Well what a weekend that was. Missed the United-‘Pool game, live but watched *a lot of* rugby, before coaching most of Sunday. Into Monday and I’m wondering if I’ve actually got sleeping sickness, or just succumbed again to one of the other the eight zillion medium-hardcore viruses stalking Pembs. Post the oval ball binge, I sleep from about 9pm Sunday to 9 am Tuesday, with brief interludes for Match of the Day 2 and New Zealand White Ferns v England Women. So night is day and day is… whatever.

I’m feeling somewhat recovered – otherwise I wouldn’t be joining you (obvs) from Haverfordwest Library, with its almost-views of the elsewhere beautiful Cleddau and the crass, heavy-bricked ‘precinct’ surrounding. Incidentally; aren’t libraries great?!? Yes. They are.

I enjoyed all that rugby but hard to say why, exactly. Maybe it’s just that the Six Nations is so full of tribal accessories and yaknow – feeling – that even mediocre games mean something. Wales’s almost catastrophically poor first half against the resurgent Italy (volume trentasette) meant most of my neighbours were seriously pissed-off but more stark evidence of the black hole where Wyn Jones and Faletau recently battled gravity surprised few of them.

Given that the one thing we know about Gatland is that he tends to be good at organising teams – making them robust and hard to beat – the relative frailty and low quality of the current side may indeed reflect the seriousness of the downturn across the principality *at large*. In the Italy game we saw a worrying amount of Warrenball minus the crunch and (dare I say it) the heart. If the team shape was understood there was still an alarming absence of intensity and physicality: nothing to build from.

No wonder then, that the rumbling about the Regional Game in Wales has gone up a notch, resulting in the normally impressively measured Sam Warburton coming up with some contentious stuff about diverting the overwhelming bulk of monies available into the pro’ game – even if this detracts from grassroots. Rugby in Wales is in a trough. And at the distant crest it feels a bit like nobody knows how to either re-structure it or re-capture the precious elements; freedom to play; irresistible energy; hwyl.

Ireland were of course playing at a higher level – though they failed to maintain it. Against France they put down the most emphatic of markers, effectively ending the tournament as a contest, before half the teams had kicked or handled the ball. Nobody was going to live with their completeness as a side. (Sure, England beat them, but don’t go telling me that Borthwick’s coaching compares with Farrell’s, despite relatively comparable resources). England may finally have shown the many hostile neutrals out there that they can attack (against France) but they were bang ordinary (again) for much of the tournament. Improvements are coming almost by accident – often a sign of uninspired coaching. Ireland, meanwhile, should be manifestly disappointed not to have won the slam… and I bet, deep down, they are.

But I enjoyed the tournament. Enjoyed the expected dose of Scottish flair tempered by inevitable(?) defeat against better-resourced squads – Ireland, France. Was kinda moved and *almost shocked* – and yet not – by the wildness of that Welsh comeback against Scotland. And I liked that Italy felt closer again to being a meaningfully competitive outfit. The Six Nations tends to really work.

If the energy holds, I may yet write about Garnacho or Heather Knight. But first, perhaps, a tactical kip.