I've been slightly caught up in the RWC in a very peripheral way. I care about Dan Carter's groin (who doesn't?), I'll be gutted if the All Blacks don't win, I was amazed at Ireland beating Australia. I even made some rugby crafts for the Good Morning Show (pic below). But I think my general view of rugby as a whole is best summed up by this poem I wrote for Next Magazine some years ago...
Testing Times
When I was but a
little lass,
And rugby ruled
the nation,
I holidayed in
Hastings
With a pen pal on
her station.
One night we were
awoken
With excited
urgency,
And dragged into
the living room,
Where sat a large
T.V.
Around it men
were crowded
With smokes and
jars of beer,
All yelling 'Get
the boot in'
To a fullback at
the rear.
My eyelids
drooped as I sat down,
But the women
pulled me up
And showed me to
the kitchen,
Where we did the
washing up.
We also buttered
forty scones,
And heated up
steak pies,
Then made a batch
of pikelets
Whilst the men
scored armchair tries.
So I never really
did become
A big fan of the
game,
The sport itself
is fine, I'm sure
...it's the cooking
that I blame.
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