Time to bury hatchet with Auld Enemy
•Sheep-skin jackets, blazers -- even the damn touch judges wore them then -- and pipe smoke wafting over from the Upper West Stand, are memories of Lansdowne Road.
In the 1970s, walking by the Dodder I had two big worries approaching each game: Would my father buy me a Toblerone on the way home, and how heavy would the margin of defeat be? The outcomes were inter-locked.
Rugby has come an awful long way in Ireland; even if the oldest international venue in the world is now called after an insurance company, the old ground still groans its respects to victory and defeat.