HAPPY NEW YEARSSSSS

Oh yes. I have cricket. I have beer. I have Chattergoon (note: Best Name Evar) getting out to Gillespie.

This is good.

Updates as I drink more they occour.

ETA 1: Oh yay, go Kyle.

Freya thinks the uniforms are pretty.

I need better friends.

ETA2: George thinks the uniforms are ugly.

And dan is being athletic.

And Muffin from Melbourne thinks I should stop drinking.

ETA3. Timmeee. Oh yes. Oh yes. Thats orgasmic. x2

ooooooh yyyeeeh

ETA4: Rain. it NEVER rains in high country Otgao. Never. They have constant droughts. Oh well, at leat we can go back to a time when our uniforms were cooler than the Windies. And Oconnor was playing. And Vettori didnt even need to shave.

ETA5: FUCK THIS RAIN I AM GETTING DRUNK!!!

HAPPY NEW YEARS FROM US IN THE CHEAP SEATS!!!

Oh, Ron? We Knew Him When

So the Brat was watching the Firebirds play and thought she knew the name of one of the up-and-coming talent.

She was right.

Here's Ronald Karaitiana, 21 years old.  What a fine young example of the species he is.

And...

Here's Ron at the age of nine, in full gear for his appearance on McDonald's Young Entertainers.

The lad may be dressed as a Vulcan, but by god he's a happy one. (note - Silver Uniform)

Boxing day Twenty20

Forget, for a minute, that we should be having a real boxing day test, but there is something else I need to draw your attention to.

We are wearing silver uniforms.

We are doomed.

Also, WTF is with the gold underarms? A wee homage to another Underarm Travesty?

ETA: A tie. Another one.

Now we have the farce that is the "super over"

Let me describe this to you in layman's terms.

The Windies get their over first, they choose three batsmen. New Zealand has one bowler and the normal field.
The kiwi bowler bowls the one over, the Windies batsmen attempt to slog the absolute shit out of it.

Then the kiwis get their over. Whoever scores the most runs in their over wins.

This is stupid. But less stupid than the old bowl-offs (ignore Mark Richardson, those things were awful)

ETA2: And, we lose. I blame the uniforms.

Is That An Injury Or A Try?

Mr Backslash just pointed me at an interview with Helen Brabazon, who, nearly ten years ago, had the unenviable job of commentating a Hurricanes vs Sharks game on the radio when she didn't know a thing about rugby.

As it happens she did a bang-up job, and once she'd figured out which team was which, really got into her stride.

The interview, including excerpts from the commentary is here.  The link should be good for two weeks.

Maori Rugby WTF

Dear NZRFU,

I fully understand the need for you to save a million bucks next year.  Really, totally do.  After all, there's a World Cup coming up that you'll need to save for.

But for the love of all that's good and right, why on EARTH cancel the New Zealand Maori rugby team next year?  I mean, WTF?  The tradition that produced Tane Norton, Sid Going and the incomparable George Nepia, gone in a puff of beancounting.

Was there seriously no other way to save a million dollars?  Really?  Nothing else that could be done?  Cake stall?  Nothing? 

In the sincere hope that the team is reinstated for 2010,

Madam Backslash

Sun WTF?

Once again my need for actual gainful employment meant my cricket watching was cut short yesterday.

Someone should give me some money.

I did get to see all of the wickets. Who knew Jesse Ryder could move like that? May I suggest the nickname "Flubber".

It's All Beige Here

So I thought it was about time I put up a few pictures I took at the test on Saturday afternoon. Yeah, they're a couple of days late, but I've been either too drunk, too hungover, too fucking busy or too drastically underslept to do anything about it until now. But hey, if you wanted up-to-the-minute coverage, you'd be at Cricinfo. (In any case, I just don't have the liver for journalism.)

