It is possible one can tell something about a sport by the kind of royal it gets to represent it. Rugby union gets Prince Harry: the fun one, the bloody-good-bloke. Amid all the earnest talk in the buildup to the World Cup of growing the game and leaving a legacy, the presence of Windsor’s scruffy-bearded scion was a gentle reminder that really what most rugby fans care about is watching the game and drinking some beer.
The crowds, used to a rather earlier kick-off than 8pm, had begun making their way to the stadium in the mid-afternoon and a whiff of hog roast drifted down the A316 long before the police closed it to traffic. In the “spectator plaza” – a repurposed carpark – a giant screen broadcast some pre-match buildup. Men in herringbone and women in wax jackets stood around patiently, and cigar smoke mingled with the scent of salt and vinegar as Andy Goode told them optimistically that England were the strongest team in Pool A.
The real show started at 7pm. Time was that an opening ceremony at a British sporting event meant Atomic Kitten singing at you from a damp podium while a few fireworks fizzled in the drizzle. It demonstrates how seriously the country has started taking them that they now require a pre-show. On Friday night the crowd had a quarter-hour of earnest warm-up from Will Greenwood, who ordered them to “bounce, bounce!” and hug nearby strangers. Good old Will. It may be cheesy to cry “singing unites us!” while wearing a Jonny Wilkinson mask on the back of the head but one cannot argue when 80,000 people are bobbing along to Sweet Caroline.
On the pitch a gigantic rugby ball had landed, it appeared, from outer space, breaking up the pitch on impact. All became clear during the opening video. Here was young Webb Ellis, playing with his school mates in front of a crowd of Georgian spectators – an approving Bill Beaumont, Sir Clive Woodward in a top hat. Here was the famous moment he decided to run with the ball. And here, at the end of the sporting cameos (it is Jonny Wilkinson with a spade!) and the venue name checks – Birmingham, Leeds, Milton Keynes – was the kick that had sent the ball crashing to earth in Twickenham.
Back in the stadium, muddied players rose up from the earth to raise a giant’s causeway, on columns of lava, that cleverly embodied the crunch and tackle of the game. The same team had produced London 2012’s opening ceremony and one could not miss the echoes, although this painted a rather more upbeat picture than that history lesson in the dark satanic mills of the industrial era.
If there was a theme, it appeared to be inclusivity – Greenwood had repeatedly claimed that this World Cup would be “the most inclusive ever!” And here was a young slam poet accompanying a choirboy singing World in Union to prove it.
Is it that rugby union needs the reminder? It does tend to get stick for being elitist and there was certainly more Prince of Wales check in the Twickenham stands than one gets at one’s average night at Bristol Rovers. When Goode read out tweets of support from famous figures, Kenny Logan got a far bigger boo than David Cameron. But those weren’t the only voices that broke into a spontaneous chorus of Swing Low when the England bus arrived at the gates to the stadium. And there was something utterly heartwarming about the young boy from east Yorkshire, sitting precariously on his father’s shoulders, who gave a running commentary to those below when the players arrived for their now traditional walk-through. He knew every name and face.
Perhaps an international sporting event, even in this modern, commercial age, can still be a place of good intentions and simple pleasures. At one point in the ceremony the giant rugby ball began to be dismantled and one wondered what complex structure it was hiding – a spaceship? a time machine? No, it was merely the World Cup and Webb Ellis clambered above a scrum of bodies to grab it.
Prince Harry talked of rugby union as “a game founded on a code of values” – take note, front rows – but there was nothing portentous or political here. No NHS nurses were required, although God knows rugby usually has more need of them than any other sport. And the whole thing was over in 40 minutes – because, if there is one thing a rugby fan wants, it is just to get on and watch the game and drink beer.
