CHRIS HEWETT
GUEST COLUMN

Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings,” says the doctor to his patient, “but you have only four minutes to live.” “Is there nothing you can do?” asks the poor soul, panic oozing through his body like oil from a leaking jerrycan. “Well…I could boil you an egg.”
Wisecracks ancient and modern sprang to mind as Gloucester, forced to trade their customary cherry-and-white shirts for the rugby equivalent of swaddling clothes because their coach left his grown-up team at home, were read the last rites in Dublin. The only differences between them and the aforementioned ...