There seems to be some level of confusion about my support of Stephen Donald. I’ve received numerous (well – at least three) calls and emails this morning asking how I was going to approach this blog post, with particular reference to the incorrect perception that I am not a fan of The Beaver.
May I refer you to a few of the pieces that may have been misunderstood
August 11th 2011 – “Cooper choked in a manner not seen since last time Stephen Donald took the field for the Mighty Mighty ABs.”
June 13th 2011 – “Stephen Donald whose rugby game is so stink he’s signed up for Bath”
September 22nd 2009 – “Mad props also go to Sir Graham who saw the light and kept Stephen Donald as far away from the action as was humanly possible for all eighty minutes. Donald’s absence being most notable in the post match statistics – zero defensive bombs and zero occasions where players fell for their own dummy passes.”
Whilst I admit that the untrained reader, these may appear to be scathing comments about The Beaver, this could not be further from the truth. I’m simply stunned that my sense of humour appears to have been lost on small of my small and ever decreasing audience. In fact, as recently as last week I wrote “I believed that even Stephen Donald was a better first-five than the Tokoroa Turnstyle Quade Cooper.” That’s praise of the highest order and clear proof that I already had Beaver Fever.
I’m pleased we’ve got that cleared up then. On to the good stuff…
We have done it folks. We are finally the official best team on the planet, probably in the entire universe. We even invited the ‘Bukkks this time so there’ll be no asterix beside this one in the record books.
Half a bottle of Laphroaig, two Jager bombs and three Epic Hop Zombies in the prematch were not enough to remove my nerves leading up to the biggest game in All Black history. I was so nervous that I had to leave the room for parts of the match. It was only the roar of the gathered Man Room crowd that assured me that my good buddy Steve had managed to kick the penalty that shall be henceforth known as the Immaculate Redemption.
I’m not going to pretend it was pretty. The Mighty Mighty All Blacks saved their worst for last, although that is probably not being fair to the French who put up the sort of passionate defence that has not been seen since well before World War II. The backline was often on the back foot and looked almost as lost for good ideas as a Phil Goff election speech. I think the last time I saw the backline that disjointed was at Cardiff four years ago and I’m not keen to send this piece back in that direction.
The main thing – the only thing that matters, is that we got there.
Arise Sir Richie… Arise Sir Ted
Allez les Noir!
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