Vous miserable croissant baguettes

French men do like their hair. Somebody has to, I suppose.

The bouffant styles were blowing Gallicly in the Wellington breeze on this fine day.

I know it's easy to pick on the French, but frankly their behavior on the sidelines of an Under-15 "friendly" Rugby match warrants it.

Morgan's school is hosting a French tournament that culminated with a French select side playing the local lads. The French spectators, coaches and parents were so boisterously involved that they caused our usually mild-mannered Ewan to run up and down the sidelines angrily shouting "croissant." This was the only recourse he had to combat the obnoxiousness he was witnessing. Luckily this is the extent of his French, otherwise he might have said what was really on his mind, like "be quiet and watch the game." Until he remembered bibliotheque; then he really let them have it.



I don't mind vigorous support, but when it comes to grabbing the 15-year-old line judge's shirt and telling him he's made the wrong decision or shouting at the opposition players, it's time to bust out the old stereotypes. Yes, this guy was really wearing a beret and a neckerchief, which seems to be tacit approval for a bit of rip-taking.

So, back to the hair. What is it with the French men (the women present were all elegant and understated, I hasten to point out) and hair? Always fastidiously and effetely attired, they seem to be using their coiffures - for these blokes do not have haircuts - to say, "Vain? Who me? Why look at my hair, it is all over the place. I haven't had time to drag a comb over it since Bastille Day."

Immaculately so. A pretense.

Maybe it's the tight jeans that made them behave so badly. After the haka, above, it was the French grown-ups who told the players to advance on the Scots players. You know, to be threatening.

I will stop there, because it was a wonderful day for Rugby, the first hint that summer is on her way. And the boys behaved themselves perfectly, realizing the occasion to be one for making friends and celebrating the game. The rest of the party will be hair today and gone tomorrow.

Oh, and Morgan's team won quite handily, despite having genuinely scruffy hair.

Christchurch gets some heroic help

This was just too good to pass up.

The White Lights of Hope that have been reaching into the night sky above Christchurch to memorialize the dead have now attracted hope of a different kind.

Batman, the caped crusader, yesterday stormed into the city's police station demanding to know what was going on.

"First of all he wanted to speak to the commissioner," Sergeant Chris Jones told the Christchurch Press.

"And then he wanted to know what was going on and why he'd been called, because he'd seen the lights in the sky."

The lights went on at the one year anniversary of the first Christchurch earthquake in September. And what did Batman get for his troubles? Well, a bit of lip.

"He was actually rather a scrawny Batman, I'd have to say," Jones said. "If he was going to look for a sidekick for a Robin, he'd have to be probably about 6 foot 4 and built like a tank to help him out."

Jones said "Batman" was treated with the utmost respect, adding: "Contrary to popular belief, the police still have a sense of humour."

He fled into the night. Thanks, Batman, for making my day.

Get to the point will you

Ah well, a country that knows itself at least.

A Rugby World Cup cock-up

I'm fairly certain this could happen only in New Zealand.

Two French fans, described euphemistically as boisterous, were relieved of a stuffed national emblem they tried to bring into the stadium before the New Zealand-France rugby match.

Why, precisely, the toy rooster needed to be confiscated can only be the subject of fierce speculation. Perhaps it stems from the recent misuse of turbans in Afghanistan. Perhaps it's just an entirely understandable dislike of the French Rugby team.

Whatever caused the "insident de coq sportif," it was followed by an equally forceful show of remorse. Somebody somewhere must have pointed out that it would not be a good look for New Zealand to be randomly confiscating stuffed animals from foreigners. The Auckland City Council the very next day launced a guilt-ridden search for the two offended Frogs. They are desperately trying to reunite them with the quarantined cockerel.

Council chief executive Doug McKay told media at a RWC briefing that the rooster was being looked after by council staff, according to Auckland Now.

''The rooster's in good care, don't you worry about that." Because we were. Worrying, that is.

Yes, this came up at a media briefing.

As of today, four days later, their search has been fruitless. The nation holds its collective breath.

