Is Wales the ‘Temu’ of International Rugby?

In a World where you get what you pay for, is Wales the ‘Temu’ of International Rugby?

That’s it. I’m done. Am I just an incorrigible fantasist? An incurable optimist? A hopeless romantic of immense magnitude? I’m sure I could come up with a mouthful of other platitudes. Actually I’m more of a middle aged harridan, a gob on a stick …. but at this juncture the word “disappointed” really doesn’t cut the mustard does it?

What in the name of everything Holy has happened to Welsh Rugby? 

It appears that we have been under the metaphysical equivalent of the London Blitz this season.

Were we so busy mourning the demise of Barry John and JPR that we actually forgot to pick a competent team and collected together a bunch of substandard amateurs better suited for Strictly instead?

The greatest Rugby loving nation in the world is now a piteous embarrassment. In a world where you get what you pay for, Wales are the Temu of International Rugby. Cheap, nasty and doesn’t fit.

What Happened In The Six Nations?

The national team have been utterly trounced after capitulating to every other team in the Six Nations. 

We’ve been overpowered, overwhelmed, crushed and routed. We’ve run around like morons only to unequivocally fail.

Surely it’s time for the Welsh Government to announce a week of national mourning. 

Who do we blame for this inauspicious end to the season? Do we demand the head of Warren Gatland on a silver platter? He was of course voted the worst coach in Super Rugby in 2022. Perhaps we should just fire the entire board of the male, pale and stale bloat of hippos that is the WRU

Well at least there’s one good thing. We won’t have to suffer the crawling humiliation of a tongue lashing from Eddie Jones……vulgar little man. Although I’m sure he’s sitting in some sunny backwater laughing his socks off.

So at the end of what has been a tough week highlighted by a huge sense of humour failure at least I haven’t had to hide any bodies.

I’m going back to my cave to whittle a wooden spoon, kicking my daps, dragging along my soggy red scarf and singing Yma o Hyd! 

See you next season….or possibly not.

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