Peecture number one is of Lionel Baker being Third Man while the ferocious Fidel Edwards was bowling at the other end. (I could watch Fidel bowl all day, as he is a thing of beauty. However, like any show pony, he looks great but is horribly inefficient -- his run rate hovered between 4.1 and 4.5 the whole time I was there. And he frightened Jimmy Franklin into falling over and going out hit wicket. But this picture isn't of Fidel because I couldn't get close enough. So here's Lionel, being all shy because he's just spotted the camera.)

And here's Lionel again, being a class act and signing autographs for some small boys.

One of the great joys of going to the test was ringing the Brat to tell her Jesse Ryder had just gone out. Neither of us particularly likes Jesse, mostly on the grounds that he has a better reputation for cocktail-fuelled hilarity than either of us. Here he is on his way in from the creases. Check out the sulk. Dude, you'll trip over your bottom lip if you're not careful.

And last but not least, Dan Vettori, Captain Extraordinaire, and Kyle Mills (who replaced Jesse) coming in for tea. Add two more players and paint some stripes on the concrete, I reckon you could do a pretty good imitation of the Abbey Road album cover.

Playing in the street

So... Its a draw, and those who saw it coming (that is, all of us) can sit safe in the knowledge that no, it never gets any warmer than that in Dunedin. Madame enjoyed it though.

I broadened my sporting horizons by heading to the cake tin on Saturday to check out the Phoenix playing against the Perth Glory. What was served up was eighty minutes of execrable football followed by ten minutes of actually exciting football that made us all wonder why they couldn't have played like that earlier. It was a 1-all draw because New Zealand A-league teams never actually win anything. The cake tin is a marvellous structure though, and it was nice to visit the Cheap Seats spiritual home (Aisle 21, row GG, seat 74)

And I have noticed something, through my summer ale induced haze (this haze should dissipate some time around February) There are some really silly scores being reached in cricket games around the country. The Uni Oval pitch appeared to have been modelled on Castle Street, minus the broken bottles and second year girls vomiting. Have all the groundsmen in the country been told to produce flat batsman's wickets?

Kitty Litter Stopped Play?

Madame is at the cricket, I am on the couch. We are both indeed very happy that the rain gods have co-operated with some cricket, although there hasnt been much before some strange occurence with kitty litter and dustpans and shovels (only in Otago) has paused play. We live in very strange times my friend. Very strange indeed.

Its all wet here

On the day I invite my mates to join me in the Cheap Seats for some very unhealthy drinking, it rains. Bloody Dunedin. I bought Mackintoshes specialy (I'm going to make as many jokes about that as I can.)

So, with little else to post about (We all know poor Flynnyflynnflynn was unlucky, and Ross Taylor needs a spanking every time he even thinks of playing on the on-side) I'll post the rules of the great cricket drinking game - otherwise known as The Reason I Failed Biology.

Rules:
Drink 3 when…
A bowler gets a hat trick (on top of the drinking for each wicket)

Drink 2 when…
100 is scored, either by a player or a team.
Someone gets out
A bowler gets five wickets. (4 for a ten wicket haul)

Drink 1 when…
A boundary is scored
50 is scored
A Nelson comes up (when the score is 111 or 222 etc…)
The fielding team makes an unsuccessful appeal
A run out is referred to the television umpire

When watching on TV…

When the commentators refer to a shot or player in a sexual way – drink 2

When watching at the ground…
When the player fielding closest to you gets the ball – drink 1
When a player starts gesturing in the direction of your increasingly drunken group – drink 3
When the player fielding nearest you swaps (not just between overs) – offer him a drink.

But I cant play with no cricket! Come on weather, sort yourself out!

It's all pink here

So, finally we get some international cricket. The kind that we might be able to win. Might.

But I have a few questions.

1. What is with this whole starting at 12 noon business? In Dunedin, yeah it might work given the latitude, but are they going to do it in Napier as well?

