By News Online Scotland's Mark Coyle

So. That was Rome. We went, we watched but we certainly didn't conquer. Or at least not on the field.

By their very nature, rugby tours are raucous affairs. The one-liners are fantastic but are in the main too risque to repeat here.

Our first trip to Italy for the two countries' Six Nations debut proved, true to form, raucous, but intensely good-natured.

Looking back from a bleak and wet Monday morning in Glasgow, the last few days seem almost surreal.

Did I really appear on the pages of several national newspapers, kilt swirling, bagpipes playing with the magnificent Trevi fountain in the background?

Did we really recreate scenes from Ben Hur by hiring horse-drawn carriages to take us from the Coliseum (yes, there was some concession to Roman history on the trip)?

Did we really do the Dashing White Sergeant with about 100 Italians, Americans, Australians, in the Campo dei Fiori square well into the early hours of Friday morning?

In short, yes. And the Italians loved it. Absolutely loved it. About 25 of us from Allan Glens rugby club in Glasgow rolled into Rome last Thursday morning, not really knowing what kind of reception lay ahead.

World-class piper

Was this great footballing city of AC Roma and Lazio fame ready for the Scottish rugby bandwagon? We needn't have worried. To begin with, the Romans were mystified by these tartan-clad invaders. Then as word spread that this was in fact a big rugby weekend, it all became a bit clearer.

If I hadn't swapped my prized rugby tour hat with a Carabinieri who had a passion for Scotland, we could have used it to collect fees every time our picture was taken. I reckon I could have raised enough money not to have to think about returning to work on Tuesday.

Our master stroke was taking a world-class piper with us. Not only did his tunes bring streets to a standstill, they also proved brilliant aural signposts for stragglers who perhaps dallied to down their beer and lost the main tour group. The international media were quick to latch on.

We made the BBC in Scotland, Grandstand on Saturday (mum - thanks for ringing me to ask if I was still wearing the same socks I put on before leaving Glasgow), Italian network television and even Romanian television for goodness' sake! I think at one point New Scientist even asked for a snap.

But what of the game, the actual reason for us being there? Well, let's put it like this: my Italian doesn't stretch much beyond "25 grande Perronis", the usual bar orders but I decided to find out how to tell Italians that they would win, not Scotland. When in Rome, and all that.

'We wuz crappio'

"Italia vitoria" (apologies for the probable mis-spelling), I was cheerfully told. After that, I recounted the words several times, with every thought of being able to console them after we'd given them a good old Six Nations thrashing.

What I hadn't counted on was my prediction actually coming true. The result simply hadn't been in the script. I'll leave commentary on the game to those whose words fill sports pages, but all I'll say is one team wanted to win and it sure wasn't us. Please Ian (McGeechan) find us a kicker.

But true to form, being the world's best losers, we trooped out of the Stadio Flaminio, heads held high, our piper leading us on, and with the applause of the Italians ringing in our ears.

Over many beers late into the Saturday night, one tortured expression recurred and seems to sum up our display on the field: "We wuz crappio."

Ach, never mind. We had a great time, I got the sun on my face and made new friends in the process. Coming back to Glasgow on Sunday night via Amsterdam, a baffled onlooker asked us why we seemed so happy when we'd been so comprehensively beaten.

Unless you're Scottish, it's a bit hard to explain that one. But perhaps I can shed some light on it by referring you to one of the ditties which rang out as we left the stadium, sung to the tune of the Pet Shop Boys' Go West song:

"We're s***e and we know we are "We're s***e and we know we are "We're s***e and we know we are "We're s***e and we know we are."

I reckon Rome can become one of Europe's great rugby cities. I'm certainly looking forward to going back. Roll on 2002!