I was amused by the shock/horror expressed in this morning’s papers about the disgraceful behaviour of seemingly large groups of Eden Park spectators at the Four Nations games last night. ‘Amused’ because it’s really hard to imagine a coming together of factors more calculated to result in the sort of mindless bedlam we’ve come to associate with English soccer hooligans – booze, jingoism, testosterone, limited articulateness and low IQ.

Since wild horses wouldn’t drag me to a rugby match of either code, my experience of this sort of simian behaviour – a grave insult, I’m afraid, to the apes – has been limited to observing these morons on holiday in Greece where the lager louts and skinheads drunkenly rampage, effing and blinding, through the streets, repair to a local taverna to swill more beer, down huge quantities of fish, chips, baked beans and/or ‘a curry’ and shout abuse at the huge TV screens showing non-stop soccer matches, then finish off the night by throwing up in the street, verbally and/or physically assaulting passing women and, in the short time we had the misfortune to be trapped in Kavos, managing to knife at least one of their number to death each night – perhaps the only saving grace of our stay. Meanwhile, their Page 3 girlfriends offend the locals by lying topless on the beaches, tracking the sun with their nipples.

And yes, things aren’t as bad as that here. We don’t have the sex element for a start and violence by rugby players and spectators is generally limited to verbal abuse, fisticuffs and throwing things.  Read the rest of this entry »

The success of the All Whites in making it to next year’s soccer world cup finals reminded me of my love for ‘the beautiful game’ and my absolute failure to understand the appeal of rugby. 

This is probably an indication that you can live in a country for almost half a century, become a citizen of that country, regard it as home, brook no criticism of it from strangers and yet never fully understand or share the mindset of those who were born and bred there. If I were a Kiwi, I might feel quite differently about the national game.

Then again, I might not. My dislike for rugby can not  be fully explained by my being a stranger in a strange land. I’m quite capable of nationalistic pride when it comes to cricket or netball. And, like most born-again Kiwis, there’s nothing that pleases me more than when the Black Caps or the Silver Ferns humble the Aussies.

No, my distaste for the oval ball has  more to do with the game itself. It is terminally boring to watch. Read the rest of this entry »