2. Tim McIntosh took 38 deliveries to get off the mark. All well and good, but although they say you cant score runs in the shed, you also cant score runs if you're, y'know, not scoring them.

3. Also, Tim McIntosh is 29. Why are we continuing to give debut caps to guys who, lets face it, are old (in a sporting sense, don't kill me Mistress Backslash!)? Why aren't we using the fact that we're in a slump to blood some new guys and build some experience that won't be retired before we can use it?

4. How many times is Ian Smith going to get Tim McIntosh and Jamie Mackintosh confused?

5. Could whoever has the voodoo doll of Jacob Oram PLEASE PUT IT DOWN!

ETA: Oh look, we are 88 for 1 at lunch. I may have to be nicer to McIntosh. But that will probably jinx him.

ETA2: MOTHER OF GOD I NEVER WANTED TO THINK OF TONY COZIER IN SPEEDOS AND NOW I HAVE, KILL ME NOW!!!!!

On a better note, Daniel Flynn has managed to stop being attractive, and instead play attractive cricket. Never thought I'd see that.

Well, the All Blacks went to the UK and Ireland for the Grand Slam and, as expected, waxed the lot of them.

This post on Public Address has some really useful things to say about the Grand Slam and rugby analysis in general.

Of more importance to me, however, with my visual nature and attention span of a gnat, were the links to a couple of graphics that make it clear what was really going on in the England vs NZ game, and also the differences between Northern Hemisphere and Southen Hemisphere rugby.

From The Times Online -- Must Try Harder: Stats, ratings and analysis

Also from The Times Online -- How the Southern Hemisphere teams are kicking the Northern Hemisphere's collective arses

Three years till the 2011 Rugby World Cup, Northern Hemisphere. There's time.

How Sex Should Be More Like Cricket

So this afternoon the Brat and I were discussing sex and cricket, as you do, and we came to the conclusion that sex should be more like cricket.

Yes, you heard me. Sex should be more like cricket.

And here's a few reasons why:

Five days, with breaks for drinks and dinner
Lots of ball polishing
Changing ends to avoid undue wear on the run-up to the creases
New balls every four innings
Teams of eleven with substitution allowed in the event of injury
An umpire to make sure everybody plays fair, with video adjudication for borderline cases
Proper use of protective equipment
Highlights on the big screen during drinks
Penalties for using the incorrect action
Bowling maidens over (you get to decide what constitutes "a maiden" in this case)
Practice time in the nets
Whites (the clothes)
Switching bowlers
Only playing in the sun
Shorter forms played under floodlights (prevents problems with bad light stopping play)
Hotspots, Hawkeye and ultra slow-motion replays
Commentators

Any additions/suggestions? Leave us a comment!

Posted on behalf of the Brat

Dear Daniel Flynn,

You are not supposed to be attractive. That I find you so is weirding me out. Please cease immediately.

The Brat

If I didnt want to do Tim Southee before, I totally do now.

A socially conforming experience?

Dear Otago Cricket,

Yes, I understand that you are excited that you get to have a real test at the frankly gorgeous University Oval, but I believe your public relations crew need to wake up a bit. The phrase "Dunedin - It's All White Here" might not be the best choice of slogan given the test we are playing there is against the West Indies. I'm just saying.

Besides, what's wrong with "Dunedin - Enjoy your stay and have a riot?"

Yours,

Brat.

And in other news, going into the final day of the State Champs...

Sexual have surprised us all and gotten up and are now looking much like beating Auckland thanks to a century by Brad Patton.

Otago are still playing poorly and another of Northern's 19 year old whiz-kids has taken five wickets.

And Wellington are looking to have Canterbury all wrapped up after Matty Bell scored a century and Canterbury had to follow on.

And in other other news... Let's not mention the test, shall we?

History Repeating?

Munster, that most unsexy of club sides, are up 16-10 over the All Blacks. We've been in this postion before, only that time the Munster side was made up of actual Limerickmen, rather than half the Auckland Blues.

