Saturday was pure edge-of-seat entertainment (if you can call it that) with three of the final Six Nations games back to back. It was St Patrick's Day. My brother was over visiting from Dublin. I had arranged dinner for 12 of us that night. The fizz was chilling in the fridge. Surely this was our year....

Time for the first game of three. Beautiful sunshine in Rome. Keith Wood commenting on our poor start (at one point we're thinking the unthinkable - Italy could actually beat us unless we get it together). We turned it around with three first-half tries but O'Gara missed too many conversions. I found myself cursing his boot. Could have been better in the last quarter - allowing Italy's last-minute try (deja vu all over again - Ireland did the same thing against the French - reminding me of Will Carling's "play to the whistle" remark). We beat them 51-24. We needed France to beat Scotland by less than 24 points. Was it enough?

So it was over to Scotland, who started off brilliantly with two tries. I thought "this is it - this is really it" but the French fought back big style and gave the Scots a real thrashing in the second half. France went ahead by 25 points. But 15 minutes to play. As it approached 5pm I realised I had to pick my friend Clive up from Henley train station (in time to watch the England game) so I dragged myself away from the TV with butterflies in my stomach. As I walked out the door, Scotland scored a try. I jumped around the living room. My brother was doing the same. The margin was back in Ireland's favour.

Driving into town listening to Five Live with five minutes left on the clock, I prayed for Scotland to hold on. Alas, Ireland weren't the only ones allowing the opposition last-minute tries. The French pushed over the line and it went to the video ref. It was as if he was trying to find a reason not to award the try. I was giving him plenty. But the try was awarded. France won the game and took the championship by two points. I punched the steering wheel and cried "NO!!"...

I arrived at the station completely miserable. I was too upset to talk. I picked up a text from Ben saying "Check out the cricket - Ireland are beating Pakistan!" which was so surreal I had to check with the lads whether Ireland actually had a cricket team at the World Cup. Couldn't help thinking a cricket score against Italy would've changed the outcome. So having watched Wales beat England and discussed defeat over a fabulous meal with the gang, we turned on the cricket highlights to scenes of people in blazing Carribean sunshine, dodgy green wigs and Guinness hats celebrating victory over Pakistan. Unreal. Heard today there were riots in Pakistan. Then the news that Pakistan's coach, Bob Woolmer, died after what must have been a stressful time.

More despair listening to Five Live in the car today as I sat in traffic on the M4 on the way to Heathrow for my brother's flight home. Two fellow gooners sat tutting and sighing as we witnessed Arsenal approaching a 0-0 draw at Everton. Then fate struck a cruel blow and, as was the trend this weekend, a last minute goal saw Everton win. The Chelsea fan in the back was very quiet. And very smug no doubt.

 Oh well, it's only a game.........and despite the outcome, we have plenty to celebrate. The way sport brings people together being one.