Bill Bridge: Angola atrocities underline point that no sporting event is totally safe

Only last week there was intense discussion as to whether or not England and the other home countries ought to send teams to this year's Commonwealth Games in Delhi and Friday's attack on the Togolese footballers as they made their way into Angola for the Africa Cup of Nations has dominated the news bulletins.

Quite why the Angolan authorities had allowed a clutch of fixtures to be scheduled for the city of Cabinda, the capital of a disputed area, when threats of violence had repeatedly been made, is a matter for them and FIFA, football's world governing body.

There will be a general feeling that the tournament should go ahead and Arsene Wenger, the manager of Arsenal who has Emmanuel Eboue (Ivory Coast) and Alex Song (Cameroon) at the tournament, made the point for us: "I don't believe you can stop a competition because that will reward the people who caused the trouble."

But Wenger added a rider to that when he pointed out: "You have to leave a decision to some players if they feel insecure."

That is the issue for those who earn their living playing in the top leagues in Europe, especially our Premier League. It is also an issue for their clubs, not least because none of the players on international duty in Angola are insured against acts of terrorism.

Enormously valuable players like Didier Drogba, pictured right, and Michael Essien are too close to the firing line and even plans drawn up by FIFA to house them in military barracks for the duration might not be enough to convince them and their families of their safety.

The whole business serves as a warning; no sporting event, no matter how hard the host government works to ensure security is at the highest level possible – something which appears not to be have been done in Cabinda – can be totally safe. That much, we are assured, is fully understood in South Africa, where the World Cup will go ahead later this year.

Danny Jordaan, the head of the organising committee, emphasised yesterday that South Africa does not have the same separatist issues as Angola and promises that security remains at the top of the organisational agenda for his tournament.

No doubt those in charge in Delhi will be saying exactly the same thing, as will their counterparts in London ahead of the 2012 Olympics. We can only pray that they are right and that the police, military and intelligence agencies are indeed ahead of the game; unlike their counterparts in Angola.

ENVY, as everyone knows, is a cardinal sin and thus something we strive to avoid but it was difficult not to feel just the teensiest flicker during and after last week's magnificent third Test in Cape Town.

A couple of friends, who normally at this time of year would be watching their local rugby club (weather permitting) and dreaming of summer days following Oakworth's annual campaign for honours in the Craven League, had the good fortune to be there for every minute of one of the best, most enthralling games of cricket since, well, since the first match of the series.

They could savour every moment, take in the grandeur of Table Mountain and enjoy the aroma of another mix wafting across the ground from the neighbouring brewery. We, in contrast, spent breaks in play shovelling snow, making soup and trying to keep warm without turning up the fire or the central heating.

The match had everything, brilliant batting from Graeme Smith, Jacques Kallis, Ian Bell and Paul Collingwood, fast bowling of old-fashioned menace from Dale Steyn, Morne Morkel and Jimmy Anderson and spin at its best from Graeme Swann.

It also had another episode of great pluck from Graham Onions, a cricketer who must now surely deserve another dressing-room nick-name. After his heroics at Centurion and Newlands he can no longer be "Bunny".

The Test even had a shaft of controversy, Stuart Broad stopping the ball on one occasion with the studded sole of his boot and Anderson being spotted fingering the ball, to all intents and purposes, trying to alter its surface in the hope of producing reverse swing as Smith threatened to take the match beyond England.

When an observer of the experience of Michael Vaughan declares that England were fortunate to escape without reprimand for their actions then it is clear something was afoot (no pun intended).

Andrew Strauss tested credibility to the limit with his protestations of innocence but in the absence of any action from the match referee we must accept England's stance; still, it would be remarkable if they were to risk anything similar in the final match of this great series at the Wanderers ground in Johannesburg starting on Thursday.

By then – and this is the real reason for that smidgeon of envy – our mates will be far from Jo'burg, enjoying what must be one of the best stretches of coastline anywhere in the world, the beautiful Garden Route, visiting such delights as Hermanus, Knysna and Mossel and Plettenberg Bays. By the look of things, we will be back to the snow-shovelling.

and another thing...

WELL, two things actually, and both concern the game run from that icy, ivory tower called Twickenham.

First, we had the response from HQ to the criticism by Saracens' director of rugby Brendan Venter of Premiership refereeing standards.

Instead of taking a while to reflect on the words of one of the most respected men in the game, the Rugby Football Union put in train their disciplinary process and persuaded Ed Morrison, their Head of Elite Referee Development, to blurt: "We have a tradition for producing world-class referees and I am confident that will continue."

