Last month something tragic, totally unacceptable and completely avoidable happened. The All Blacks, the country’s number one team, the heroes to both normal and adult children, the men who represent the overwhelming favourite sport in the land were beaten. Nay worse than that, very soundly beaten, even slaughtered by a team, some descended from leprechauns, who play a sport that comes in a distant sixth behind darts and indoor bowls in their country.
Just after the game I took my dogs, who weren’t particularly concerned about the loss, for a quick walk. The sounds of distress and heartbreak emanating from properties up and down the street could have been mistaken for mass bereavements. It was also impossible not to notice the smashed televisions outside equally smashed windows and my cell phone went flat after calling the police on multiple occasions reporting attempted suicides.
After stopping a middleaged man dressed in an All Black replica jersey and nothing else, from jumping in front of a fully laden logging truck driven by his wife, I learned the true reason for his distress. The fact the All Blacks lost was bad, very bad, but the thing that completely tipped him was the Irish coach is an ex-league player who represented Wigan for the vast majority of his playing career. At this club he won three grand finals and numerous Challenge Cups. He also represented Great Britain in 34 league tests.
He switched to rugby late in his playing career, partly because he was getting too old to take the knocks a league forward endures but mainly because of the money offered by a very rich English Rugby Union.
“It’s just disastrous,” he said, between sobs. “That the best New Zealand Rugby could come up with was out thought and out coached by a bloody leaguey.”
I left the poor soul in the recovery position on the footpath.
The following morning, much to the surprise of the vast majority of fanatical New Zealand rugby supporters, the sun came up and the the land had not been devastated by disease and pestilence as many the night before had believed would happen.
In mass, the following week, supporters flocked to social media baying for the blood of Foster, Plumtree and Cane. The only hope for them was a total clean out before the wounded All Blacks go to South Africa.
Friday came with the news the team and coaching staff would remain unchanged. The day will be renamed All Black Friday.
Jacindarella has called for calm and is considering passing a law we have to be nice to the All Blacks and kind to each other, even if they lose in South Africa.
So, where are we now? Well, I’ll bloody tell you. The country is in a mess, parents can’t afford to feed their kids or put petrol in their cars, heaps of young people haven’t got a shit show of ever owning their own homes and our racial divide is getting wider every day. With all this happening, does the fact 15 blokes, who happened to be wearing black jerseys, lost a game of footy matter? Does it really?
