Brendan Gallagher feature: This was just a complete blast from start to finish

The construction – or in this case deconstruction – gangs will arrive at Twickenham first thing this morning to start ripping down the huge hospitality units and the three-storey media centre that some of us have called home for the best of two months. I, for one, am going to miss their lip-smacking fish pies and lasagne although I shed no tears for that odd baked jam roll thing they served as dessert.
Twickenham and the RFU will be soon be back to normal, well the visible part at least, the tip of the RFU iceberg we are allowed to see. Who knows what is going on beneath the waterline?
Hopefully, those in power though will have sensed the change this tumultuous and brilliantly staged World Cup can bring about. They should be proud of the part England2015 played but they must react to its legacy. It is time to fully move English rugby into the 21st-century. End of lecture!
The final yesterday was a complete blast from start to finish, a rugby day for the ages. Twickenham – the stadium and the town – has been a terrific focus for RWC2015 and went out with a bang as the curtain came down on the tournament.
Arriving early doors even the curry houses in town were serving full English breakfasts and hopeful hawkers were busy trying to a bang out cut-price England stash as well as those combo match scarves featuring the colours of both teams that have become all the rage. The Whitton Road stroll from station to ground has become a riot of colour and smells as biltong, kangaroo burgers, Cornish pasties and Asian stir fries compete for attention.
Everybody was wearing their colours. I walked in behind a group in England shirts – mostly XXXL – who had flown in from Jersey for the day. The tickets were booked when wearing red rose-tinted glasses months ago but actually their team’s absence seemed a relief more than anything.
No angst or ample stomachs heaving with nerves, just a huge day on the lash with mates watching the two best teams in the world.
The Aussie fans stood out like Belisha beacons, their gold shirts blazing in the sun while the New Zealanders were less easily spotted in their Halloween black. Some Kiwis even went the whole hog and donned capes and hats in a wanton act of defiance of a date that has not been kind to their beloved side.
October 31 1972: Llanelli 9 New Zealand 3. October 31 1978: Munster 12 New Zealand 0. October 31 1999: France 43 New Zealand 31. I casually dropped this doomsday scenario into a conversation with a Kiwi lady who seemed to be attending the game with her grandchildren. “Yes but the thing is that it will be November the first back in New Zealand so it doesn’t count. I’m not at all worried.”
Game set and match to her. You simply can’t contradict female logic like that.
Into the stadium and a pint of the sponsors brew in the West Stand to steady frayed nerves – £6 isn’t cheap but you only get to sit in the sun supping ice cold lager half an hour before an All-Blacks-Australia once in your reporting career. A second pint. Why not? A third? Reluctantly, no.
No Jumbo jet fly-pasts this time, unless you count the BA flight from Los Angeles in the distance but we did have the Red Arrows at 15.55 precisely carving it up beautifully as they crossed the East and West Stands.
The world’s quickest and most acrobatic nine despite the considerable claims of Will Genia and Aaron Smith down on terra firma.
As I looked down on the warm-up Steve Hansen, as usual, was sombrely dressed like an undertaker who knows there will be tears before the day is done while Michael Cheika was the keen new PE teacher at school, mixing tracksuit top with tie.
There and then I suddenly realised that this exciting Aussie team probably wasn’t quite ready to perform the miracle many hoped for. It wasn’t their time.
RWC2015 breathed life into a stadium that frankly was looking a bit grey and faded just a few months ago. It has been a wonderfully vibrant and good-natured setting and apart from an opening night crush, when we all left it a bit late to take our seats, everything seemed to go off with a hitch.
Yesterday it was, again, a living, breathing entity.
The best part of 720,000 fans watched the nine matches at the home of English rugby which was a mighty undertaking in itself and a heartfelt doff of the cap is owed from us all to head groundsman Keith Kent and his team. Somehow they delivered a pluperfect pitch for every game especially on the three occasions when they only had a 24-hour turnaround – namely the semi-final and quarter-final weekend and the opening weekend. Top work, guys.
The volunteers were terrific and never let their heads drop when England were bundled out of the competition. They would have dreamt of an England win and being close to such glories – Great Britain’s gold medal successes at London 2012 were a huge motivation for the Olympic volunteers – but they still managed to wear their uniforms with pride and keep smiling. I hope and trust the RFU laid on a free bar for them last night by way of thank you.
I can think of only one major complaint – and I appreciate that I might be straying into ‘old fart’ territory here – and that was the inane warm-up act who hijacked the stadium PA system about half an hour before kick-off. We just don’t need 15 minutes of chunter. Well-lubricated rugby fans are well capable of building their own atmosphere. OK, bung the occasional rock anthem on and turn up the volume but that’s about it.
Before the Argentina-Australia semi-final the wonderful Pumas supporters – rugby’s best singers outside of Wales – were just beginning to warm up and take us through their considerable repertoire when the clown with mike took over and killed the atmosphere stone dead leading up to kick-off. Happily once the rugby started the fans took over again.
Nothing could derail yesterday, though. It was a privilege to be here and the game provided conclusive evidence it is possible to support both sides. At various times I found myself roaring for both New Zealand and Australia.
I didn’t want the match to end or indeed the World Cup. It’s been a complete joy and we’ll miss it terribly.