Look. I know I’m no Donal Lenihan — even if by Saturday night I was as hoarse as he was on the telly.
I know I’m no rugby pundit or expert but you’ve been able to read his expert analysis already in this paper. My relationship with the game has only been a lifelong love affair.
But I am one of a small — and inevitably shrinking — band of people who can say I was there twice. Not even Peadar Crowley, my oldest friend, can say that.
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