Peter Bills: Wondrous old tournament goes on delighting

They've packed the trumpets, the trombone and the clarinets. The drums and French horns will be carefully manhandled into the back of the van this weekend when they set off on the long drive.

To be sure, it's some journey from the Pyrenees to Paris. But for the members of the famous Pays Basque band, nothing is as important as the first French home game in the Six Nations Championship of the New Year.

And why not? Tradition is our defence against the increasingly materialistic lifestyle modern day living decrees we must embrace. It's good that at least some things never change.

A French try, carved out of sheer sporting genius at the 80,000 capacity Stade de France, simply wouldn't be the same without the famous band to celebrate. That explosion of sound, a mixture of raucous cheering and music, are unique to French rugby. Great tries scored down the years in Paris by some of France's finest rugby players of any generation have been greeted by such a celebration. It is one of those endearing ingredients which makes the Six Nations Championship the unique event that it is.

Somehow, Paris seems to provide the best carnival atmosphere for the great tournament to touch the nerves. In Dublin, you get the humour, like the drunk, sitting hunched against a wall near the railway station beside Lansdowne Road, a year or two back. Raising a bleary eye to the sky upon hearing the unmistakable chatter-chatter sound of a hovering police helicopter, he announced in a slurred voice to no-one in particular "Whoever said pigs can't fly".

In Wales, they have passion tinged with brutal reality. Former Ireland and Lions star Tony O'Reilly was accompanying his wife into the ground a few years back before a Wales-Ireland game, and heard an aside close by.

"There he goes, then, that's the boyo," said one.

"Who's 'ee" replied his pal ?

"Oh, he used to be Tony O'Reilly".

O'Reilly laughs loudest of all at that one.

Edinburgh and Twickenham have changed, greatly so. Modern stadia have eliminated many of the old corners and characters at both grounds, and the pleasure of a day at Twickenham can be greatly diluted by an hour and a half's queue for a train home after.

Maybe Twickenham has never quite been the same since the days when the late, much lamented Peter Yarranton used to handle the public address system. One of his most renowned announcements said simply: "Would Mr Roger Fields please make his way to the corner of the West stand to meet Miss Samantha Goody who says she cannot wait much longer." The roars for that one were only matched by England's victory that day.

Paris on Six Nations day, as will be confirmed tomorrow when Scotland go to Stade de France, is a whirl of noise, Gauloise, garlic and Gaultier outfits. New girlfriends are paraded like fresh troops. Alas, the poor things will be looking less than glamorous by the time they have finally dragged their own particular drunken, lecherous Jean-Claude out of the last bar of the night.

And what of Rome, where Ireland will begin their quest for Championship glory against Italy? There are few greater delights than rugby on a crisp, sunny winter's afternoon at the Stadio Flaminio, in the suburbs a short walk from the elegant Piazza del Popolo.

Whether you will see a Six Nations game of the new Championship this weekend in Cardiff, Paris or Rome, you will be accompanied by a heady concoction of noise, fun and excitement. Because this esteemed, wondrous old tournament simply goes on entertaining and delighting all those fortunate enough to embrace its charm.

Across the world, in Cape Town, Auckland, Sydney, San Francisco, Barcelona and New York, lifelong members of the rugby fraternity will find the nearest bar or home where they can watch the Six Nations games via cable television. For them, just like us, it is an annual pilgrimage of delight.

* Peter Bills is a rugby writer for Independent News & Media in London