Although it is well documented that New Zealand haven’t won a World Cup in God knows how long, it was a chance to tick the box that I have seen the most famous team in world rugby ply their trade, and I was very excited. Watching New Zealand rugby is like being able to watch Australia at cricket, Brazil at football or USA’s Dream Team at Basketball, although they may not be world champions or the best at that time, they carry an aura of class about them that everyone wants to see at some point.
Our day began at 5am on the Saturday morning and five trains and a quick hello to my girlfriend in London later we arrived in Twickenham for the match. Keeping a close eye on the time, Dad and I searched for a pub in the area but to no avail so opted, like the thousands of others, for a quick tinny from the off-licence to quench our pre-match thirst. Then into the ground to take some keepsake photos, pick up a programme and find our seats.
Normally a visitor to football grounds where you can’t drink alcohol in your seat, I was determined to enjoy the rare treat and queued up to pay for four £4.10 lagers, which would do us for the game. We weren’t the only fans with that in mind and cut it fine to catch the national anthems and the haka, which in truth I had been looking forward to more than the match itself. Although I did get chatting to some Kiwis at the bar which allowed to me to put some of the rugby knowledge I had acquired reading the paper during the train journey to good use.
Rushing to our seats and squeezing past the people in our row, we were just in time for the national anthems and bellowed out God Save the Queen. Despite this I wasn’t feeling too patriotic and felt like a neutral, just determined to enjoy the occasion and not really worry about the result. That was why I was a bit saddened that the haka was drowned out by Swing Low Sweet Chariot, but I soon got over that as the match kicked off.
After 20 minutes it seemed a good job that I wasn’t worried about the result, as New Zealand scored two tries in front of us. Although video technology is full proof, it doesn’t always seem so from the stand and combined with not being entirely in touch with the rules, I had to wait until watching Sunday’s highlights before confirming in my own mind why the first try was given.
But after that nightmare start England improved and I was slowly becoming more patriotic and started to join in Swing Low . . . I went into half time busting for the toilet and thinking that England had half a chance at getting back into it.
The second half I was in full voice and instead of being overwhelmed by watching the All Blacks I was cheering on England and complaining at their silly errors that ultimately lost them the chance to make up ground on the match. I cheered at Hartley’s try and complained that Hape’s wasn’t given, although I didn’t know why until the next day.
I came out of the event very pleased that the day had exceeded all expectations, even if England did not.
My second taste of professional rugby (I went to England Argentina last year but it was widely regarded as a dull game) was fantastic and I would go again, although New Zealand set the bar very high.
No comments:
Post a Comment