The best job in the world?

Sonny Bill Williams


As Morgan and I were driving by the "Meet the All Blacks" session we overheard this lovely exchange between the emcee and a young girl.

"Who do you want to ask a question of?"

"Sonny Bill," said the young girl to great cheers.

"What question would you like to ask him?"

"Eh, how do you get the job of changing your shirt when it gets ripped?"

Huge roar. She was referring to a famous recent on-field incident in which the sex god All Blacks' tight-fitting shirt was ripped.

"Now is that your question, or your Mum's," from the emcee.

"Mummy's," to laughter.

Sonny Bill suggested her mother send in some applications.

"Well, what's your real question?" asked the emcee.

"What character would you be on SpongeBob Squarepants."

"SpongeBob," came Sonny Bill's reply.

Failing to meet low expectations

The Tartan Army on its way to defeat.

I swear every time that this will be the last time, that I will not allow myself to be dragged back in to the mire of hope. But what can I do? When I see the kilts and hear the bagpipes, I must follow, pied piper-like, to the field of action, there to have my hopes dashed. It happens every time when you support Scottish sporting endeavors.



It is obvious why the Scots party so hard before the game: there's never anything to celebrate afterwards. And a certain amount of numbness can make the match bearable. The Scots have low expectations - and always fail to meet them. In the crowd for the Argentina game at the Rugby World Cup was a man who kept urging the team to "Party like it was 1991." Those were the halcyon days, when Scotland finished fourth at the World Cup, our best finish ever. Yes, fourth.

Morgan, standing beside a policeman, was waiting for a friend of ours at halftime. A Scotsman came up to the cop and said, "Can I touch you for luck again, like I did before the first half? You gave us a great win."

"6-3 is a great win?" the policeman asked him.

"Och aye, when you're from Scotland 6-3 is a massive win."

At least one piper managed to sneak the banned bagpipes into the stadium. As soon as he started playing his lugubrious tunes, though, security ran down to him and threatened him with ejection. For playing the bagpipes. He had a highland cow mask on his head. As one does.

One of the only moments of joy for me was the singing of the Scottish national anthem, "Oh Flower of Scotland." When I was still living in Scotland we hadn't "devolved" yet, and had to boo "God Save the Queen" before every such public event.

Hearing "Oh Flower" sung by so many so far away from home was a powerful moment.

And yet, when the Himno Nacional Argentino began, there was a stark contrast. While Scots were singing their song solemnly, defiantly, sadly, the Argentinians were bouncing to their grand, uplifting anthem that speaks of splendour and glory and freedom.

I was about in tears after "Flower of Scotland." Perhaps it's not the best way to get psyched up for a sporting event, singing about a battle almost 700 years ago - even if it was a victory.

Oh well, with both my teams - the Eagles and the Scots - destined to go home after pool play, I can perhaps get back to a few non-rugby observations about New Zealand. I wish the Argie-bargies well. Unfortunately, though, their reward for beating Scotland is likely to be a quarterfinal appointment with the All Blacks. And, no, you can not read a smirk into that.

It must be said, though, this Rugby World Cup has been the most marvelous celebration.

Breaking hearts already broken

Another miserable rainy night filled with the plaintive wails of Scottish supporters. Please see the post below.

Scotland 12 - Argentina 13

And, no, I don't want to talk about it.

Scotland, be brave

Being a Scotland supporter is a permanent suffering.

John Knox would definitely approve.

The anthology of epic failure on the sporting fields has long since drained me of any truly-felt optimism. Every moment of joy has been short-lived. I remember as a kid jumping out of the (ground floor) window and running up the street to celebrate Scotland taking a 1-0 lead in the football World Cup. By the time I came back, they were losing 2-1. And lost.

Every time - and I mean every time - I have injected myself with the false drug of hope, I have been spanked by the Caledonian karma. It's not just rugby and football. Andy Murray does it to us every grand slam final; even the curling team broke my heart at the last Olympics - yes, those are the depths I plumb in search of a bit of glory.

