torpedo punt homed in at the corner flag which set up base for Brial's blind side score.
That was a case of his doing the simple thing gloriously earlier the other way round when his extravagant knock on went unpunished and led directly to Burke's try. Typical Campo.
"What do you expect me to do?" the great man said afterwards with a laugh, "run up to the yet and say, `Hey, I knocked on, it's no try.'"
At the last whistle he was bathed in the noisy embrace of a crowd that knows its rugby immortality. His team, one by one, shook his hand, or patted him affectionately on the back of his designer label shorts, or ruffled the crew cut, now balding, pate. He stood on the centre circle and clapped the grandstands in return, turning the full circle north, south, east and west like an emperor returning from his last crusade. Which now, alas, he is.
He tore off the trademark, muddy white wristbands and dropped them distractedly on the turf. I thought of running down to retrieve them. They should be glass eased. Not that I would flog them - but did Dennis Lillee's centenary Test sweatband from Lord's not make a half a grand at auction a few months ago? Campo's wristbands are easily worth £500 as well.
"It was a fantastic way to go on this great ground," he said. "The boys kept trying to score tries. That's always been my philosophy. No, of course I didn't go up to Matt Burke afterwards to say he took the wrong option. Those decisions we have to make out there are fractions of seconds. You have to do what you have to do." As Campo, being Campo, always has. Rugby history's most glamorous and unforgettable superstar.
Ciao, maestro.
He would miss it all terribly. "When the next Wallaby team runs out in a Test match without me I shall be sad all right, I shall probably be on the golf course somewhere reminiscing about it all." What would he miss most? "The mateship, of course - and having long chats to the coach saying, `Why have I been dropped again?'"
Horan said: "The world of Test rugby will miss his enthusiasm, his friendship and his genius. The running game simply was David Campese. Enough said." A final unserious finale at Twickenham is due on Saturday for rugby's very own Dame Nellie Melba. And then he means it. Truly, The End.
