This morning I took part in Ras yr Iaith (the language race), a three-day fun run from north to south Wales that seeks to promote awareness of the Welsh language. Some of the passers-by who clapped us through the streets of Bangor thought that we were running to Lyon for tonight’s game. Sadly, not!
During the group stages I had the time of my life travelling around France, from Bordeaux to Lens to Toulouse; but tonight I’ll be watching on the big screen in the market hall in Caernarfon, and to judge from the last two rounds, the place will be bouncing. The whole country will be.
Every other house in our road has a Welsh dragon flying from the bedroom window. The side streets are a forest of car-top flags. Something big is happening and suddenly everyone’s talking football. The local hairdressers resound to older ladies commenting on Joe Ledley’s dance moves and sympathising with Aaron Ramsey missing the semi-final.
I never thought it would happen in my lifetime. Following the Welsh national team over the past 40 years has been a litany of near misses – with the occasional scalp: Spain in 1985, Germany in 1991, Italy in 2002. And now of course Belgium in 2016.
Qualifying for the first time in nearly 60 years was a dream come true in itself. But from then on, it’s just got better and better. We stand on the brink of our first final.
We enjoy it all the more when we win, because we don’t think of it as our right. In our history we’ve more often been colonised than colonisers and so we don’t have the same sense of entitlement that some nations have. Even when people tell us we that we should win, our natural cynicism tells us “no, don’t jinx it”.
Our sometimes brittle confidence is a Welsh weakness but perhaps it makes us better fans. And in this tournament the Welsh fans have been exemplary. We clapped the Slovaks from the stadium in Bordeaux. The Belgians and the Welsh gave each other a guard of honour at the train station in Lille. And oh, how we sing. I’ve been hoarse for a month now. Although there’s no logic in singing at a screen, that’s what I’ll be doing tonight too, with hundreds of others. Because we can.
Every nation likes a bit of success in its narrative and the Welsh are no different. “We’re all Welsh now” according to one English paper – now there’s success for you. But sometimes success breeds jealousy and snide comments from certain English journalists, pointing out lots of the squad members were born in England. Well, so was I, and I’m the national poet of Wales.
This is missing the point. Our national identity is based on inclusivity, not place of birth or race. The players put on the shirt, sing the anthem with conviction and play with passion. You’re Welsh if you want to be part of the national project.
I’ve been tremendously proud of the way the Welsh team has embraced the Welsh language as part of its brand, claiming it for their own, whether they speak it or not. That pride is a tremendous example for Welsh youngsters. The team’s calm self-belief is an inspiration. Their passion is infectious.
As Welsh manager Chris Coleman was quoted as saying after the Russia game: “As a nation geographically we’re small, but I think if you’re judging us on passion then we could be described as a continent.”
And as we take our place on that European stage tonight I hope we can stay there. Post-Brexit, this huge boost to Welsh national confidence will embolden us as we rethink our relationship with our European partners – and maybe our British partners too.
C’mon Cymru. Together Stronger!
