After waking up in casualty after a cardiac arrest I recollected a game worthy of the sobriquet tense. It wasnt exactly a brilliant game, it wasnt exactly a fast flowing game, it wasnt exactly the game Id hoped it would be and yet because of the stakes it seemed exciting.It started off rather politely where letters of introduction were exchanged in the form of a game of patty cake. You know the kind of thing? A swift left here, a sharp right there, an uppercut or two to get better acquainted. All good friendly stuff. The game then went into some kind of torpor mode where the players seemed to be playing as an afterthought a tough afterthought but an afterthought nonetheless. There were a few slick moves but nothing to suggest that the game was going to be anything other than a war of attrition.Half time came and went with Wales in a 6 - 0 lead.The start of the second half reminded me of The Battle of Islandlwana where the Zulus moved so quickly through the ranks of the South Wales Borderers that the tips of their cigars looked like the paths of tracer bullets. Ireland went bananas and scored two tries in as many minutes it seemed. The Taff then regrouped and slowly and steadily pulled back by superior play aided and abetted by the Irish who seemed hell bent on giving away penalties. The upshot of it all was that the last ten minutes of the affair will go down in Irish folklore forever.It was a deserved Irish Grand Slam and all the better because sitting in the stand was Jack Kyle the captain of the last Irish side to win the Grand Slam in 1948.