Monday, October 26, 2015

Flat Whites and All Blacks

Lift the William Webb Ellis trophy or else: when it comes to the All Blacks and the Rugby World Cup things are always black and white. Except when they're in grey of course, like that dreadful day in Cardiff eight long years ago. But the only way to vanquish the ghosts of the past is to confront them head on, and as the fates would have it the All Blacks and their nemesis, the mercurial French, are once again on a collision course that ends in the seething cauldron of Cardiff's Millennium Stadium. Here, have a flat white to calm the nerves.


The 2015 tour of the Home Nations kicks off in Edinburgh, home of grey skies, blustery winds, clammy cold, and a proud rugby team denied in a gut-wrenching quarterfinal by a referee's howler. So really, just like New Zealand.



We'll assume that's not a monument to Craig Joubert. 


Arthur's Seat, a craggy outcrop of windswept heather and gorse, towers over a nation just like Joubert's upraised arm.



"They may take our lives, but they'll never take our quarterfinal!" Oh shoot, they just did. So much for that blue face paint, lucky it's water soluble.



At least the Scots are used to defeat.  Here's where the English Crown stays when subjugating the northern territories.


On to London, or rather that great Russian metropolis of Mayfair.



At least the Poms can still enjoy some football, despite their hapless team crashing out in the group stage of their own World Cup. Once again, the Sweet Chariot swings lower than anyone thought possible. But don't despair, Tim Tebow is available and since he still hasn't mastered the forward pass maybe throwing things backwards will work out for him.



A little taste of home. The only question is, which home? Will he reach for the Brooklyn Lager or the classic Kiwi caramel slice?



Piccadilly Circus. It's like Times Square, without the unlimited breadsticks.



The momentous day dawns chilly and overcast. Perfect New Zealand conditions really, the boys should feel right at home running out onto the pitch in a few short hours. Revenge is best served under a long white cloud.



Brooklyn is a lucky little girl, two World Cup games under the bib before the first tooth.


The Palmerston North Old Folks First IV heads to the team bus for the final procession to the fabled Millennium Stadium. Jared takes the opportunity to celebrate the news that Wayne Barnes will not be manning the whistle.



The tension is downtown Cardiff is palpable as a sea of Black surges towards the stadium, interspersed with the occasional Tricolore.



In the first quarterfinal of the day the plucky Welsh take on the mighty Springboks. Meanwhile a plucky bunch of Kiwis takes on a few pints of the rather bizarrely named Brains, the Welsh national brew.



Lucky someone left a reminder, never would have guessed there was a game on today, eh.


So, who's got the AIG stencil for the other cheek?



It's showtime! The streets of Cardiff bleed Black as the slow march to the stadium begins.




Take cover, here comes The Bus! No not Savea, the other bus.



Nervous smiles with kickoff less than an hour away. Too many times have dreams been shattered by a fleeting moment of brilliance from Les Bleus.



He's got the playoff beard, he's got the fabled jersey, he's got the mana. Too bad about the upper body strength.


Here come the Roosters!



Captain McCaw, in the final campaign of his legendary career, leads a stirring rendition of Kapa o Pango.



The first 20 minutes are as tight as Sonny Bill Williams' shrink-wrap jersey, but once Savea bowls over half the French back line in one devastating run the white flag is already at half mast.



It's, like, the dinner of champions, eh bro? Just like back home in Apia bro.


Day two of the Cardiff doubleheader sees two contests that ultimately prove one-sided: Argentina versus Ireland and Rock versus Burger.



In the Northern Hemisphere they wrap themselves in the cloak of hope. Unfortunately raucous chants and soaring anthems aren't a viable substitute for actually scoring tries.




A rampant Argentinian attack slices apart the Irish defense for two quick tries before game clock even hits double digits. Game over.


With the All Blacks safely on their way to another World Cup final the two week European tour of duty comes to an end in Frankfurt, a city whose few redeeming features include a river and a square. Sound familiar?



You know something is wrong when the most exciting event in your city is the ECB buying some asset-backed bonds with freshly-printed money.