Henry and de Villiers: a tale of two coaches

 

Roar Pro

By stash, 12 Jul 2010 stash is a Roar Pro

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 All Blacks, Peter de Villiers, Rugby Union, Springboks, Tri Nations

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It was a crisp, clear night in Auckland city, New Zealand. The moon was high, the lights were dim and Peter de Villiers was a happy man. He had struggled earlier in the week to choose his first string team, because there was just too many quality players to choose from.

But, that was behind him now – the lights in Eden Park were soft and kind of romantic. He had a great view of the playing field, surrounded by his back slapping, hand shaking buddies, and he was a man in love … with himself.

As the stirring harmonics of the SA anthem rose from the field, all was good in the land of PDV. The oracle (the bookies) had said so and his team were not scared anymore of those Men in Black.

Three on the trot and the delicious prospect of mortally wounding this enemy for another year was so tantalizingly close he had awoken in the middle of the night convinced that he had won. A quick call to the hotel receptionist confirmed that it had been a dream.

And then a black cloud rose from the ground and the enemies clarion calls to attack began to grow louder and louder and Peter’s ears began to hurt. And then his favourite Giant’s head accidentally fell on the back of a little blokes head.

And the cold dread started circling inside Peter’s tummy (he knew it was not hunger because he had eaten a burger and some nachos earlier).

What was this mad wave of black-clad figures doing as they carved up his defences and belted their way to cross over the golden line? They were possessed these dark clothed warriors, and not possessed like Peter was sometimes when talking to reporters, but in a scary way that Peter thought he might have to start sleeping with the light on.

And then the infamous lineout faltered, the last barrier of strength and Peter’s confidence drained away as he watched the black cloud swamping his beloved green – as they marched them backwards down the field 25 meters. And all was not well in PDV land.

Peter awoke with a start – what a terrible nightmare, he thought. Cautiously, he reached for the phone and the hotel receptionist confirmed his worst suspicions. The night suddenly grew longer.

On the other side of town Graham was in the pub downing jugs when the bottom half of his face suddenly lurched upwards into a smile – there was a sharp, sonic boom, cracking sound – and Graham had to go to hospital for observation.

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