Super 14: The old and the new

The Highlanders have had some pretty ordinary decisions go against them in the first few rounds, but on Friday night they only had themselves to blame when they lost to the Hurricanes 6-10 on Carisbrook.

The Hurricanes did little more than make their tackles, and took the one chance that came their way for a try to Jerry Collins midway through the first half. The rest of the match saw the Highlanders banging away at the Hurricanes defence, but every time they came within sight of the tryline they would either cough up the pill in contact or kick possession away over-ambitiously.

I remember playing rugby in Otago, back in the early eighties. Some things were very different then, some things were exactly the same.

The differences were not subtle ones. My senior playing days at Otago University were immediately post 1981 Springboks tour, and rugby was a dirty word amongst the twinkle-toed commies who ran the local student newspaper and set the political agenda. Helen Clark, Geoffrey Palmer and Fran Wilde were popular heroes whose revolutionary social legislation made any sort of institutionalised violence practically illegal.

And yet Gary Knight getting flour-bombed was a source of amusement rather than outrage for most of my flaky classmates.

I lied to girlfriends about my whereabouts on the weekends… disappearing on Fridays and reappearing on Sundays covered in cuts and bruises, giving various far-fetched excuses for my injuries… and though I knew it was kind of cowardly, for some strange peer-pressured reason I kept up the charade rather than just cutting such shrill harpies loose and fighting over one of the few rugby-tolerant girls available.

These days I like to think if I had my time again I would have the courage of my convictions. But then things are very different in Dunedin these days, rugby is an accepted part of New Zealand culture.

Other things are exactly the same. Back then scorn would be poured on halves and five-eighths by their forwards if they kicked away hard-earned possession or squandered opportunities close to the line, just like today in rugby’s professional era. Backs who blew chances would be punished at after-match functions… denied beer, and humiliated in ways that were less than good-humoured.

If I was a member of the Highlanders forward pack with the same complaints on Friday, I would be furious with those team-mates having high numbers on their backs if they tried half-cocked cross-kicks and aimless grubbers inside the opposition’s twenty-two, when holding on to possession for just a couple more phases might have broken the resolute Hurricanes defence.

Some of the defence, in fact, went way past resolute. Jerry Collins’ forearm on reserve hooker David Hall was downright brutal, and Ma’a Nonu’s ugly high tackle on prop Clint Newland was yet another blot on his already-spotty record.

Oh well… when things aren’t going your way and you’ve lost that winning habit, the close ones seem to slip from your grasp just that little bit more easily.

The Chiefs were next up on Saturday, and pulled off a nail-biting 22-20 victory against the Cheetahs in Hamilton.

I have absolutely no memories from my youth that equate to matches like this one, by the way. The match was dominated by long electronic conversations between the referee and his television match official in the grandstand, which would have seemed preposterous just a few years back. It was also played, between these frequent and tedious interruptions, and albeit with few other stoppages under the new laws, at a furious pace… unlike in my day when you could actually catch your breath between headlocks.

God, not to mention that South African teams are now half-full of black men. In those days they weren’t even allowed on golf courses.

Committing all their usual ill-disciplined and impatient errors, the Chiefs found themselves 0-17 down. The Cheetahs were rampant, nailing quick tries to Eddie Fredericks and Jongi Nokwe. The Chiefs lineout was a mess, and some of the tactical kicking was probably affected by the knowledge that the Cheetahs practically owned the sidelines.

Things looked bad.

Something eventually clicked, but it’s almost impossible to say what. The star of the Chiefs forward pack was young flanker Fafili Levave, who was into everything and perhaps inspirational to his older and more experienced team-mates. Maybe he turned the tide.

Maybe it was the long flight across from Africa that left the Cheetahs legless at the death, or maybe the Chiefs were fitter to begin with and it was a combination of both these physical factors that saw the home side finish so much stronger.

The comeback wasn’t smooth sailing by any means. The pace of play was frenetic, and with players stretched all over the field there were constant opportunities for counter-attack whenever ball was turned over. Simple tries to flanker Tom Harding, wing Sitiveni Sivivatu and second five Callum Bruce were punctuated by far more panicky moves, and with the TMO being called into play so often no real rhythm was ever established.

But a win is a win, and the Chiefs dug deep to find what they needed… in a word, character.

