An All Blacks affair

Michael here, writing a bit about the rugby match that Rob and I went to last weekend. At the time, Rob was heading into his last week in this country. Our hope is that he’s going back to Oregon to collect his things, earn a little bit of money to get his affairs in order, all to prepare to come back for a more permanent stay.

Rugby here is like a religion, of sorts. A religion that transcends race, age, gender, socio-economics – a bridge that reaches across all differences. There are old people and young people, families with kids, couples, grandparents, Māori & Pakeha – and they’re all rabid fans of the All Blacks. It sort of feels like ice hockey in Canada (maybe even the Montreal Canadiens, for those of you who might know about that).

The game was an amazing combination of so many things. The crowd was big, even for NZ standards. But all friendly, polite, and civil. No drunks being jerks. No thugs causing trouble. Just people. A long, long train brought us in to town with K, J, and P, and we worked our way with the crowd into the stadium. Going in to the game was one of the numerous examples I come across here that blends modern efficiencies and technology with old-fashioned, a-bit-behind-the-times kind of feel. I had purchased our tickets on Ticketmaster for the low, low price of $100 each. The familiar interface and high prices left me feeling that this was just like tickets to a Capitals game in DC. By the time that we got to the will call line, things began feeling different. Will Call at the stadium here is a small office in the middle of a huge pedestrian walkway into the stadium, with glass windows on two sides, each with two or three ticket windows. The letters “A-F” and “G-M,” etc., handwritten, and taped above each window. In Office Depot envelope boxes were hundreds of pieces of paper, folded as though they were going to go into some missing envelope at some point in their future. Each folded paper had a paper clip on the end, and on the exposed front of the paper was a handwritten name. Each person who had purchased tickets from Ticketmaster for the game – and by the looks of the lines, there were thousands of us – had a similar paper waiting for him or her. High tech met low tech, and high tech decided to pick up some saucy neon MP3 player!

Next Exhibit – Concessions Line: We were a bit late coming in and, being swept in with the crowd, forgot to get dinner. No worries, we’ll just eat at the game. Being without Jennifer, Hot Dogs were on the menu. After standing in a not-to-long food line, we ordered 4 beers (the limit) and 4 dogs. The young kiwi woman filled up the tray with wrapped-in-paper corn dogs, or what us Americans would call corn dogs. Why is it that “regular” hot dogs are “American Hot Dogs” and what they call hot dogs are corn dogs? We sheepishly got her to switch the corn dogs for chicken burgers – grilled chicken breast, grilled onions, catsup (aka tomato sauce). Not too bad.

Sitting a row above us were four young guys from France cheering on the All Blacks’ opponents. They were very French, faces painted bleu, blanc, et rouge and all, yelling and putting up with a fair amount of playful ribbing from the kiwi fans around them. And sitting next to Rob was a lovely older couple – he on the aisle, she next to Rob – and she was the source of all things rugby and All Blacks, and all delivered from the person who should be your grandma or your great aunt. I kept expecting her to pull out her knitting basket, but she must have left it at home for a big a match as this one.

And then was the national anthems. For one, no one took their hats off. The French guys above us were screaming La Marseillaise as the choir on the field sang the anthem. Then the NZ anthem came on. I think Jennifer has written about it before in an earlier entry. Missing are the bombs bursting and the rockets red glare, and in their place are words about unity and freedom. It’s an interesting contrast, highlighted by the fact that the first verse is sung in Maori! (Admittedly, the Maori verse was a bit quieter than the English verses and many people were following along with the bouncing ball on the huge video screen, but still). It was at this point where I think that I felt my foreign-ness more clearly than I have at any other time on this adventure. This was not my game. These were not my people. This was not my country. As much as I have wanted to be French, Je ne suis pas la. So there we were, in the bright lights with this strange crowd – a crowd that is, nevertheless, beginning to feel a bit more familiar – listening to this strange anthem halfway around the world. It was interesting. And informative. And fun!

Of course, there can be no more powerful moment than when the All Blacks perform the Haka, which is a Maori war dance that they do before going into battle. (Another example is here, which is met by the Tongan war dance. One more here, for those, like me, who are awed by the display.). And while the Haka has more than one meaning, and has its roots in a place that’s less about war and more about survival, it has come to be a display to intimidate the opposing side. I imagine the first European settlers sailing with James Cook, landing in (what is now) New Zealand, only to be greeted by a tribe of screaming, huge, tattooed warriors dancing the Haka. It would not feel like a peaceful invitation where anything good would happen! The crowd got silent as the team captain began the ceremony. Watch the videos to get a really good sense of what it is like. It feel so unbelievably powerful and like a strong connection to a cultural past. Showmanship? Yes. Gamesmanship? Absolutely. But the All Blacks are perhaps the most famous rugby side in the world, and their Haka is the one to see.

By the time we headed back out for the long train ride to Paekakariki a few hours later, we had witnessed an absolute demolition of the French side. The All Blacks finished 59-10 (Rob had predicted 60-3 early on in the game). The French team was badly beaten by a superior team, although I later learned that the French rugby season hadn’t yet finished and a number of their better players had not yet joined the national team. The sense was that the All Blacks still would have won, but it might not have been so lopsided. It was a wonderful thing to have done, to have done with my friend Rob, and to have been a part of to deepen my experience here in this land so far from my former home.