The Final post...

Sunday 23rd October All Blacks v France, Eden Park, Auckland

Saoirse keeping a close eye on Sexton

The normal run of events for watching a live rugby match at home is that Linds arranges for Alicia, Conor & Saoirse to be occupied (a bit like a small country) while I get the chores out of the way and sit down to shout at the telly for just over an hour. Sometimes Mateo wanders in, asks who’s playing, watches five minutes and then wanders out again. Generally, however, it’s just me, the telly and a lot of shouting. 

The RWC being in NZ changed that routine. The games were on so early that chores and children were left to their own devices. I found myself watching most of the games with Saoirse snuggled up to me on the sofa. She started to demand that we do ‘pause, engage’ “like they do on the rugby Daddy”. She then announced after the Ireland v Russia game that she wanted to play rugby. Conor informed her that it was a very rough game. “I know that - but I don’t care” came her considered response. 

And so to the final. We’d arrived back in London from Auckland on Wednesday morning and gone straight to work. Jet lag was still messing with our heads so I was already up at 7am for the 9am start. Bodies started to appear about 8am and by the time ITV had started their pre-match preamble the sofa was packed. Mateo had work at 11 but he was already up and dressed!!! Tea and sausage sandwiches were sorted. Bring it on!

We had the Haka! The French tried to emulate Willie Anderson in ’89 but seemed to chicken out at the last minute. Was this a sign of things to come? 

Off we went. France were definitely up for this, thank BOD. I’d been dreading an All Black whitewash. The French are the most schizophrenic rugby side ever. One week 15 blokes from my local pub could beat them and the next they are making the ABs look human. Not great news for our Kiwi friends who we knew would be chewing their arms off the longer the game went on. Piri was kicking like Heather Mills, the poor fecker. NZ’s finest, Ritchie McCaw left his knee in (was it an accident?) on Para and France lost their 10. Trinh-Duc came on to replace him and France continued to improve. The ABs lose yet another 10 and their 4^th choice, Bath’s Stephen Donald came on to replace Cruden who had landed badly on his knee. From a lineout the ABs scored a try in the unlikely shape of No 1, Tony Woodcock. 5 – 0.

Everyone is still sat on the sofa. 

Second half and Rougerie & Dusautoir were having the game of their life. Penalty for the ABs. Donald slots it over under what can only be tremendous pressure. 8 – 0. A few minutes later France go over under the posts. It’s  Dusautoir! It’s converted. 8 – 7. Game on!

The remainder of the game is so tense. Like a game of chess. I wouldn’t want to be a supporter of either side watching this. The French are playing like they can win this and the ABs look scared.

The last two minutes have the ABs pushing the French back up the pitch scrum by scrum. The kitchen sink is thrown in by both teams. 

80 minutes. Penalty given away by France. The ABs jump around. McCaw remembers they still have to kick it out to win. Out it goes!

I felt bad for the French. It was as close as any game I’d seen throughout the whole tournament. Overall I’m glad the All Blacks won it but I’m equally glad that France turned up and gave it a go. 

So our RWC odyssey is over for another 4 years. 2015 is in England. I suspect there might be the odd Kiwi using the spare room given the conversations we had while roaming the north Island.

A great RWC. A great holiday.  

World Cup me hoop!