It's been a long time since Alan Wells. Thirty-one years, to be precise.

The morbid streak of fatalism manifests itself in the wonderful gallows humor of the Scots. I remember an American journalist asking a Scotsman recovering from a massive coronary why he was chain smoking at the pub with a pint and a whisky chaser in front of him. "Aye, I know, you can smell the clay on me already," came the response. Only in Scotland could you see the headline, "A Beautiful Defeat," over a story of yet another loss.

And yet. And yet.

The Scottish flags are flying over Wellington. The kilties are out in force - perhaps with weighted-down kilts against the winds of Wellington. The ban of bagpipes has fueled the well-fed fire of the Scottish sense of oppression. I heard the swirl of the pipes downtown on Friday and ran down to listen to a bagpiper playing for money on the waterfront. He was playing "Waltzing Matilda," the Australian "anthem" just hours before the Wallabies kicked off against the USA.

"Isn't that the busking equivalent of prostitution?" I asked the guy.

"Gotta pay the bills somehow, Jimmy," he replied.



So it is with uplifted trepidation that I prepare for today's Scotland-Argentina game at the Rugby World Cup in Wellington. If they win, they are through to the quarterfinals. If they lose, they will have to beat the Auld Enemy, England, to proceed. And, yes, that always works out well for us.

Our star prop, Euan Murray, devoutly religious, will not play today; it's Sunday. The Argies are looking really good.

Still, Morgan and I will don our kilts and head out into this most Scottish of places - and enjoy the pre-game festivities, having a few laughs with fellow sufferers sharing the same niggling doubt and sense of approaching doom. I'm sure, somehow, someone will have smuggled some pipes into the stadium and we will hear the strains of Scotland the Brave and Flower of Scotland. Usually, that's as good as it gets.

An All Blacks sleepover

If you're going to have eight 12-year-old boys over for your son's birthday party in New Zealand, you might as well do it on a night the All Blacks are playing. Much less work that way.

Even better when it's the World Cup and the All Blacks win. We didn't hear a squeak out of them all night - non-Rugby related, that is.

The birthday boy even received a new All Blacks shirt as a gift. A perfect night for the wee man.

A land gone loopy

A few sights from the multi-cultural week that was. From Cowboy Indians to froggy mustaches to Aussie lemons.

We painted Welly red, white & blue

This is what happens when you play the B team: you get thrashed. The U.S. made 14 changes from the team that beat the Russians and, thinking ahead to beating Italy on Sept. 27, suffered the consequences.

We received a 67-5 schooling. But at least we owned the crowd. Our Kiwi friends came out in force for the U.S. of A. They may have had funny accents, but they sure could cheer for America.

We were surrounded by red, white and blue Kiwis tonight. If I had to guess, Wellington Stadium was 55 percent American supporters. Considering Australia is in the neighborhood, that's amazing.

The good atmosphere lasted for 10 minutes. The Aussies ran in two early tries. Then the Americans, amazingly, scored one to bring it to 10-5. When the Americans were threatening to tie it up, making the crowd dream of the undreamable, the Aussies stole the ball and ran a try in the length of the field. Everyone knew it was over then. The chants of "USA, USA" were a little weaker.

The USA Rugby bosses told me that the team is focused on beating Italy next Tuesday. That's why they rested our stars. That's why they made fourteen changes for this game. I guess I don't get that. You only get to play at the World Cup once every four years. There's only four games during the tournament. My thought is you should play every game like it counts. But I'm just a fan.

We'll see what happens in Nelson on Tuesday against the Italians. In the meantime, I would say the fans hung in there a lot longer than the team did. The USA supporters from all over the world were the ones with the fun costumes and the good attitudes.



We were the ones who painted the stadium and the town red, white and blue. We were the ones with the funny costumes and the great attitudes. And our captain, Todd Clever, wasn't even on the bench tonight; nor were our other stars. I guess we were all a little disappointed by that. I know my sons were.

So onward to Nelson go our boys. But a lot of red, white and blue will be left here in Wellington. And that's a little sad.