Updates as they occour.

ETA1: Stephen Donald needs to start learning how to kick in the quiet or Im going to go over there and kick him myself. 16-13.

ETA2: And it would be nice if we could, you know, actually pass to people rather than space.

ETA3: Woo Hoo go Smokin' Joe! And youll never see a test team celebrate a try as much as they celebrated that one. 16-18.

I've just had a horrible idea

Following on from the Nightwatchgirl's lament that England could not come up with a naked cricket calender, due to having a team full of fugly players, I thought about the idea of having The Black Caps get their kit off and pose for the camera.

Cue the mental floss.

Aaron Redmond, cute but bald.
Iain O'Brien, best described as having a face akin to a Hitler weasel.
Chris Martin (though I think he's gorgeous) looking like gristle held together with packing twine.
Jesse Ryder... I'm sorry I can't keep a straight face when I picture him pouting for the camera.

Sure, Danny and Baz would definitely look nice in the buff, but by then you would likely have dug out your own eyes with a spoon.

So while our new uniforms may be hideous, at least we should be grateful that they are wearing them.

The All Blacks, on the other hand, should never put their clothes on. It would raise the aesthetic levels of the general environment to have Richard Kahui's muscular backside on display 24/7.

...

I'm sorry, I went to a very happy place there. Ahem.

In actual cricket news, the State Championship has started!

Bloody Auckland beat Canterbury last week, and they're on their way to beating Sexual this week. CD are 191/6.

In Wellington we welcomed the new cricket season by having a massive fucking storm, but Wellington and Canterbury managed to get out onto the Basin and Wellington are 155/2.

And Otago are doing what they do best, which is playing poorly. Northern are now 223/7.

Sadly my need for gainful employment is truncating my ability to watch cricket this summer. Someone should pay me to blog. (that sounds so dirty.)

Oh noes!

There's something very wrong with Dan Carter.

He's missed two kicks, one of which I could have gotten. Two!

Oh shit. Is he wearing silver undies?

Oh, there we go, he's finally gotten one. Thank fuck.

Right... Sure.

Anyone still think we can beat Australia?

Anyone?

*crickets chirping*

Yeah. My thoughts as well. Of course I wasn't delusional enough to think we could ever beat them, not after our dismal display against Bangladesh. But we are of course looking much like we are about to lose to New South Wales.

NSW without their top-tier bowlers.

And we are about to face those top-tier bowlers, at the GABBA, a place which we have historically sucked the big fat one. Those bowlers will be threatened on pain of death to get through their overs within the allotted time. That's a lot of very good bowling coming very fast. Probably at the helmets of our batsmen, who all seem to be a bit short. (Big Jake not being there.)

To add to our problems, Jesse Ryder is quarantined in the hotel with a "Mystery Bug" ("Massive Hangover" is our bet, but what would we know?)

And Baz the superhero is spasming. Which would leave the gloves with Gareth Hopkins, the saddest old man this side of anywhere.

Seems we can't catch a break.

Or the ball.

And in more positive cricket news, Hamish Marshall is returning to play for the Northern Knights. We in the Cheap Seats heartily approve, because we think the twins are cute.

Further Insight...

I was going to say something really funny and clever about England losing a warm up game.

Then I saw this. And all words went out of my head.

Okay, so he's not quite Mitchell Johnson, but there's less photoshop and spray tan involved in this pic.

I need something to blog about before this becomes just a spankier version of my case files...

Insight...

I was going to say something coherant and insightful about India beating Australia...

Then I saw this. And now I think I need some time alone.



Ahem. So, yes... Carry on...

This is how I express my expressions

I watched (in the vaguest sense of "watching") the All Blacks play Scotland.

We won, which we should have, even with 'The R Word' back in full force.

And Corey Jane got to play for a whole half. (I like Corey Jane.)

