From a television ratings point of view last Friday’s Wales v England match was a triumph. A peak audience of almost nine million tuned in to the BBC’s coverage, the kind of figures which boost the terrestrial viewing argument and demonstrate that football is not the only winter show in town.
The game was a gripping one, too, which always helps retain the floating voters. So why the downbeat reaction on social media from some of those who were physically in Cardiff on Friday evening?
There have been anecdotal complaints that too many people in the stadium had drunk way too much in advance and that the mood in certain quarters was darkening even before Wales’s defeat. For those wanting to escape this potent cocktail, the late-night taxi queues stretched halfway to Newport.
Is this anything new? As anyone who has ever been to Cardiff for the rugby will know, this has never been a city obviously awash with mineral water drinkers before and after a big Six Nations game. It is just easier these days to post pictures of the carnage online. A Friday night kick-off, however, creates a dilemma for all, lightweights or otherwise.
In addition to the regular local patrons keen to start their weekend early, you have an incoming army of English supporters with no option but to arrive early if they wish to avoid transport hell. Leave it too late and, as it did on Friday, the car journey from London takes five and a half hours. The result is a drinkathon of epic proportions, to the uneasy point where the distinction between the Millennium Stadium experience and happy hour in Magaluf begins to blur.
As it happens, your correspondent was out on the streets with a colleague for a couple of hours before the game, talking to and interviewing people outside the City Arms and other local hostelries. I bumped into one friend who admitted he was delighted to see me. Apparently he was a guest on a corporate jolly which had begun at 9am - it was now 3pm - and, with five hours still left until kick-off, the pace was beginning to tell.
“Keep talking and I can stay out here in the fresh air,” he implored, confessing his concern about the liquid challenges awaiting him inside. If you are not a 6ft 5in tall ex-forward with hollow legs, matchdays can be a trial. Heaven knows how bad everyone felt on Saturday morning.
One English farmer got home from Cardiff at 3.45 am and had to be up again milking his cows at 6am. Maybe he, and others, should invoice the BBC and the Six Nations committee for the cost of their hangover cures. Or, for those who stayed over, their exorbitantly-priced hotel rooms. Either way, there can surely be little doubt that Friday night kick-offs in Cardiff significantly increases pre-match alcohol consumption compared with a Saturday afternoon.
This matters because, in their wisdom, the Six Nations organisers have already inked in Friday evening championship games at the Millennium Stadium for another two years. Given the television viewing figures, it is easy to see why. But rugby audiences are changing and Friday night internationals in booze-sodden capitals are not a great place for young kids or the frail elderly.
Traditionally, Six Nations weekends have been overwhelmingly good-humoured as the majority of genuine rugby supporters tend not to want to punch people after a couple of pints. The game risks losing that feelgood reputation at its peril.
It is not just Cardiff, either. It is becoming increasingly easy to argue that Twickenham also has a potential drink problem: fans are now encouraged to purchase their own refillable beer cup and there is even an app allowing them to pre-order drinks and avoid the queues. Both these initiatives ultimately encourage people to fill up even more frequently, with the inevitable knock-on effect for everyone else’s matchday experience.
Sit in the crowd at Twickenham - not least at some of the big club games and all-day sevens tournaments - and you will be startled by how many people stagger past you. A few seasons ago I saw one worse-for-wear spectator fall off one of the escalators in the East Stand after a Premiership final. Happily he was not killed but the smack he made as he hit the concrete concourse has stayed with me.
No one, to be absolutely clear, is suggesting that having a few drinks at a rugby match is a crime. A sociable atmosphere, with supporters of both sides mingling happily, is a massive part of rugby’s appeal. But there is a line and, particularly at well-attended evening games scheduled with TV audiences in mind, it is in danger of being crossed. Waiting until there is a serious drink-related incident to highlight the issue is hardly the way forward.
How long, one wonders, before the long-suffering staff in A&E departments, or the police, start to lose patience?
Guardian Service
