This game is going to affect you. You may not give a shit about rugby but if you live inNew Zealand then this game has significance. Someone you know will have anemotional investment in the outcome.Youwill have an emotional investment in this game.
As I drove north from Wellington, the signs were all there. Literally. Hand-written signs in fields. Flags hanging from trees and fences and balconies. Words carved into hillsides. All spurring on our national rugby team, despite the fact that the players themselves will never see it.
Approaching Auckland a bright yellow ferrari screams past me heading south, with an All Black flag attached to the window. Going in the other direction is a motorcycle with a large Welsh flag trailing out behind it. On the motorway a van has been painted with the orange, white and green of Ireland complete with scores of the games written on the back window (and a message that read "save your horn for your wife").
It's the night of the semi-final between France and Wales. My friends walk me up throughKingsland along the fan trail, where the number of daffodil heads out number the chicken heads. The mood is, as it has been for all the games, light and joyful. Everyone in good spirits and laughing. Only those fans in black look a little pensive.
Along the trail are buskers and bands and hawkers and fire. It is an amazing sight. Andof course, you saw or heard about the game.
There is also the possibility that the outcome of this match could alter the political landscape. If the All Blacks lose, we could see a change of government as the rose-tinted glasses are lifted and a fog of undirected angst falls on the population.
And now, here I am jotting down awful unfinished thoughts, as the anthems start ... And I am so fucking tense! So please excuse grammar and spelling, but go for it in the comments.
Colin Slade is a watched man. A full house at Wellington Stadium is watching him with a nervousness that comes from seeing your star player replaced by a guy who had to fight for a spot. For the most part they are silent; like 32,000 Grizz Wylies with a grim look and a note pad.
It's an incredible contrast to all the previous games here, which have been loud and boisterous. Fans from the opposing teams chanting constantly at each other with passion; here the noise rises only for events on the field. Cheers and groans. That is until the Mexican wave starts.
Slade's first touch of the ball is a groan moment. His kick is charged down by Canada and the resulting ruck ends in a very kickable penalty. Colin Slade is the reason Canada is leading at the beginning of this game. It does not build confidence.
The crowd remains quiet for most of the game. The noise of a New Zealand crowd is like the ocean; rising and falling depending on who has the ball and how far they run with it. They sing along to the songs they know and even when the music cuts off for the restart of play they continue:
"I don't kno-oooOOOOW, why does love, do this to me? I don't know. I don't know."
I suppose the more poetic might see this as a song about the New Zealand rugby fan and Dan Carter.
I miss you/You know that/But when I see you sometimes/I'm cut up and I'm broken/There am I asking you how you are
New Zealand will end up winning by a predictably impressive and hollow margin.
The interaction between the All Blacks after the game is interesting. Sonny Bill, who had a good game, is the only player to double back on the handshakes to congratulate his own team. He also has a complicated fist bump with Zac Guildford. Henry pats a stern looking Jerome Kaino on the ribs and says something causing the man of the match to break into a huge grin.
Everyone seems calm and happy. No worried faces here. They've moved on. Somewhere, Dan Carter watches this and feels ill. He'll later call a press conference and tell us all to "get over it", secretly worried that we already have.
All you hear is… HORNS IN THE CITY
Tonga wins! Tonga wins!
It was a joke at the start of the game. Then as momentum built the crowd began to realize that France weren't staging a typical comeback. None of their passes were going anywhere, no one could break the Tongan line, the kicks were off-target and the handling at crucial times was failing them. On top of that Tonga was completely disrupting French ball at the rucks. Good God Tonga is going to win this!
Head down and storming at the French line again and again. Every French tackle was made in desperation not through defensive strategy. The only thing stopping Tonga from a blow-out was their own inability to hold the ball at crucial times and an overzealous touch judge making calls from the far side of the field.
I had sent an email at half time, with Tonga having scored their try, to my French friend in Toulouse. I knew she'd be watching and joked about the state of her heart. I feel bad about that now.
In the stands you couldn't stop the Tongan fans. They were waving flags and cheering and whooping and did not stop making noise. They made a ¾ full stadium feel like a sell-out. The French fans sat in disbelief and in some cases disgust at their own team. This is not to say they were angry, it was more that they were sad that their team would play so badly (I personally blame the uniforms).
Word from the inside the French team is that there is no cohesion between the players, and some outright hatred in some cases. Marc Lievremont has come out and said that this team is like the French football team at last year's FIFA World Cup. As an aside some in the media booth (not me) on Sunday were angry that this press conference had been "cancelled" only for it to un-cancelled without notification.
But back to the Caketin which was awash in red and white. The Tongan fans were going crazy. In the booth the French journalists had their heads in their hands. The Tongan team thanking their fans with a Sipi Tau (possibly the best of the Pacific pre-game challenges) all the way around the stadium. This is their biggest triumph.
