The Rugby Way of Life

Monday, October 8. 2007.
It is a day of mourning in New Zealand reflected by the somber gray skies and seen resonating in the eyes of citizens everywhere. The unthinkable has happened. The All Blacks have been eliminated from the Rugby World Cup. It was a quarterfinals game I believe, and New Zealand lost 20-18 to France, who, somewhat surprisingly didn't surrender *rim shot*. A friend of mine told me that her father openly wept for the first time since his mother died, and men everywhere spoke of inexplicable loss about yesterday's game.

Rugby is far and away the national sport of New Zealand, with Cricket being a distant second. The players have achieved God-like status here. Their Quads are the size of 60 Gallon drums and their skulls have been known to deflect shells from the battleship Yamato. There are posters up everywhere, cars everywhere are adorned with black flags and I've met guys that could recite just about every play from a game they saw 20 years ago. The Super 14 league game I went to earlier this year is a pretty standard event, but the Rugby World Cup, just as in Football (That's soccer for you Yanks) only happens every 4 years. It's been 20 years since the All Blacks, New Zealand's team, has come home with the Championship. Kiwi's feel they are long overdue, as they are almost always a powerhouse and an early favorite in the competition. I was away during the weekend, but apparently during the game the streets were eerily quite and the supermarkets were empty. Expectations were definitely high before the momentum was shattered by France's rally. They'll be even higher in 2011 when New Zealand hosts the next world cup. Cheers!