What are the odds of Leicester City winning?

According to Piers Morgan writing in the Event Magazine this Sunday morning and a whole raft of bookmakers, at the start of this season Leicester City were 5,000:1 to win the football premiership.  By Monday afternoon [local time] we finally realised that the combined effort of wearing cobalt blue and shouting "C'mon you 8&**3}$s" was all worth it.  At last, the Fairytale has come true, BBC television have turned up at the King Power stadium and in the majority half a million people are out on the streets, honking horns, wearing cobalt blue and proclaiming their affinity with Middle England's finest football team.  My talons are painted, I've dug out my sapphire earrings and short of painting my beak blue, I've joined the Blue Army.

In inverse proportion to the astounding brilliance of LCFC, the fortunes of our Tigers Rugby Club have been slightly lowered of late, so when I was offered a couple of tickets to see the last home game of the season, I dragged Alphonse along to add our voices to the very vocal supporters at Welford Road.  We were playing Worcester Warriors which took me by surprise because I thought we were playing Wolverhampton.  Still, it started off as a cracking afternoon and we had come prepared for everything by wearing ski thermals under normal clothing.  I'd been caught out before.

Having seen many Tigers' players in the flesh, their vast bulk seems to blot out the sun as they amble down the corridors of power.  I've seen them play before too but on the last occasion they were pitted against a South African junior team who resolutely stamped on their stripy hides winning 54:20 in the frozen mud.  And I have quite nostalgic memories of my chum Carole's wedding reception held there a few years ago, and the odd sketchy photos of her and her groom holding the Heineken Cup aloft in all its glory.  As her friends united, we danced into the early hours carefully hiding our true feelings about the significance of the joyful day and wept buckets a week later when told she had passed away on her honeymoon.  Another long story I'm not telling.

Like all blokes, Alphonse couldn't wait to get stuck into his part of any sporting occasion, that of shouting, berating the referee and wondering what the devil Worcester had done with their game plan?  He and the ginger bloke in front bonded over a pint whilst I was howling with laughter at the pre-match entertainment.  Heavily supervised small children were lined up, clothed in mini-tiger outfits and armed with adult rugby balls bigger than their heads.   They were then encouraged to launch themselves at the posts and score a tiny try.  Oh, it was adorable.  Then a local tenor who had been planted in the centre of the pitch with a microphone sang Nessun Dorma to get the supporters in good voice.  Without binoculars it was hard to make out his features on the big screen but Alphonse suggested it might be that Welsh bloke who sings in the 'go.compare' adverts.  I think not, I couldn't see the curly moustache.

The public address system lacked any high fidelity so I missed most of the announcements particularly as I was herded up at the back with my hat and earmuffs rammed on.  I joined in with a polite round of applause for the chap who, after 25 years and to celebrate his retirement from the club, gave a cheery wave.  Secretly, I like to think he wanted to do one last victory lap, naked. Thankfully, there were too many minors present for that to happen, ever.

Overall, the actual game of rugby was interesting in that Warriors took the initiative and stormed into an early lead, only for Tigers to claw back the points with a cracking try.  It was tit-for-tat all the way through to the end of the first half when the heavens opened and the visitors seemed to lose heart when faced with Leicester's infamous weather, it flipping from glorious sun to freezing rain in minutes.  I'd been queueing for a cuppa at the Pie & Pint stall and rather than get soaked, I bought two mugs of weedy tea from a burger wagon. Alphonse's brew was fine.  Mine was £2.50's worth of lukewarm dishwater.

In the half-time entertainment slot, we were treated to a brilliant game of 'catch the rugby ball'. Established as a league throughout the county, it involves 10 men [maybe women, it was hard to tell] and 10 rugby balls fired from a cannon into the air and onto the pitch; the aim of the game is to catch [and hold on to] as many balls as possible.  The current leaders of the league have an impressive 8:10.  In contrast, both of these teams needed more practice, significant improvement in their hand-eye co-ordination and a measure of physical fitness; today the eventual winners managed a respectful 4:10.  It was nearly as funny as the tiny tots earlier.

The final score reflected Tigers' domination and Warriors' loss of body temperature; they were beaten 31:17 and a great time was had by all.  And being the last game of the season, the players did their own gladiatorial lap of the pitch to thank loyal supports for their continued efforts in a difficult season.  On the forced walk back into the city centre, the homebound crowd began speculating on our football club's chances of a) winning the Premiership and b) if LCFC could offer any of their spare cash to the Tigers to improve the toilet facilities.  Please help them you Foxes, or next time I'll be nipping along to the King Power rather than brave a frozen rump at half time.  Sorry.

Tip of the Beak:  I'm bursting with pride today, chest feathers puffed out and basking in the borrowed phenomenal glory that is Leicester City Football Club.  And although I've travelled a lot in my life, Leicester was the only place I genuinely wanted to be this weekend; as it's possibly the only place on Earth I'll ever truly call 'home'.  As Gary Lineker said on Match of the Day recently,
"It's Leicester City; it's complicated."
Complicated it may be but who cares?  WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!

Raven