The ref, for all his fondness for whipping out his cards, was distressingly good-looking. I'm sure there should be some law against refs other than Steve Walsh being attractive.

But there was one thing that really really stunned me, and it came after the game was over. Jamie Macintosh was asked what the coaches told him before he went onto the field. Apparently Jamie was told to "go out there and express himself."

WHAT THE FUCK?

Who in their right mind expresses themselves on a rugby field? (apart from Jerry Collins, and he got in trouble for that) Do you think any of the great teams of old were told to go out there and "express themselves"? If you want to express yourself - write poetry. Or whatever it is hippies do. But don't do it on a rugby field. It makes a mess.

I can imagine Colin Meads turning in his grave. I don't care that he's not dead yet. He's still turning.

A couple of things

Firstly, you will notice that neither the Brat nor myself has said anything about the actual outcome of the Air NZ Cup final, after both of us posted our predictions.  

That's because the Brat watched the game and said it wasn't so much that Canterbury won (the final score was 7-6 in their favour), but more that they failed to lose.  C'mon, guys.  That's not cool.  Not sucking quite as much as your opposition?  That's not victory. It's the absence of defeat.

Secondly, tomorrow is the Melbourne Cup.  This is the one race a year I bet on, mainly because it's the one race a year I can bring myself to give a shit about.  I love horses, but the sport of racing just doesn't do it for me.  

Chances are I won't win anything, but I can't say I really care.  There's just something about the Melbourne Cup that has captured my imagination since I first heard about Phar Lap (who, despite what the Aussies might say, was a New Zealand horse).  

The whole of Australia screeches to a halt for this race. Melbourne Cup Day is a public holiday in the state of Victoria, in which the race is run. Most of New Zealand takes five minutes to watch the race (at 5pm our time). I'm no different. I'll be stopping in at my local TAB to watch the race on my way home from work.

So I did my standard "$2 each way on these three horses, please", with the following picks:

Septimus -- a likely favourite. Carrying lots of weight, decent barrier draw, like his form.

Nom de Jeu -- another front-runner. Stupid barrier draw (one! FFS, talk about trapped against the rail!), but nice form. Also like the name.

Newport -- chosen because I always pick a long shot and, well, Newport's just up the road from Cardiff and I'm a big ol' Torchwood fan. Yes, I usually have at least one pick in the Melbourne Cup that is for reasons this sad.

So yeah, the horses I pick will probably all have three legs and/or fall over and need to be shot. Then again, once every five years or so I'll have one come in and win me about half my stake back. Who cares -- this is the one race I just love. Bring it on.

In which I sound like a bitter old man

I watched England play Middlsesex in the Stanford 20/20 the other day. As I type I'm watching the farcical $20 million dollar match. Now ignoring Alan Stanford's antics with the England WAG's which, to be frank, amused the shit out of me (notes on that later), that game epitomised the worst of cricket. A couple of half-decent teams playing bloody average cricket in the pursuit of a few big slog. Texan oil money funding cricket? Wasn't this once a game for gentlemen?

But the worst thing was the colours. Middlesex were in pink, England were in red, the umpires were in a migraine inducing shade of purple and even the commentators had been kitted out in canary yellow.
Add in the floodlit green grass and the whole thing was like a very bad acid trip. No wonder England were dropping catches. And no where to be found was the glorious, traditional white.

Also missing was the decent cricket. Half-arsed and sloppy, like twenty20 itself, funded with megabucks to impersonate baseball and treat the bowlers as machines. The pitch is terrible. The money seems to be a substitute for class, tradition and quality.

Now, I'll admit when it comes to cricket I am something of a troglodyte. Give me men in whites, five days of hard slog in the sun, where plans are laid sessions in advance and heroes are made through tenacity and talent - not wild slogging. I LOVE test cricket. It annoys the hell out of me to see these hit and giggle games take more importance as they rake in more cash.
You may say that twenty20 is the future of cricket and sad old (young!) bastards like me should recognise it. But I ask you, how many of these English players with their WAG's in tow would swap the chance of a million dollar paycheck for winning the next Ashes series in Australia? I'd bet every single one.