In town there are hundreds of happy Tongans cheering and flag waving and car-horn honking and being as loud as they can. And they were as loud as the horns that were blaring continuously in Newtown from midday. There are almost three times as many French fans; they aren't making much noise (other than cheering for the Scots in the late game).
But eventually the Tongan fervor dries up and Courtenay Place's usual late night demographic takes over. The French fans continue on into the early morning. If you can win anything, at least win the after party.
Deadspin
When I heard that Deadspin, a website I have spoken of before, was sending a couple of reporters here for the Cup I thought it would be a great opportunity to talk to them about rugby reporting in the US.
Turns out they were doing the cup on a shoestring budget with Deadspin contributing "beer money" and an audience. So I helped them out, bought them beer, let them crash at my place and did my bit to help ease that old ANZUS rift.
Apologies for the sudden ending to this, but my camera ran out of memory.
We have loved you all
We've had some great times haven't we? Some close games. Some blow outs. We've welcomed some of the happiest people and sadly waved as they have played their games and left. Some with tears, some with smiles, most with both.
At the end of the Japan-Canada game I made my way through the stands and helped a few people to take group photos. One in particular struck me. Two Japanese men: one in a kimono, the other in a Japanese rugby jersey. As I raised the camera I realised the man in the rugby jersey was crying, a lot. And why not? The crowd where he was sitting was unbelievably loud and cheering for a team that was playing its last game in the tournament. Its last chance to get a win. And all they got, after their best performance of the Cup, was a draw. I took their photo, patted him on the shoulder and walked on.
The press conference was delayed as the Japanese team were given their medals and walked slowly around the stands. When they arrived, coach John Kirwan and Japanese captain Takashi Kikutani were smiling at least, before the Japanese press launched an attack on Kirwan's selection policy and coaching choices. After the third question on this topic the humble Kikutani, politely asked if he could speak, and in one of those moments where the quietest man in the room held everyone's attention he defended JK, leaving the press silent. After the questions the two stood and hugged.
It's been slightly heartbreaking watching the teams leave; the Italians and Scots weeping after leaving everything on the field. The Italian captain wanting to lament with his teammates but not being able to leave the clutches of the post-game interview. Mahonri Schwalger, with his soft tone, wanting to apologise to the Samoan fans after a spirited performance against South Africa. And then Marius Tincu, with a smile and a shrug, as his team bow out.
These were our own teams for a time. We adopted the Lelos and the Brave Blossoms. The Eagles and ʻIkale Tahi had homes and communities all over the country. We cheered when they won and patted them on the back when they lost. We painted our faces with their colours and took some of our own traditions and changed them for these new teams.
And their fans came here too. Some reveling in a trip to the other side of the world, others amazed at being in "the home of rugby" (sorry England). Check the photos above for some interesting stories I found in the crowds (and bars).
After the All Blacks played Canada we bumped into a group of Canucks in a local beer bar. One of them was wearing a brighly coloured, seemingly official, Canadian rugby jersey, so I had to ask. Turns out he was a former international who had played against the All Blacks in 1980 (something which current Canadian players were jealous of). As they left they gave me a little pin to remember them by (turns out the Canadian government gives these away free to giveaway when you're overseas, what a great idea!)
But this guy is my favourite:
Troy had flown in from Tampa, which is where he broke his nose playing rugby. The large number of flights between there and New Zealand meant that his nose never healed properly and was still bleeding. After watching a few games he was off to Australia and some Pacific islands before heading back home... which is when he'll finally get the nose fixed.
It's enough to make you want the pool matches to continue. We loved having you all, please stay longer.
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Thanks to Samsung for the Galaxy Tab 10.1 which I use to report from the games and to Telecom for the SIM card inside it, which actually has reception at the Caktein.
Thanks also to Honda for giving me that flash hybrid which meant I could get to Napier and back.
The week started with the non-upset of Tonga by Canada and then suddenly Ireland are beating Australia. I was in a comedy club at the time when the news came through a cheer went up and the comedian (whose name I have forgotten) said:
Shhhhhhh! Don’t get too excited! Remember last time we all started cheering when Australia lost and then the All Blacks had to play France.
But if you think we’re nervous, you should talk to a French fan. They’re pretty worked up, but they have a different attitude. While we fret, they laugh. One French friend of mine made a bet with Ma’a Nonu for a bottle of wine if the French won. And I got this from another rugby-loving French friend in Toulouse:
… one thing is good, is that our two teams meet in the pool stage cause we love playing the All Blacks and when the Tricolores happen to win over them it's like they just "made love" so they crash on the next game cause they all ready have given all their love.
