Give Blood, Play Rugby

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile

- William Shakespeare Henry V

Staying dry at the All Blacks vs Lions rugby match - July 2017

I am a rugby player. While it is true that I haven't been on a rugby pitch in many years, like a U.S. Marine (there's no such thing as an ex-Marine) I will cling to my rugby roots until my last dying breath. The foundation for many of my best memories was built on mud and grass, and several of my most-enduring friendships were solidified in sweaty scrums and dirty bar-rooms.

Galveston RFC dressed up as Beefeaters for Dickens On the Strand - mid-1990's

I grew up playing ice hockey and rugby, but my aspirations out-stripped my talents. As an athlete, I was always just good enough to make the team, but never good enough to shine ... a perpetual second-stringer. As I got older, the other players got bigger, stronger, and faster while I did not. By the time I graduated high school, I was no longer good enough to make it in competitive hockey and just hanging on with the rugby team. I almost stopped playing rugby after graduating from high school. Going to uni in Hawaii, I was at a small school with a large Pacific Islander presence. I played with the school rugby club, where I got beat up by Hawaiians, Samoans, Tongans, and Maori ... and those were my team mates.

Rugby has provided me with life-long friends, the opportunity to travel and play all over the U.S. and overseas, and some of the best nights out with mates that I will never remember. It also provided me with a broken nose (3 times), broken fingers, broken toes, and a bum knee. By the time I left Hawaii and moved to Boston, I pretty much figured my playing career was over. This made my mother very happy. I was amazed to find a rugby club at Boston U. This made my mother very unhappy.

Lone Star Mercenaries on tour to Missoula MT for the famous Maggot Fest - 2001

Growing up playing in Canada, I had more experience on the pitch than any 3 other players on the Boston U rugby team, but at 5'9" 150 lbs, I was woefully undersized. I was up against American beef-fed farm boys, football players, and wanna-be jocks with something to prove. My entire rugby career to that point had been played at flanker/wing-forward, a position that requires size, strength, and speed. Athletic prowess that I simply didn't possess. I hit the gym and worked hard on the field but was still relegated to the "B" team, and only managed to stay off the "C" (developmental) side because of my work ethic and knowledge of the game.

Sports coaches can be transformational figures in a young player's life both on and off the field. They can destroy a player's confidence and passion for the game, or they can instill lifelong dedication and love of sport. Very rarely, a coach comes along who redefines the game for his players. I have toiled through the first kind, taken inspiration from the second, and had only a brief encounter with the third. At Boston U, Mark Winder and Stuart Campbell coached me for only a little over a year, but they changed my life.

Lone Star Mercenaries on tour to Savannah GA for the St. Patrick's Day Tournament - March 2002

I was ill-suited for the position of wing-forward. I was too slow, too small, and too defense oriented. At some point, Mark said to me that I wasn't a wing-forward, but a fullback. I resisted. I had played #7 for 6 years and wasn't about to be told any different. Somewhere along the way he hit me with the reality that I could be a "B" or "C" team wing-forward for my few remaining playing years, or a 1st 15 (A-team) fullback. I accepted the challenge and Stuart Campbell set about making the transformation happen. Every day after practice, he worked with me individually on positional play. After the team practice was over, he taught me kicking techniques, how to make open-field tackles, and how to direct the "Back 3". Without the efforts of Mark and Stuart, my last rugby game likely would have been just before graduation (making my mother happy once again). Instead, I continued playing rugby into my 30s (unhappy mother), and it was the things that I learned from them on the rugby pitch that drove my success when I started racing triathlons. After I graduated, I lost contact with Mark and Stuart but I credited them with making me the competitive player that I remained for another 10+ years.

It's an interesting thing about rugby ... we put every effort into hitting each other as hard as we can on the field, then buy our opponents a pint after the match and stay in their homes. I've crashed on floors, couches, and beds of players I've never met before, and even been taken in by the parents of a player I never played with or against but only knew through a mutual friend. It was through a friend in Colorado that I recently heard about Stuart's battle with cancer and untimely death. I never got the opportunity to thank him and let him know how much of a difference he made in my life, both on and off the pitch. Out of that news, though, I re-connected with Mark and I am looking forward to lifting a pint with him once again. I'll be sure to wear my Terrier's rugby jersey when I do.

Mercenaries and other assorted scoundrels and scally-wags serenading the bride at a friend's wedding - 2007

So what does this have to do with our year in New Zealand?

Not a whole heck of a lot, I guess, but our recent sojourn to Wellington to watch the NZ All Blacks take on the British & Irish Lions got me to reminiscing.

All Blacks Haka before their match against the Lions - July 2017

The Lions are a representative touring side with players selected from each of the Home Nations (England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales). They tour every four years, rotating among Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa. The tradition stretches back to 1888 when the Shaw & Shrewsbury Team toured Australia and New Zealand. It was during their 1924 tour to South Africa that the press dubbed them the "Lions".