Scotland's rugby team at Scots

As soon as I walked back into Scots College today, three people called me a turncoat.

Yesterday I'd been there in a USA Eagles shirt to greet the American Rugby team.

Today I showed up in a Scotland shirt to meet the team from the land of my birth.

I'd just like to point out forcefully that I am neither a turncoat nor a groupie. I am a dual citizen.

On the eve of the big Scotland-Argentina game on Sunday, the winner of which will probably advance to the quarterfinals, the Scots came by Scots College for some meeting and greeting. They received a ferocious haka from the Scots 1st XV.



The Scots were stoic during this display, but reacted with applause and relieved laughter when it was finished, right.

As I said, I'm not wandering around New Zealand stalking rugby teams. It just so happened that my two teams appeared in the same place one day apart. A tad awkward. The real awkwardness, though, came because unlike last night, there were very few parents at the event today. Who knew? So there I was standing in line with all the little uniformed kids - with a Scotland shirt and cap on, like a real winner. I could see some of the teachers giving me those probing pervert-in-the-playground looks.

I didn't push any of the kids out of the way, not even the one who had Joe Ansboro sign his scooter. Joe looked at me. I shrugged. "I guess he didn't have anything else on him."

When I told the other players about "the scooter incident," they were jealous. They'd not been asked to sign anything other than posters and shirts still being worn by the boys. "I guess that only happens to special players," Simon Danielli said, a tad hurt, I thought.

Morgan shuffled up halfway through the event. He had his picture taken with Simon Danielli. One of the highlights of the event for the Scots was the playing of the bagpipes, which have been banned for the Rugby World Cup. The opposition leader has already referred to that ban as portraying New Zealanders as a bunch of "kiltjoys." Even the Scottish players referenced the lack of bagpipes in the World Cup and how nice it was to hear the Scots College Pipe band.

I know this conjurs up a pretty difficult image to cope with, but I wonder how many Scots will be smuggling a set of pipes up their kilts into the ground on Sunday.

For Eagles, a bit of fame for once

Mini-Eagles' Captain Sage Minarapa teaches real Eagles' Captain Todd Clever about the hongi, the traditional Maori greeting.

For guys who wouldn't be recognized by strangers on the streets of their own hometowns, it's pretty cool that the USA Eagles are getting rock star treatment in New Zealand.

The U.S. Captain, Todd Clever, thanked more than 500 fans and well-wishers for that at my sons' school last night. Not for the rock star bit - though they received that again last night - but for the massive welcome his Eagles have received in New Zealand.

And it really must be overwhelming for a group of guys used to playing to tiny crowds and with no media coverage. When they walked into the gym at Scots College last night, they were greeted by a huge roar, a fantastic haka, a wind band, a room decked out in red, white and blue, and hundreds of Kiwis wanting to wish them well.

They signed autographs and chatted for an hour. It was hard to get them out of the building; they kept stopping for pictures and well-wishes. They were also told that, because they are playing Australia on Friday, they will have 4.3 million New Zealanders cheering them on.

Earlier in the day, the Eagles had met with the Mini-Eagles, a group of youngsters who'd represented America at a mock Rugby World Cup tournament for schools from across New Zealand. The kids had performed fabulously and the Eagles invited them to watch their training. They arrived with their parents and teachers and one of the kids, the son of a policeman, wore his father's hat all day.



The Eagles were again greeted by a haka, led by their captain Sage Minarapa. Many of the players didn't realize the kids were there and, as the haka started, a lot of the Eagles just carried on training. Then the noise rose and the whole team came running to watch their little counterparts. There was a huge round of applause when it was over and you could tell the kids from Otaki were proud to have drawn the attention of the adults.

Then the two teams mucked about together. The Eagles hoisted the kids up for lineouts, which the boys liked; some of the girls not so much. They tossed around rugby balls, had their pictures taken. They quite literally just hung with the big boys.

A loud screech of disapproval

For a country with such a proud Scottish tradition, it seems almost sacriligous for New Zealand to ban the bagpipes from the Rugby World Cup.

