Tags:

Life topics

Dr G is here to help

Life articles

Non-Rugby Chick’s View of Jade Stadium

Crusaders supportersCrusaders v Cats

I drew the line at wearing red and black. But at least I didn’t squeeze myself into a baby-doll-pink, off-the-shoulder, fuzzy, mid-riff baring jersey like the chick just across from me. And to be honest the only good thing you could say about it was that it matched her pink fuzzy woolly cap. Which did a lot of bobbing around … God only knows how the old boys behind her handled it. I think they gave up trying to watch the game and plugged into their radios instead.

So. To the rugby (with me in my dark grey polar fleece and jeans. The Rugby this is one of my boyfriend’s passions and one that I don’t share and one that he wishes I did share.

I went and I saw well, a little bit anyway. How come the action always seems to be on the far side to where you’re sitting?

Kick-off was at 7.35. We were in our seats at 6.47 p.m. Said boyfriend had been ready to leave since arriving at my place late afternoon. The twenty five minute journey took only twelve minutes and as his normal walking pace is only slightly quicker than the death march, I was shocked into silence when he grabbed my elbow and frog marched me up Wilsons Road to a much faster beat. In retrospect, I guess I was lucky to get a coffee on the run literally.

The pre-match entertainment was … entertaining … but I watched in envy as numerous rugby veterans arrived (just minutes before kick-off) with something soft to sit on. By the end of the evening the term numb-bum didn’t do justice to what I was feeling, or rather not feeling, in my rear end. We watched The Boys warming up and I couldn’t help but think they’d knacker themselves out before the actual game. I tried communicating with my beloved but he was staring at the pitch with THAT glass-eyed look and I knew that for the next forty minutes all I’d get from him was the occasional grunt, swearing, muttering and restrained cheering if all went well, that is.

Highlights

We won. But that wasn’t the highlight of the night for me. Nor was it the Paul Kelly dancers. Nor the Crusaders Knights galloping around the paddock. It wasn’t even the inevitable Mexican wave. Or the crowd booing the ref and then roaring out as one … Cannabrie … Cannabrie … it was just after the final whistle when the bloke beside me, aka The Boyfriend, recovered from his out of body experience, rubbed his hands together and grinned conspiratorially at me before saying “Great game, then, eh?” just as if I was one of the blokes.

Well, after all, he thinks nothin’ of joining me in smearing a gunky face pack on and then sitting down to watch re-runs of Friends, so I guess the odd game of footie can’t hurt either, can it?

By Rachel