The modern iteration of the team, in which professional players are selected from each of the Home Nations, began with the 1950 tour to NZ and Australia. They last toured NZ in 2005 where they won most of their provincial matches, lost to the Maori All Blacks, and lost all three of their test matches against the NZ All Blacks (a "Test Match" is a game between two international representative teams, each recognized by their national governing bodies).

ABs win their line-out ... we had pretty good seats, eh?

When we first moved to NZ, we discovered that the Lions would be coming on tour. One of the many things I wanted to do in our year here was catch an All Blacks game, and seeing them take on the Lions would likely be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Me and everyone else, it would seem. Demand for tickets was so high that they had to institute a lottery system. For each of the three matches (2 in Auckland, 1 in Wellington), Kari and I put our names in for a lottery spot. By joining the ABs fan-club, we were awarded an additional lottery chance for each game. In total, we had 12 chances of winning the opportunity to purchase up to 4 tickets.

When the lottery results were announced, we were not winners and our hopes of getting to a game were dashed. In early March, they released a limited number of additional tickets. I received an e-mail inviting me to apply to the Wellington match, Kari did not. On the morning of the second lottery, I started refreshing the web page 2 minutes before the allotted time, and when the time arrived ... my web connection crashed! I frantically tried logging back in several times until I finally got through and managed to secure 3 tickets. We were going to the game.

A wet Westpac Stadium as we queue up to go in

Kari -

Once the shock of Grant actually obtaining tickets wore off, I started to look for accommodations. You have to remember, this tour was announced a few years ago and places to stay, especially ones appealing to a one-income family, were snatched up months before we even arrived in New Zealand. However, anyone who knows me is well aware, and shouldn't be surprised, that I was up to the challenge! My glee, ego and confidence would soon be deflated. After multiple online searches with traditional acccommodation sites, BookaBach (New Zealand's version of VRBO), phone calls to the i-SITE in Wellington, and our "connection" from other apartments we have rented, Grant and I started to discuss a magical "Plan B". Hopefully, we could take the train to the game from Palmy, or another city closer to Wellington, returning that evening. 

While I love a good train ride, the thought of embracing all things rugby and enjoying the game, only to return on a train full of rowdy, spirited, beer scented rugby fans (myself included) might be a bit much for Little H. For a couple of months leading up to the game, I continued to contact the i-SITE and look online, but there were no beds to be found, well, nothing under $900/night. We also had some friends visiting New Zealand during this time period. Once I knew their travel plans and that they would be departing Wellington Airport on the day of the game, I shared my accommodation woes and suggested they start looking asap. There is one hotel on Cuba Street that we stay at pretty frequently. On their website, per i-SITE phone calls, and on booking websites, this hotel had not shown any availability for months. I decided to call the hotel directly. Jackpot! They had one room available and I jumped on it. 

With the price per night, which was more than double than we usually pay, I was expecting champagne and a firework display on our post-game arrival. That was not the case, but what we did get was an amazing experience. We were able to stay in our favourite area of Wellington and walk to and from the game, even if it was in the rain. This hotel was filled with British Lion fans, who were feeling no pain after the game, but rejoicing, celebrating and filling the hotel foyer and lobby with their winning "roar". It was amazing to see the fans the following morning as they checked-out and boarded buses to the airport, an entourage glammed up in red, smiling and allowing the big win endorphins to run rampant. "We [British Lions] never win and the All Blacks never lose!"

All Blacks' scrum

The All Blacks won the first match 30-15 in Auckland. The game was tightly contested in the first half but the ABs opened it up in the second. A late try (touchdown) by the Lions made the game seem closer than it really was. With the home team winning the first match, we had high hopes for a great 2nd test. Because of the cold and wet conditions, we bundled up in our woolies, donned plastic ponchos, and settled into our seats with a couple of beers. It rained off and on throughout the match, creating lots of turn-overs and lots of penalties. Unfortunately, the ABs failed to capitalize on a number of penalty kicks and they didn't post a try. Scoring two tries, the Lions defeated the ABs 24-21. It was their first win over the ABs since 1993 and ended the All Blacks' 47-match home winning streak. It was a great battle from the stands for those who know the game, but it was difficult to keep Little H interested.

We had a long trek back to our hotel from the stadium, dodging rain-drops and drunken celebratory Lions fans. Along the way, we got some street food (Indian hot, not Kiwi hot) and finally crashed into our beds late. The next morning, we were up early for breakfast at our favourite Best Ugly Bagels and then on the road to home. We had to get back quickly so we could pack for our week in Fiji.

Tutira mai nga iwi ~ Aue,
tatou tatou e.