So it was with the Blues, down 0-19 against the Sharks at King’s Park and with an Australian referee making some mystifying rulings. It didn’t seem to matter to him that players weren’t on their feet, he deemed a ruck as being formed whenever three players were involved and irrespective of whether they were on the ground or not.

The usual Sharks blueprint applied, lots of niggle and jersey-pulling off the ball, lots of shouldering in the lineouts, collapsing scrums, and players running en masse through gaps to block tacklers. It was very effective. Against a team full of homesick young Polynesians, in fact, out of their comfort zone in a typical Durban street-savvy turf war, it was rugby at its old-fashioned best.

The Blues came back to within striking distance with some sparkling rugby, quite courageous under the circumstances, but three in a row on the Dark Continent was a bridge too far. They pulled it back to 17-22 before the final whistle, with tries to first-five Nick Evans and halfback Taniela Moa, but the home team’s headstart was too big.

The Crusaders and Force fought out the best match of the round. Both teams were coming off their South African legs of the competition, the Crusaders having breezed through Pretoria and Cape Town while the Force had gutsed out two victories in Bloemfontein and Johannesburg after dropping one to the Sharks in Durban.

After such a hellish itinerary the Force’s home town advantage was almost nullified… I say almost because a solid 30,000 people still packed out Subiaco Oval with the Crusaders road show in town.

Uncharacteristic Crusader errors allowed the home team to build momentum, with the wonderfully gifted Matt Giteau steering their ship in the number 10 jersey. His opposite Dan Carter was having a shocker by his own high standards, kicking badly and not unleashing his outside weapoms with the customary fluidity. A freakish solo try kept the ledger even. He slipped Giteau’s tackle with great balance and somehow maintained speed, but Carter was not his usual brilliant self.

Prop Greg Somerville also burrowed over, but tries to the Force’s standout young flanker David Pocock, centre Ryan Cross and number eight Richard Brown kept the hosts' tails up. The mood was hysterical as the Force pushed out to a 24-12 lead with second five Lachlan MacKay’s try.

But the Crusaders have another gear that other sides don't. Their calm in tight spots is legendary, and once again it proved decisive.

First lock Ali Williams smashed over from a quick tap. A long series of freekicks taken quickly had put the Crusaders into scoring position, and the Force felt the match's tenor change. Now in defence mode, they tried to stay calm as the red-and-black monster began its traditional final minutes rampage. Next to cross was halfback Andy Ellis, pulling in a high pass from number eight Mose Tuiali’i whose storming run had left defenders sprawling.

The Force gathered their composure and tried to keep play down the Crusaders' end, the crowd screaming its approval at the helter skelter pace of play… and if this had been a World Cup or any other event where some kind of Holy Grail was at stake, the New Zealanders' nerve might have failed, some foolhardy youngster hot-housed to be a sports hero might have tried something rash… but it was just the Force at Subiaco Oval, on just another hot Perth afternoon, and the Crusaders had that invulnerable glint in their eyes.

Possession was maintained, the tide swept unstoppably upfield, and when in scoring position the final blow was delivered with deadly precision. Badly-cleared ball was flung wide, quick hands beat the rushing, desperate defence, and centre Casey Laulala cantered in at the corner to seal a tremendous victory.

On a weekend when the other two unbeaten sides were playing each other, and with the victor in that battle being the team that hasn’t left home yet, this win in Perth was a loud-and-clear signal to the chasing pack. We are the benchmark, the Crusaders said yet again… step right up and test yourselves against us, we like nothing better.

In other matches the Waratahs beat the Brumbies 24-17 in Sydney, the Bulls beat the Lions 31-17 in Pretoria, and the Stormers beat the Reds 34-16 in Brisbane. Of these teams, only the dogged Waratahs look to be serious top four contenders. They know their core tasks and play like they understand and trust each other.

They have a bye this week, which they will need to make the most of because their next match is in Christchurch… not their favourite city.

I didn’t fish at all this weekend. With such classic match-ups in store it was always going to be a round for full immersion, and I was so wired after the seven Super 14 games that I had to watch replays of the three Six Nations tests afterwards just to calm down again.

By the time Wales had ground down Ireland 16-12 at Croke Park my pulse was decidedly less hectic, and by half-time at Murrayfield I was asleep.

Did I miss much?

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