Having been born in Scotland, I feel a gathering outrage brewing in me. They didn't even ban vuvuzelas from the Fifa World Cup, for God's sake.

This may even become an international incident. A spokesman for the Scottish government with, perhaps, more tact than warranted, has said he's sure this is just an oversight.

An oversight, dear sir, would be forgetting to ban the instrument - and, yes, I use the word instrument judiciously. Also banned from stadiums are air horns. To put the two in the same category is beyond insulting.

Letters, apparently, have already been written. Strongly worded, I'm sure. And I'm certain that will have the government of New Zealand quaking in its boots.

One of the greatest parts of the rich Rugby tradition in New Zealand is, for me, the bagpipers who play the Highlanders Rugby team onto the field before matches in Dunedin. It is absolutely wonderful. And perhaps the fear is that random bagpiping would give the Scottish team an edge.

Of course I don't want to go all conspiracy theory just yet. A Rugby World Cup 2011 has refused to comment because she wasn't aware if an official complaint had been received yet.

Well, I'm officially complaining.

The organizers, I'm sure, will also claim that they haven't specifically banned the bagpipes - just all musical instruments, to prevent "other ticketholders from being inconvenienced." Because you know how annoying rogue ukelele players can be.

Tell all that to Matthew Strachan, a Scottish supporter and bagpiper, who has played at previous World Cups and who is considerably annoyed. Naturally, he has formed a facebook page, which should bring them to their knees.

If the RWC is to be a celebration of international cultures, this is surely unacceptable. Especially in a country with such close historical and present-day ties to the Auld Country.

And yes, bubbas, bagpipes are an official musical instrument. I await your scathing comments now.

Our favorite villain unmasked

I met the most hated man in New Zealand today. And, at the risk of joining him at the bottom of the popularity ratings, he's actually a very quiet and soft-spoken guy.

Far from the snarling, elbow-throwing thug he's portrayed as in the media, Quade Cooper, the Australian No. 10, was respectful and a little awkward. Cooper is Public Enemy No. 1 because of his feud with New Zealand Captain Richie McCaw - which included an infamous knee-to-the-head incident. He's also an easy target because his sheer brilliance is often negated by flamboyant displays of incompetence. He's a sort of genius-goat often howled at as loudly by the Wallabies' fans as those of the opposition.

My boys, as adopted Kiwi fans, like to make fun of Cooper. So of course I had to get his autograph for them. They wanted me to tell them tales of Cooper's awful behavior.

When I told them he'd actually been quite nice, Morgan said, "Aww, do we have to like him now?"

Well, I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it sure does underscore the point that charicatures you read about in the papers can sometimes be a lot different from reality.

And, with that, I apologize in advance to All Blacks nation. Of course, all this Wallabies humility could have something to do with the fact that they had their butts handed to them by the Irish on Saturday in the biggest upset in this Rugby World Cup.

Things that make you go hmmmmm

I honestly can't even opine as to what the hell this was at the airport this morning.

Irish eyes are balling

My friend Derek was describing the misery he felt in Dublin when Australia beat Ireland in the World Cup.

He talked about the exquisite agony as the Australians converted an unmakeable kick after a Michael Lynagh try literally in the last minute to beat the boys in green 19-18. I could feel the deep disappointment - even though the loss came in 1991. He was there. He felt it. He suffered Celtically.

He talked with a bruised heart expecting further battering. Derek was telling us this before he left for the airport to fly to Auckland to watch Ireland play Australia in the Rugby World Cup.

And, oh my God, they won.

I can't think of a bigger upset in world cup history. Ever. It was awesome and wonderful and I wish I could talk to Derek. But he's on a flight back to the states. I just hope his head isn't hurting too much.

The Rocking U.S. Marines at RWC

The U.S. Marine Corps Band from Hawaii made so many friends in New Plymouth. As you can tell from this amazing video before the USA-Russia rugby match at the World Cup, they know how to party. This is just to brighten your day a little. A prize for anyone who can spot me.

