Days 16-18.Back in Auckland and having secured a site at the only inner-city Holiday park in Remuera(with all facilities and $15 per night cheaper than the "official" inadequate temporary site at the Trotting track car park) I have booked right through to Saturday's semi-final(a mouth watering France v Wales). My last night will be at an airport hotel as I fly out at 6:30am on Sunday.
Rex flew in from Australia again and was kind enough to drive me to further sights on Friday, including the inner city beach he used to walk to as a child. We went up to the comanding outlook over the city and both harbours,set on the rim of extinct volcanos.
Remuera is a classy suburb-think Mosman and generally Sydney north shore set- so it shouldn't have been a surprise to me that, when I walked up(lung-busting hill) to the seemingly limited row of shops on the main road and asked, through the part-open window of a bakery, for a bacon and egg butty, to be invited by a man with a French accent to come in and see what was available in their chiller cabinet-foolish me-it was a real French patisserie run by three(very Jolie! ) French men. I tried to save the day by ordering a delicious toasted cheese and ham croissant served on a wooden carvery board and indulging in as much French repartie as North Manchester Grammar taught me in 1958(just scraped a pass at O level GCE.
As I sat reading the paper and drinking my coffee a stream of local matrons came and went dressed in almost uniform black tights and sweat tops-no bling- and clutching cardbord cups of delectable take-home coffee(does anybody make it at home in inner cities anymore?)
The rest of the day was taken up with a ferry ride of more than Circular Quay to Manly dimensions, out to Waiheke Island-a popular weekender resort spot, where Rex had booked lunch at a beachside restaurant(super home baked steak pie)
After this my first phase of necessary exercise(to loosen up my weak knee after so much sitting and driving) took place with a full length patrol of the pristine beach and its array of individualistic "Baches"(what Kiwis call holiday homes)
The return to the Quay in down town Auckland saw the gathering crowds heading to watch the games on the giant screens at the fan zones
QUAY AND FAN ZONE
and there were so many colourful entertainment distractions, including very tall and well endowed cross-dressers, musicians and acrobats of all sorts.
At one street crossing rival groups of supporters carrying the Tricoleur and Cross of St George criss-crossed each other as the lights changed.
I was deposited at the "Cock and Bull" pub to find a place for Rex who was parking as close to the Grafton railway station as possible and his brother who was to join us. This was a smart move as within 45 mins of the start of the Wales-Ireland match in Wellington(at a ground called The Cake Tin) the tables facing the TV screens had been heavily booked. I was able to secure three spots in front of a screen above a sign advertising Boddington's Ale brewed at Strangeways(next to the infamous prison)since 1774, in MANCHESTER(can't escape its influence)
The match was exciting and both teams played open rugby-probably to Ireland's deficit as they ran the ball when they could have scored at least two early penalties. But the Welsh victory was well deserved and the style of winning, gained the respect of all the Kiwis in the pub. Another legend of "tragic"(well deserved)Irish loss was born and an unnecessary excuse for celebrating/commiserating anyway.
Exercise two involved a brisk up-hill hike to the station and three was a knee trembling climb up about 8 flights of steep stairs in the temporary scaffold- supported stand,behind a goal that gave a commanding view of the match.The trains were far from full and he crowd much thinner than for the Ireland/Australia match some weeks ago.Clearly not much was expected of England and France(Dour English win?)
NO AGINCOURT OR CRECY HERE
So what a pleasent surprise when both sides threw the expected play book out the window and played risky open rugby. It was entertaining and a sorry diappointment and shock for the supporters of the losing England team-many of whom had flow in just for this match. But after the game the crowds were friendly and the English seemed to take the French mockery in the right spirit(No beer bottle throwing, car burning and riot/mounted police charges at Rugby Union games).
Final testing of knee shock-absorption down the stairs and to the station, back to the car and the luxury of being chauffeured home. Thanks Rex (who despite being a Kiwi/Australian was resplendent in red white and blue French cap, socks and rugby shirt(he is not much enamoured of the usual England tactics either) This time the French cavalry had over-run the English bowmen. Not even a Kenneth Branagh harang could have saved them.All the pillaging and looting had occurred behind the English leaky defence line.
So what does all this mean? The second semi-final next Saturday(for which I have a spare ticket, anyone want to fly in and join me?) will involve Wales v France. England's manager may resign and a root and branch review of team behaviour, composition and playing style will be necessary. If not, they will be having a hard time in coming seasons versus the young and improving Welsh.Perhaps as well as importing an excellent Samoan centre (the only excellent "English" player) a manager from NZ or Australia might be a good further addition.
But over and above the quality and playing style of International Rugby there is the more powerful influence of professionalism and money, which predominently lies in the Northern hemisphere(with French entrepreneurs controlling the game from their club franchise bases, much as Indian cricket and Premier league soccer's foreign owners are the dog that wags the tail of tradition values) It is hard to see NZ, although the Mecca of rugby fanaticism and capability, ever again being able to finance such an event without partnership with the more populous, wealthy and major stadium endowed Australia. there are even suggestions that The World cup be replaced by a smaller event held annually in the Northen hemisphere. Perhaps one day the games will be TV encounters only, played at geographically convenient closed grounds or at least in front of hired and paid crowds-purely to create "atmosphere".
Anyway, now we still have national rivalry(often of historical dimensions), passion as well as performance, with roaring crowds and the smell of chips and spilt beer.
RELIEVED RUGBY WIFE??
Not to mention so many clapped-out, cheerful, essentially kindly and mostly, well-educated men(many former players??) out of the hair of their relieved and long suffering spouses for a few weeks every four years. All this just to see the game we believe is played in heaven (despite certain men in black playing as though reared in a much darker place) If you think I exaggerate-see the Haka!!
THE MORNING AFTER-ENGLISH FANS SLEEP IN
Better puff up the hill and claim my table spot in front of the corner pub's big screen, hopefully, for a Wallaby v Springbok nail-biter , followed by a brave Argentina, gallantly trying to slow the enevitable march of the ABs to a semi and the final.Go Wallabies! or as Chris Handy(former wallaby and commentator) used to yell-"Go you good thing!"
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