By Chris Hewett
They were the best of days.
Time and again, a Heineken Cup trip to Pontypridd delivered on the grand scale, with Neil Jenkins pulling the opposition inside out at No 10, Martyn Williams reminding us that the No 7 role demanded craft as well as graft and Dale “Chief ” McIntosh in full warpaint, stomping around like Buck Shelford on steroids.
Sardis Road was Welsh rugby’s house of pain – its temple of torment. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t much of anything at all, stripped of its earthy majesty by regionalisation and the collapse of the Celtic Warriors franchise.
Yet its light...