Of course now that's a moot point. The English have CHOKED. Really really hard. These young "Stanford Superstars" have just become very rich men. I can't help but wonder how many of them will go off the rails with this new money?

And now for something completely different, yet sadly the same...

For all my posturing about rugby this year, a game against Australia in Hong Kong, in late spring... Totally didn't inspire me. The Bledisloe was ours already, we had played Aus three times already, and once again it seemed like nothing more than lining the coffers of the respective rugby unions. Average game too.

Money and sport... Fuck that.

Right, then.  

Air New Zealand Cup final is tonight; kick-off is in an hour and a quarter or so.

Wellington vs Canterbury, in Wellington.

Brat is a Wellington supporter.  I am a Canterbury supporter.

Here's my prediction:  No matter what happens, it's going to end in tears for one of us.  I don't think it'll be me, obviously.  I'm going for Canterbury by 12 points.

Entry fee to the next Actual Size Project event is riding on this, so Canterbury had better play their red-and-black hearts out.  Which they will, because that's what they do.

GO CANTERBURY!!

Rugby? At Labour weekend?

The Cheap Seats have a problem. Something of a war has broken out, over the Air NZ cup. For while both Madame Backslash and I live most of the time in the glorious city of Dunedin (enjoy your stay and have a riot!) I herald from Wellington and she heralds from... Christchurch.

While I appreciate that the Lions are underdogs I believe they have what it takes to pull off victory. The weather is total bollocks, the wind will spring up and the game will get scrappy. Wellington play bloody well when the game gets scrappy. They're utter bollocks when they have to put together set pieces, and if it was a clear night, Canterbury would wipe the floor with them. But this icky drizzle? I think it should give us the upper hand. And well... We want it. Not quite as much as we wanted the Ranfurly Shield, but we want it. Sure, Serge Lilo is going to have a tough game marking Richie McCaw. but we have the talent, we've got our All Blacks back (where's Dan then?) and we have Hosea Gear, a man who will be done a great injustice if he does not go on tour this year, cos he has been bloody awesome.

So my prediction? Wellington will take it. Just.

And now for something completely different...

One of the things I love most about Sky sport is what they manage to fish up when rain delays the cricket. Not only the very random medleys of tours set to pop-alt-rock but the old tests. Today we got NZ vs Bangladesh from back in 2001. Ahhh, the memories... Remember when Chris Martin had hair? Dan Vettori lacked a beard? Shane Bond was young, fit and playing? We weren't kitted out in what is now the most ridiculous uniform in world cricket?
Honestly, it was brilliant. In fact, at 25/2 I was almost convinced that we were watching it live.

Dear Silver Ferns,

What the Fuck?

Love,

Brat.

Mrs Robinson

So I was at a sports bar a couple of nights ago with the Brat, watching the end of the Bathurst race, the end of the Japanese GP and a bit of the cricket.  As you do.  

The cricket in question was the India vs Australia test in Bangalore.  I'll cop to not having paid much attention to cricket in the last while, my mind having been focussed on more worldly matters (like earning money so I can afford beer and tickets to the rugby).  

I have, however, found a reason to pay more attention to the cricket, and that reason's name is Ishant Sharma.  

Apart from being one hell of a fast bowler (he was responsible for taking out Ricky "I'm just going out to the creases, I may be some time" Ponting), it struck me after a while that he's an Afghan Hound in human form. 

No, seriously.  Stay with me here.

Observe the strong yet delicate long-legged frame, the noble profile, the flowing, glossy coat.  Observe the "if I try to look past the end of my nose I'll go cross-eyed and fall over" expression on his face.  Observe the complete underestimation of his intelligence by his opponents (based on the aforementioned expression) and the lethal speed and accuracy with which he takes down his prey.