The Colors of the World

Yes, there is a small sporting tournament going on in New Zealand and, yes, a few people are taking it quite seriously.

USA wins, life is good

I was born in Scotland so, genetically, I'm not really comfortable with happiness.

But today comes about close to it as I think is possible.

My family arrived in New Plymouth, arrangements for the day went well, and my team, the USA Eagles, won at the Rugby World Cup.

Yes, we had a pretty good day.

Amy and the boys made it to New Plymouth, my friends here welcomed them wonderfully, and then our rugby team, kicked a little bit of Russian butt, winning 13-6 and sending the rugby-wild crowd into a sort of controlled frenzy: the Kiwis were just happy someone won.

The streets of New Plymouth were exuberant before the game. USA fans donned the red, white and blue, of course, but there were also Tele-tubbies, Statues of Liberty, a guy attached slightly pornographically to a horse and lots of Uncle Sams. I'm not sure Taranaki has seen anything quite like it before.

The folks from the local newspaper have been hyping the USA-Russia game as some sort of throwback to the Cold War. Silly, really, but a good picture for the hype. In the end, Russian and American fans braved horrendous weather with howling winds together. There was no left-over hostility from long ago. Rather, we celebrated the game of rugby together in a country that knows how to put on a good party.

Morgan and Ewan were awesome, playing it up all day long. When it came time for the game, they were deadly serious: it was time for the U.S. to win. Loveable underdog is perhaps something we become familiar with later in life. As a youngster, losing gracefully is just not something to be contemplated. They hooted and hollered through the rain storm and were delighted with the win.

It was good that our USA Rugby boys did well. They were the better team and should have won by more. More's the point, though, my boys were here to have a good time and New Plymouth showed them how to do it.

The Hype Continues to Build

"A Game Like No Other"

That is the headline in The Taranaki Daily News today. While there's a bit much Cold War allusions in the story, the paper is really capturing the excitement in this little town in New Zealand.

The town has adopted the USA and Russia teams. There are flags everywhere, store owners have face paintings on and are wearing lapel badges.

The Russians hit town on Tuesday; the Americans have been here for a week. The locals are buying into the hype and the stadium should be full tonight. To be honest, this is underdog versus underdog, and should be hard-fought game. But the U.S. Marine Corps Pacific Band, which will be playing on the field before kick-off and has been making friends all over Taranaki, should swing the balance.

Showdown at foot of Mt. Taranaki

It's going to be a showdown in the shadow of the mountain.

If Mount Taranaki decides to show itself on USA-Russia gameday, it will do nothing but add to the drama of the moment.

Now that the Irish mob has left New Plymouth for other Rugby World Cup matches, things are looking a bit more red, white and blue.

The fact that the colors of both the U.S. and Russian flags bear those colors helps considerably.

Even Peggy Gordons, the Irish pub owned by a Scotsman, seems to be neutral ground now. The last time I was in there there was a healthy mix of Eagles fans and Russians.

I do have to say that hearing Borises and Svetlanas speaking Russian in New Plymouth is a bit of a mind-warp.

But you'll hear no trash-talking from me on the eve of the big game between USA and Russia.

The Eagles played their hearts out against the Irish and won over a lot of the neutral Kiwis. A Maori lady told me she thought USA Captain Todd Clever had to have some Maori blood in him, that's how hard he was hitting the Irish.

The Russians have already stated that their main goal in this World Cup is to beat the Americans. And the Eagles, too, know this is a must-win game. Interestingly, more tickets have been sold to this game than to the Irish game, which is amazing considering the number of Irishmen who were here.

Taranaki Stadium is a gorgeous venue. The atmosphere - boosted by a pre-match performance by the U.S. Marine Corps Pacific Band - will be electric. If the U.S. can play half as passionately as they did on Sept. 11, it will be good enough, I think.

I can't understate how amazing it is that the folks of New Plymouth - heck, the whole of Taranaki - have taken the U.S. under their wings. The number of Stars and Stripes flying is heart-warming.

I hope the Eagles respond to the love this part of the world is giving them. It's do or die time.