Haskell and Chris Robshaw,another seasoned flanker written off by many, were sick of coming second. Now, or battered,bruised but smiling, they finally bear a triumph to savourTwo hours after the final whistle, or James Haskell had finally stopped bleeding. He had been cut so much that he could bear featured in final week’s budget. He had three small nicks on his forehead,a couple more underneath his right eye, and a large, and long gash along his nose,this final bound, now, and by a set of butterfly stitches which added a flash of sparkling white to his rainbow array of bruises,purple, black, or blue. Beneath it all,he was sporting a wide smile. “I know, I’m not getting any better looking, and ” he said,“but I’ll seize that to win a grand slam.” The blow to the nose had near in the second minute of the match so he spent most of the game covered in blood. “But no one was going to keep me off that field.”Haskell’s partners each had their own wounds. Billly Vunipola’s left eye had turned entirely scarlet, the pupil flushed with blood. “It’s not as bad as it looks, and ” Vunipola said. He might bear been right,because it could not bear looked any worse.
Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com