Yeah, I think I'll be paying more attention to the cricket from now on.  I've always liked Afghan Hounds.

ACTUAL SIZE!

Now, because procrastinating will totally help me pass my exams, I bring you the ACTUAL SIZE! project. Where I, the Brat, take photos of Madame Backslash and various sportspeople, in order to prove one of two things. Either Madame is very short, or sportsmen are stupidly huge.

Here is Madame, in all her 5'0" (while wearing steelcaps) glory.

Here is Toby Moreland, the shortest member of the Otago squad. He is listed on the ORFU website as 1.8m (5'11") tall. This is a gratuitous lie. The Brat is in fact taller than him. So here is Toby at ACTUAL SIZE!

And to continue to prove that Toby's stats are a lie, here is Chris Noakes, also listed as 1.8m, with Madame and her actual size sign.

Here is Craig Newby (1.89m, 6'3"), outgoing Otago captain and very happy man. He can kick conversions, you know.

This is Madame with Adam Thompson, whose stats are not listed on the Otago site. Looks about 6'4" dont he?

And we hit the tall timber - Seko Qaraniqio (no idea how thats pronounced, sorry) who stands at a whopping 1.98m tall - Thats 6'6" in the old vernacular.

And finally Ross Kennedy - 2 meters tall! More than a foot and a half taller than Madame Backslash. He was nice enough to kneel down at first for the photo, and seemed very surprised when we asked him to stand up. Chur Ross, we can gloss over the fact that Emma beat you on the rowing machine when she was sixteen.

Rubble

And now, after moving, The Cheap Seats have gone upmarket. I have moved from the rubble of my former house and can now bear witness to the rubble of the Black Cap's current performances. (See what I did there?)

What the hell is going on? Have our batsmen begun to believe their own press? Did they all get together and draw straws as to who was going to have to do all the work this series and Jake Oram lost?
And how on earth do we think we are going to beat Australia playing like, well... that?

I have a theory.
The new uniforms made by Canterbury bear a startling resemblance to those unfortunate silver things worn by the All Blacks against France around a year ago. And we all know what happened there. Thus, the silver panels on the Black Caps chests which make everyone bar Brendon McCullum look like they have man-boobs (and let's face it, Baz would look good in a potato sack) is wicking away talent like the hi-tech undies wick away sweat. Jake manages to survive this by having a lot of talent. Or a lot of body.

Silver does not work for us, as a sporting nation. Let's put the boys back in black. Or teal. Or even beige. Something needs to be done to restore our mojo.

(To Madame Backslash's peanut gallery... Actual Size photos will be up soon. I need to remember my camera.)

Homlessness

So, here I am, in the rubble of my soon-to-be former house. The Tin Shed is going to be sold and I have a week to move my crap. I had relied on Wellington to boost my spirits by winning at the 'Brook, but Otago once again got their giant killer act on and stuffed them. I'm not sure WHAT Wellington were up to, or what the Otago boys had with their half-time oranges, but that second half was something very special. I don't think Wellington had the ball in Otago's half at all. Shameful display.
I was quite disturbed at just how good Ma'a Nonu looked compared to everyone else. How different a competition would the Air NZ cup have been if the All Blacks had been involved? Would there have been more than three men, a dog, a bunch of ex-Wellington College boys, Madam Backslash and I on the terraces?

The terraces are an interesting proposition. When packed with students they emit a life and energy that dwarfs anything short of the Wellington Sevens (which I will sadly not be going to next year.) When they're not full... You feel like more of a sports-yob just being there and cheering. I will be glad to journey north to my spiritual home of the Basin Reserve, where I always feel like a sports-yob just being there. And the ground staff know me by name.

But before then I will be homeless, both spiritually and physically, while I study for those pesky exams and watch the Black Caps beat Bangladesh. Onwards to the packing! (I don't really need three rugby balls, do I?)