Typical Twickers-speak which means they always know best. The worrying, underlying, bullying message is that speaking out of turn is verboten.

Then we had Italy naming two of Venter's front-row, Matias Aguero and Fabio Ongaro in their Six Nations' squad. Another Italian-Saracen prop, Carlos Nieto, declared himself unavailable. Is that not evidence enough that the game has gone mad? The best team in the country with three Italians in the front row...

From dancing with the girls to long journeys without reward... the agony of the big freeze

DOWN the years the only thing which has changed when we have more than a dusting of snow has been the take-over of our roads by 4x4 drivers; for the rest, life goes on or, in the case of sport, goes off.

Winter has been with us far longer than John Motson and his sheepskin coat or even Archie Mackay's invention of Sports Report but no matter what your sporting pleasure might be between the months of October and April – unless you are one of those whose delight is skiing – you know that once the white stuff starts falling we are heading for a natural break.

First awakening to this peculiarly British phenomenon – in other countries where snow and frost are not unusual they take something called a winter break – came one Christmas morning, deep and crisp and even.

The Anderton's coach coming to take us to the Hunslet v Keighley match was due at 11am; when it had not arrived an hour later it was time to give up, not knowing, in those days before everyone had phones, Teletext, local radio and e-mails, the game had been called off the day before.

That was tedious but not as bad as the winter of 1962-63, when, for what seemed like months, games lessons were cancelled as the longest winter gripped.

Instead of playing rugby it was dancing with the girls in the gym, lots of Dashing White Sergeant, Gay Gordons and such. Even now the embarrassment lingers.

When it came to work and watching sport, particularly rugby union, for a living there were instances when snow really was a pain.

Like the afternoon in late March when Roundhay were drawn at Redcar in the Yorkshire Cup.

The journey was endless and totally fruitless; snow sweeping in from the Dogger Bank or Jutland had made the pitch unplayable.

Similarly disappointing was a Sunday afternoon trip to Vale of Lune to watch the 18-Group Schools match between Lancashire and Yorkshire.

Having rung the club before leaving (lessons had been learned) to check it was on, the drive was completed in deepening snow, only to arrive and find the teams had departed.

The thought of a warming half-hour in the bar before the return leg was quickly stifled; we were not members, no-one volunteered to sign us in so we could not be allowed use of the facilities. Any of them.

The most stamina-sapping experience caused by snow began early one Saturday morning, taking a taxi from Dublin's quayside into town. Snow had blanketed the city, the Ireland v England game was off; disaster.

The subsequent tour of Doheny and Nesbitt's in Upper Baggot Street, Neary's in Grafton Street, Moore Street market (best smoked salmon in the land), the Swan on York Street and finally dinner at the Lord Edward in Temple Bar before returning for the night ferry back was almost unforgettable.

The best story from snow-bound days came on January 17, 1987. The only game in the North to go ahead that day was at Clifton Park, York, where volunteers shovelling for two days had ensured the pitch was playable for a special occasion, the 1,000th first XV appearance for York by second-row forward Allan Robertshaw.

Moortown provided the opposition and Robertshaw remembers scoring the winning try – the only one of the game.

"I took a Moortown throw near to their line and just dropped over," he says. "I saw their hooker at Twickenham not long ago and he still could not believe he had thrown the ball straight at me."

Robertshaw's amazing run in York's first team had begun at the age of 16 shortly after he had scored eight tries in two games for the club's colts.

"I was picked to play at Scarborough in October 1959 during October half-term, what we called the 'potato-picking holiday,'" he recalls.

His 1,075th and final first XV game was at Beverley in 1992, just after he had celebrated his 50th birthday.

He still has the scrapbooks of cuttings and photographs and the TV tapes from the day in the snow five years earlier when he reached the magical 1,000 and has fond memories of many other games for York, not least two victories in Yorkshire Shield finals and one semi-final success over Halifax Vandals.

But if Robertshaw's match was the most memorable afternoon in the snow, quite the funniest was Ladies Day at Aintree in 2007, the day before Silver Birch's Grand National.

The girls of Liverpool had, as always, done their best; the hats and frocks were a sight to behold, if a tad skimpy given the bitter wind sweeping in from the Mersey.

They took their drinks like their men in the marquees then ventured out to watch the first race, just in time for a brief but highly-effective blizzard to sweep across the course.

Had there been a goose for every bump the decibel levels could not have been higher. They spent the rest of the afternoon still shivering, but under cover, the best place to be when the snow comes.