Pants

I was waiting for a train at Charing Cross last week when my eye was diverted from the departure boards by a large poster. Resplendent in larger than life size glory were a number of gentlemen who weren't wearing very much at all. In fact they were clad solely in the Dolce and Gabbana underwear that the poster was advertising and they clearly weren't strangers to the gym. A caption read "The Italian Rugby Team." I thought this was rather clever, what with the current round of autumn rugby international tests taking place and Dolce and Gabbana being Italian. Then I began to look closer.

I don't know why, but I'd initially assumed that the fine specimens of manhood on display were professional underwear models. This was not the case. All of a sudden I noticed that one of them was Massi, Italy's infamous non-kicking fly half - an undoubtedly talented player but quite unsuited to that particular position on the field. Then I saw Kane Robertson, qualified to play in the Italian team by virtue of his having an Italian grandmother but still a useful try scorer when given the opportunity. I perceived the absence of Castrogiovani from the picture - a stalwart of the Italian scrum, but one of the larger, heavier-built members of the team who probably wouldn't have shown off the designer knickers to their best effect. "Blimey," I thought, "that really is the Italian rugby team!"

At this point I realised that I'd been gazing intently at the poster for a good few minutes amidst the hustle and bustle of the station concourse. My fellow travelers must have thought I was lost in the pleasant contemplation of exposed male flesh, adrift in a sea of beefcake daydreams. Slightly embarrassed, I averted my eyes, even though I knew my mind was on higher things. I was thinking about the maul, the ruck and the drop goal, and how it's not long to go now before the start of the Six Nations, where I shall drink Peroni and positively will Italy to do better than they usually do. I was thinking about how much I enjoy watching rugby, with its potent mix of brain and brawn, tactics, mud, blood, determination and occasional violence. And of course I was thinking how all of this now has an added dimension since Mr Dolce and Mr Gabbana saw fit to reveal to me the hidden wonders beneath the players' team strips ;-)