FACING THE ALL BLACKS
An immersive experience brings the sights, sounds and goosebumps of being close to the ABs, writes Maggie Wicks
As we step into the tunnel, the temperature drops, and a breeze begins to swirl gently around us. We hear a distant roar — what is that? It’s a crowd, amped up and ready. They’re waiting for us, and my son — 7 years old — goes tense.
Moments ago, we were sitting in a dimly lit oversized locker room, the air scented with Tiger Balm. There we had taken our seats, each in our own cubby space, as a pregame pep talk began.
Over our right shoulders, a screen flickered to life, and faces and voices begin to appear. Player after player, All Blacks and Black Ferns legends, they spoke in low tones about what it feels like to wear the jersey. They told us how they prep in the locker room with their team, the anticipation, the responsibility, and what it’s like to face their opponents. With tears in their eyes, they told us what it felt like to tell their families that they’d been chosen.
Michael Jones appeared, and talked about the taonga of the moment you become an All Black; Sam Whitelock explained how you’re an All Black until you die; Angus Toiava on the legacy every All Black carries with them. Fiao’o Fa’amausili told us that on hearing the news she was to be a Black Fern, the first person she told was her father, at his graveside. We listened in silence and complete stillness.
But then the time came to leave the warmth of the locker room and here we are, in a cold tunnel, with the noise of the crowd building.
“Is it real?” my son asks. To him, it feels like there really could be thousands of people out there anticipating our arrival, cheering for us to appear. It’s a nerveracking moment for a kid. “It isn’t real,” I assure him, but he takes my hand and won’t let go. Twenty steps further, and we find ourselves face to face with the All Blacks.
This room is what we’ve been waiting for. A huge floor-to-ceiling projection in front of us of the All Blacks, with Kieran Read at the front, eyeing us intimidatingly. We spread out, toe the line, each taking their place opposite a different man, and wait. As their hands hit their thighs, the room shudders, the sound amplifies, and the haka begins.
It’s difficult to explain exactly what it feels like to face the All Blacks. To say shivers moved down our spines would be a vast understatement. Intimidating, fearsome, a solid wall of mental and physical strength. My son leans against me to know I’m there in the dark, without once taking his eyes from the projection in front of us. Their eye contact is unfaltering, their whole bodies tensed. While intimidating for a 7-year-old, a 77-year-old would be no less moved. It’s terrifying, and wonderful.