Taking my ball and going home
As the Lions tour ramps up excitement about all things rugby, Virginia Fallon comes to a stark realisation: she doesn’t give a ruck about the game.
Ilearned something about rugby this year. The first fives, or however you write it, aren’t actually the first five players of the team to run on to the field. They also aren’t the first five people up the front of the field, which was my second guess.
I can’t tell you what they actually are – although it was explained to me at the time – but at least I now know what they aren’t.
I’ve never cared about rugby, but lately I’ve found myself wondering if I’m missing out on something.
I know about other so-called Kiwi things. I can drive a tractor, I can belly and crutch a sheep and I’ve spent a fair bit of time on the sidelines (see, I know sidelines) but I just never cared about the game or who wins it.
People seem pretty excited about the Lions tour and, even for this country, there’s a lot of rugby talk about.
It’s not just the sport either, there’s economic benefits, there’s parties being organised, there’s songs being sung and folk are having a good time.
‘‘There might be something to this rugby lark,’’ I thought.
Being loath to miss out on anything, the occasion called for some soulsearching about my relationship with the game. and maybe, just maybe, I’d find all the s...s I never gave.
READY SALTED PLEASE
My personal rugby history is limited. Growing up, I loved going to my brother’s rugby training because we got fish and chips on the way home.
I also liked the chippies we could buy from the clubrooms. Notice a trend here?
The only time I really ‘‘got’’ rugby was when my children were very young and we lived in the small South Island town of Kirwee that revolved around the sports field.
Every Saturday, the littlies would play, followed by the bigger kids, before the Golden Oldies took the field.
One ancient farmer would ride his horse down to the field and tie it to the fence while he played. I s... you not.
In the evening everyone celebrated, kids ran around in the dark, beers were consumed, sausages were sizzled. I got the vibe, just not the game.
I managed the kids’ team for a year. A kid from Rolleston bit my son during a scrum.
WHAT’S HIS NAME?
These days my lack of knowledge is met with disbelief, I’m a 39-year-old Kiwi after all.
‘‘Come on,’’ said a work colleague, ‘‘who’s the All Black captain?’’ It’s not Christian Cullen. Apparently. Last night, my son asked me to list the names of all the rugby players I know. There were five and one was a cricketer.
THE BASICS
Surely I’m capable of understanding, if not actually enjoying, the game my country is famous for?
With a new-found determination to understand at least the basics, I asked my friend to give me a rundown.
‘‘Please tell me you’re not writing about rugby,’’ he said.
I explained my plan to write a piece for people like me.
‘‘I’m not doing this,’’ he said.
THE FOUR NATIONS
Another friend explained the Lions team to me by saying Scotland, Wales, Ireland and England all make one team and tour.
‘‘The Four Nations,’’ I said, nodding. ‘‘No,’’ he said, shaking his head. ‘‘The Nations. The Four Nations?’’ ‘‘I’m not doing this.’’
THE LIONS TOUR
Like all good researchers, I turned to Google.
My friend was right, it’s a team selected from players eligible to represent the national teams of the United Kingdom and Ireland.
They first toured in 1888 and every four years they travel to either Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. They were last here in 2005.
They’ve won one test series against the All Blacks and beat Australia in 2013.
Oh, and it turns out they don’t just play the All Blacks but also take on other teams, like the Hurricanes and, well, other teams.
They’re here for about a month and they bring a hell of a lot of fans with them.
WHAT THE RUCK?
It was time to learn the rugby rules and I asked my sports reporter friend to explain.
He said the basics are this: two teams, each with 15 players, score points by touching the ball on the ground at the end of the field.
A try is worth five points and after that the team can try to kick the ball over the goal posts. That’s worth two points.
A ruck happens where there’s been a tackle and players are contesting for control of the ball. They only use their feet.
This was simple. Then he said something about a lineout. And a maul. I told him I just didn’t get it. ‘‘That’s because you just don’t care.’’
ASK IZZY
He was right, I didn’t care, but should I? I knew just who to ask.
Izzy Ford is the only woman on the board of Wellington Rugby and used to be a Black Fern (the top women’s rugby team). She’s also the deputy mayor of Porirua City.
I Facebooked her to ask why we should care about the Lions. She typed back right away.
‘‘We have three international women’s rugby teams here playing against our women’s team. Which one do you think should take precedence?’’
I didn’t know. I was a bit frightened. I typed back to ask what a lineout was.
My message read ‘‘seen’’. That was the end.
FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT
My friends had given up on me. I was unteachable. I didn’t care and they all knew it. They gave me another way to engage with the fans by compiling a list of things I could say:
‘‘Forwards win games, backs decide by how much.’’
‘‘You’ve got to earn the right to go wide.’’
‘‘The first 20 minutes will be crucial.’’
‘‘Surely that’s going to help,’’ my mate asked.
‘‘It was a game of two halves,’’ I replied.
TIME
In rugby, ‘‘time’’ means the game is over and my game was certainly up. At the end of my (albeit brief) research I had learned a little bit about the game but nothing could inspire me to care.
My family are worried I’ll make New Zealanders mad with my story but I’ve told them if that happen we’ll move somewhere that doesn’t care about rugby.
Like South Africa.