I love this analogy. Trust the French to bring love into the equation. They are keyed up on nervous energy, excited like it’s Christmas Eve and they can’t sleep. While we are also nervous it’s because of a creeping dread that maybe we’re going to lose this all again. Le Sigh.
Did you notice my friend called the French, “The Tricolores”? I have only read one article in New Zealand calling them that instead of Les Bleus. But it’s hard to call them Tricolores these days with a uniform that is almost two-thirds black.
Yes, it has come to this. I couldn’t give a fuck about England’s black uniform; it was Nike gimmick that made no sense with England’s traditional colour scheme (red and white). To have black (outlined) numbers on the back of the white jerseys was also terrible.
But then France ran out… oh Nike what have you done?
Black shorts that fade to a royal (French) blue at the collar, with the same effect down the socks (with blue at the ankles). Thin little red and white stripes on the collar and cuffs do not make up for what is a travesty of a uniform. And make no bones about it this is a direct play at adidas and the All Blacks. For all the wank about clean stadiums we have two multinational corporations going at each other and one of them is ruining a team’s national colours to do it.
So, let me say this: France, ignore the fact that Nike are making some of the best designed uniforms in the competition and drop them unless they agree to take a closer look at your flag and redesign your uniforms accordingly. Les bleus sont pour le chant.
And speaking of uniforms I have a give-away! The lovely folks at adidas have given me two jerseys to give away: a Los Pumas Argentinian jersey and an All Blacks jersey (yes, one of those expensive ones). How do you win them? Go to this thread and tell me your best World Cup Story. The best story involving people from overseas in New Zealand wins the Pumas jersey; the best story with only locals wins the All Blacks jersey. I’ll draw them next week so hopefully you’ll have them before the quarterfinals kick off.
With any luck you can wear that All Black one all the way through to the final and even the morning after, when you might feel like a Frenchman... so to speak.
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Thanks to adidas for the awesome giveaways! Viva Los Pumas and Go the All Blacks!
And thanks to Samsung for the use of their Galaxy Tab 10.1 for the duration of the Rugby World Cup. The lovely little device is the perfect machine for a journalist on the go, like myself.
The lovely folks at adidas have given me two jerseys to give away: a Los Pumas Argentinian jersey and an All Blacks jersey (yes, one of those expensive ones).
How do you win them? Tell us your best World Cup story in the comments below.
The best story involving people from overseas in New Zealand wins the Pumas jersey. The best story with only locals wins the All Blacks jersey. (Once you win we figure out sizes so don't worry about that)
I’ll draw them next week so hopefully you’ll have them before the quarterfinals kick off.
Thanks to adidas for these awesome prizes and good luck to Argentina and the All Blacks (though slightly more luck to the ABs).
This short piece comes from Roland Maul and is his thoughts after the Wales - South Africa match.
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On Saturday, despite the fantastic match that had unfolded in front me, I felt sick. Sick and angry.
The game is reaching an edge-of-your-seat crescendo, the match nail-bitingly close and tense. With eight minutes to go and his team behind, Wales flanker and captain Sam Warburton is named Man of the Match. With eight minutes to go. And his team behind.
His teams loses the match. This is a hugely important match. The immediate aftermath where morale has hit rock bottom (if only for a short while) is where a captain is needed to rally his troops.
Shattered physically and (probably) emotionally he heads toward the dressing room to reflect, while thinking about how to restore confidence in his beaten men.
He doesn’t quite make it.
He is grabbed by media personnel for post-match interviews. Giving him no time to fully digest what has happened, he is questioned on how he feels about the match and asked for detailed information to help breakdown the result. I wish I’d heard what was asked and answered. It is cold and raining out in the middle of Wellington regional stadium. The interview finishes and Warburton goes to leave. But he is grabbed again by media personnel. He needs to stay for his Man of the match award.
The other interviews begin. The winning captain. The losing coach. The winning coach.
Warburton stands alone, in his soaking uniform. The wind-chill factor must be making it less than 5 degrees out there. No one offers him a jacket. His team sit in the dressing room waiting for their leader.
Finally his interview begins. I wish I could have heard what they asked him and how he responded. But I'm glad I didn’t because I'm sure I would have sworn. Loudly.
Maybe it went something like this. ‘So you just won man of the match, even though you lost. How do you feel?’
I would have forgiven him if he’d told the collected reporters to go fuck themselves. Heck I would have forgiven him and given him a medal.
This is shocking media vampirism. A thirst for information regardless of the willingness or condition of the subject. And for what? What meaningful insight can a shattered man possibly offer? Is this some sort of sick voyeuristic hunger that sports fans have to see a man in pain struggle through even more? Who demanded this in the first place.
It makes me sick and angry.
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Thanks to Samsung for the use of their Galaxy Tab 10.1 for the duration of the Rugby World Cup. The lovely little device is the perfect machine for a journalist on the go, like myself.
