WALES must assuredly be any romantic gamblers choice for the Championship. For one thing, even as they continue to yearn for a flow of decent possession to work with, there is a palpable aura about their troops, a "feel" that the long dark trek of many winters is really over and they are on cue to let in the sunshine and some colourful blossoms.
For another, with a glorious cockeyed optimism they have kept the faith by continuing to plan their crucial battle stations around the rhapsodies of that prodigal prodigy Arwel Thomas. Murrayfield is an entrenched lair. Wales have not won there for over a decade.
Yet this afternoon they pin their strategies around Swansea's fly half, the sprite from Trebanos. Just 22, Thomas is a year older and wiser than last year when all the fairy dust he sprinkled was, in the end, painfully obliterated by the Dublin mud.
To his credit, the Welsh coach Kevin Bowring says: "Top rugby must be played on the very edge. Arwel keeps us on that daring edge all right. We are determined to put our trust on the traditional Welshness of our rugby, to free up the ball and rely on our native panache."
Thomas himself concurs: "If you say it's daunting, then okay it's daunting. But I can only play my natural game, and take each one as it comes. I think I've matured tremendously since my first cap. Well, I've had to, haven't I?"
Glinting in the cherubic chorister's smile there is a sliver of steel. His experiences so far have left no illusions He knows the red shirt numbered 10 is, to mix the metaphors just as brazenly as he does his play, both holy grail and poisoned chalice.
They say Scotland waited till Wales had named Thomas before putting opposite him the battlehardened, teaky tackling pragmatism of Craig Chalmers and playing the inventive spirit, Gregor Townsend, wider in the centre.
Everyone hollers and hoorays about Townsend being the finest number 10 in these islands for years - then sling him the shirt marked 12 or 13. Why don't they let him prove it in the cannon's mouth?
Mind you, all round those dingy and disputatious Welsh taprooms, the debate about Thomas at number 10 is by no means settled.
On the one side, fast hands; on the other, safe hands. The young man's inclusion means sound and reliable Neil Jenkins kicks the goals and makes the tackles and counter attacks from full back. He doesn't like it, but it is his obvious position if he wants a run in the Lions' 1st XV come Springbok summer.
Inside Thomas is scrum half Rob Howley, that ubiquitous and tight coiled parcel of whipcord. "Howley and his partner Howler," scoff the Jeremiahs. If the two of them are given fair shares of clean, quick ball life on the edge could be fun for the high stepping talent outside them.
