On Crusaders cheap seats
Going to see live rugby offers an allure few other sporting arenas can match. A few hundred metres from the stadium and you’re already part of something – a swaying, bubbling mass of excitement and expectation.
The camaraderie with your tribe of fellow fans is automatic, an unspoken bond borne from blind faith in your team and nurtured by the desire to gently needle the opposition’s supporters about what the scoreline might be.
Except with the Crusaders it’s hardly blind faith. On Saturday, when they put the Hurricanes to the sword with a vice-like defence and an attacking masterclass, they fielded 13 All Blacks squad members in their starting line-up. Thirteen.
That is an embarrassment of riches few teams in world sport can match, a privilege that should never be taken for granted.
We came to Christchurch a year ago, an English husband following his Kiwi wife back home after her decade-long OE in London.
Following the Crusaders was a given – all the family are fans, except one black sheep who supports the Highlanders (we don’t talk about him) – and we snaffled up season tickets at the first opportunity.
At $199 for 13 matches, including five Canterbury games, we couldn’t really turn down the chance to see some of the world’s best players in our new back yard. Those prices seem an absolute bargain. By comparison, a season ticket for English champions Saracens starts at about $575.
We have the ‘‘cheap’’ seats behind the posts in the east stand, where it’s uncovered, often windy and occasionally wet – proper rugby conditions.
But that’s all part of it. We poms hardly melt in the rain, but I’ve seen Kiwis in shorts and gum boots – sometimes even jandals – when I’ve been shivering away with water dripping off my nose, so don’t try and pretend you’re not tough and hardy enough to get through a bit of bad weather.
We love it. We watch the game unfold, getting sucked up in the adrenaline of the crowd when we’re in the ‘‘red zone’’, bantering with the other fans as the action ebbs and flows.
And we’ve made unexpected friends. Sam and Eli, two teens who attend school in Darfield and make the long trek in to support their team and patiently fill us in on the Crusaders’ recent history.
Sam has a lucky shoe, a battered old sneaker he decided to take off one night as a good-luck charm when the Crusaders were down and battling, only for them to fight back for another famous victory. We’ve made him wear the same pair to every match now.
Eli is agonising over whether to miss his school’s formal ball on Saturday to come to the final.
Then there’s Jerome, the Frenchman who swapped his appreciation for Les Bleus to become a die-hard All Blacks fan and whose knowledge of the Crusaders this season is encyclopedic.
For two hours they are our little family – there is no-one we would rather have at our side as we discuss tactics and fret about whether Ryan Crotty will get over his latest head injury assessment.
Then there are the familiar faces – Gareth, the ever-present busker strumming a few tunes to earn enough cash for a last-minute ticket, the ladies watching from their flag-decked flats above gate A, doubtless knocking back a sherry or two as they watch the action from their plum spot.
It’s the action we’re all really here for, and at wee AMI it’s up close and personal. You hear the slap of muscle on muscle, see the sweat spray up, and you can’t help but watch with admiration.
These are people we secretly think we could be like – dodgy knees, advancing years and discernable lack of any talent aside. Oh to have Richie Mo’unga’s dancing feet, George Bridge’s electric acceleration, Matt Todd’s single-minded courage or Razor Robertson’s decency to walk the field and salute the fans with a punch to the air.
There are plenty of reasons not to go. Kick-off at 7.35pm won’t always appeal to families; the TV experience offers so much; it’s possible to get ‘‘rugby’d out’’.
Chief among them, it seems, is the stadium. Christchurch needs a bigger and better one for the reasons we’ve heard a million times before.