All that was missing from the post-victory celebrations was a high-stepping can-can from the players down the steep aisles of the Milburn Stand.
Toulouse had earned the right to celebrate and they weren’t going to miss the opportunity. Olly Ashall-Bott appeared clutching four pints looking like they were all for him. Cracking little player…maybe they were. Forwards emerged holding stacks of pizza boxes in their big paws meant for teammates and their entourage - with some lucky fans handed them too.
Olympique had hit back with five unanswered tries to topple Wakefield and close the gap on them at the foot of the table to two points. Castleford’s Joe Westerman found a spot in the sun in his orange vest to stretch out that big tattooed frame and watch the second half, shouting “give it, give it” when a stuttering Trinity attack tried to fire down the sidelines. Like the mercury outside, things were quickly warming up and Magic Weekend had kicked off with a bang.
As various figures in smart blue kit high-fived, whooped and rejoiced, one figure sat motionless - and emotionless. England coach Shaun Wane watched every second of every game over the weekend, sitting alone and staring intensely at proceedings like a judge staring down at murderers in the dock. There wasn’t a notepad in sight but the glare was fixed as the countdown to the opening game of the World Cup at this magnificent stadium ticks down below 100 days.
His recent pick Jake Wardle looked sharp and hard to handle for Warrington while Wane’s favourite son Sam Tomkins looked the only route to keep Catalans in the frame. Wardle’s teammate Daryl Clark reminded Wane what a threat he can still offer with that hooker’s spot up for grabs. Jack Welsby and Jonny Lomax gel more with every game for St Helens and that new partnership may well be the best to try to unpick the Samoan defence in that opener.
But the day provides sobering thoughts too. Bevan French and Jai Field have as much chance of a Kangaroo shirt as I do yet they look like T20 players stuck in a dour five-day Test side compared to their Wigan teammates. Fabulous to watch, the pair of them. Away from the pitch Rob Burrow’s two daughters, dazzling and dizzy in the bright yellow kits they had designed, larked around seemingly without a care in the world.
They played in their dad’s chair and celebrated tries with wonderful, crazed dances. While we perhaps mourn and marvel with equal measure at their dad, beaming away when fans reacted to seeing him on the big screen, all you could do was smile. Their innocence was captivating.
For a player hitting headlines for reasons off the pitch recently, it was refreshing to watch Richie Myler skating away behind the Leeds attack. He speeds things up when it’s needed and selected the right pass and option as their left edge taunted Castleford. Even Aidan Sezer turned up for the Rhinos but when Myler plays like this, Leeds can breathe easier.
One club’s director of rugby playfully pinched the bottom of another club’s CEO. Brodie Croft looked frisky too. He was a menace and a tap-dancing joy in the centre of the field as his Salford side succumbed to Huddersfield.
The Giants have more in their locker these days and when Salford tried a comeback, sleeves were rolled up and shutters slammed down. Steve McNamara, in t-shirt and trainers, had enjoyed Saturday’s three games, relaxing like a fan and giving Toulouse coach Sylvain Houles a firm congratulatory victory handshake. Sunday was business day though and Wolves, as well as they played, will thank their lucky stars they caught his Catalans Dragons side with so many forward weapons missing.
And as Warrington’s green party victory drums faded in the corner of the Gallowgate End the real noise was saved for the final game. The broiling conditions outside the stadium combined with all that liquid consumed in the surrounding streets meant the volume turned up considerably. This was more like it.
Both Hull teams are struggling for consistency and FC’s loan market scramble highlighted their desperation. But guess what? Luke Gale finally took control of a game this season. It was some feat given Rovers prop Korbin Sims would have continually appeared in his wing mirror like he’d been shot out of the artillery vehicle parked in the fan zone.
Those fans in the black and white would have staggered and sloshed their way home happier and with the latest bragging rights. Perfect end to their weekend. Wandering down Grey Street on Saturday night the dying embers of the sun lit up the Grey’s monument like a beacon. The jaw-dropping sweep of those giant neo-classical buildings glowed as much as the shoeless Toon ladies wobbling alongside them. This is some city.
Every year the game asks who deserves to host Magic. Competition is good and Sheffield, Bristol, Nottingham would all potentially deliver - while taking the fun to Brighton would be brave (and save me a six hour journey). But once again Newcastle delivered on and off the pitch and that World Cup opener can’t come soon enough.
My favourite friendly steward, his huge, bright orange jacket boiling him in a bag, was asked his name by a friend’s daughter. "Rod,” he replied - to her giggles. Leaving behind Newcastle - and Rod Steward? I don’t want to talk about it.
