I had the pleasure of being part of a full house at Murrayfield on Saturday to watch the Autumn International between Scotland and Australia. It was a record turnout for the fixture.
Sadly, we came second. Again. Just like 13 months ago in that infamous Rugby World Cup Quarter Final at Twickenham, we lost by a single point.
After the match the fans meandered back into town together, chatting about what might have been. A beer or three were drunk in celebration or consolation as rivals mingled in the bars. Did Australia win the game, did Scotland lose it, or was it a bit of both?
With a shrug of the shoulders, the supporters accepted the result. They know that sometimes there is a fine line between winning and losing. The bounce of the ball. A foot in touch. The blast of a referee’s whistle or the thickness of the goalpost… but when all is said and done, it was just a rugby match. The world will keep on turning and there is always next time.
Bring on Argentina.
By contrast, the fine margins by which elections are won or lost can have consequences that really do matter. The impact can be massive and the world will be changed. Next time might be a lifetime away.
Witness events Stateside last week.
This was no rugby match. It was much more brutal than that. Rival fans didn’t mingle, they clashed. Nearly half of them didn’t even bother to turn up. The Clinton/Trump showdown had been the culmination of 80 weeks of attrition, not a mere 80 minutes of rucks and mauls.
But just like at Murrayfield, the winning margin was wafer thin.
Whilst it was a coat of paint that cost Scotland a Greig Laidlaw conversion and a win, it was an electoral equivalent that denied Hillary. Tens of million made their choice but all that stood between her and the White House was a wafer thin 114,000 votes.
If those few had voted Democrat rather than Trump in just three key swing states, then The Donald would not be president-elect.
But of course they didn’t, so he is. And others can mump and moan as much as they like about the result, but it isn’t going to change.
In the post-match analysis in the USA there was much gnashing of teeth. People have taken to the streets in protest. Those who warned before the vote that the result must be respected are now calling foul. Those, now victorious, who said that it was all going to be rigged against them, now praise its outcome. Bold policies declared in the run up are now being abandoned in the aftermath.
A wall with Mexico? Just a rhetorical one perhaps.
Scrap Obama Care? Not entirely.
£350million more money for the NHS? Well maybe not.
Sorry. Wrong election.
But the same point applies to Trump as to Brexit. Slogans and soundbites making barely concealed dog whistles really do work. They work especially well when the opposition keeps calling foul and perpetuates media attention. The voters who want to buy the lie are listening. They hear what they want to hear. The folly of Clinton and of Remain was to keep drawing attention to the issues.
Every time the pro-EU lobby called the NHS pledge a con, the TV kept showing the big bus with the big lie. And enough people believed it.
And when America called foul on Trump over waves of Mexican immigrants or bans on Muslims, and the abuse of women, they didn’t douse the fire but rather they fanned the flames. Of course they were right to shout out, but in the absence of anything better to offer, it wasn’t enough. Too many white men in the USA bought the message. Too few rallied against at the ballot box.
So in the end Trump won it. But more so, Hillary lost it. She might have won the popular vote, but she lost the war.
If only America had had a record turnout as well.
Talking about the rugby, I was there to provide some insightful comment for a local radio station. I might even have managed to.
One of the benefits of my occasional pastime is the free ticket to the best seats in the stadium. At Murrayfield, that means the Bill Maclaren Suite.
It pays homage to the Commentator’s Commentator. Bill is a legend. His meticulous pre-match notes adorn the walls alongside black and white photos of him with his contemporaries such as Cliff Morgan.
Bill had a golden gift for the apt turn of phrase. No animal was exempt from being used to describe a particular rugby player. Gangly giraffes and herds of rampaging rhinos were his favourites.
As a mere amateur at the commentary or summarising game, to my initial surprise I was once compared to the great man.
It was by a caller to another station I once worked for.
“Ramsay” said the caller.
“Compared to Bill Maclaren…”
He continued… “you’re rubbish.”
He was right.
Three times this week I have been in a public place to observe two minutes silence for Remembrance Day.
The first was on Friday, at a do at Perth Racecourse, then again on Saturday at Murrayfield, and finally on Sunday outside the City Chambers in Edinburgh.
Three things struck me most.
The simplicity of the poppy itself. A flower which grows even in the rockiest of ground, blooms and fades, but returns each year.
Secondly, how silence can be so powerful.
When 65,000 people can stand in unity of sombre reflection, that simple silence is deafening. At Murrayfield it was only pierced by the brief, mournful cry of a baby. But that didn’t break the moment, it made it all the more poignant.
But most of all, the thing which really moved me, is the dignity of the veterans. The men and women who have seen so much.
Who have endured so much.
Those who cannot forget.
Which is why we must and will remember.
