- Video
-
Club Roar
Captured a great grassroots sporting moment? We want to see it!Content Collections
The Roar Community
- Join
- Login
Deep in the unknown stretches of the North Pole, Santa Claus was coming to his favourite part of the year.
The Christmas presents had been finalised for all the children of the world and now it was time for him to grant the children’s wishes, wishes of one particular sport.
Every year, the Elves would spill into Santa’s room with a football, desperately trying to persuade Santa to open the football letters.
Santa is well known for his jolly disposition but little elves kicking a football around inside tested his jovial nature to the very limits.
Indeed, although Santa never outwardly showed it, he didn’t care too much for the elves. Too small. Those shifty little eyes. He knew he could fight them off. The question was for how long.
With a loud chorus of Ho Ho Ho, Santa would pick the ball up and throw it into the roaring fire.
The elves would cry and Santa would pick their tears up because he knew all too well elves’ tears turn into jelly beans. He also knew they would then be incapable of habouring any resentment towards him.
He would then tell the elves to go look under their beds and there they would find new footballs for each and every one of them.
Santa was lying. He didn’t want more footballs inside. He didn’t want any footballs inside. Where had they found yet another football? He had no proof but he was convinced they were tinkering with his Excel spreadsheets and over-ordering.
Mrs Claus would then try to sway her husband to pick boxing. A plump woman herself, she never made any overt reference to her husband’s rotund shape.
It didn’t stop her from daydreaming about taut, ripped bodies pummeling each other into submission inside a ring.
Santa knew her wife’s game. The less than subtle gym subscription forms scattered all over the house, the boxing gloves he had to regift every jingle bell year.
It didn’t matter what the others tried to do to persuade him. Santa’s mind was already made up. For Santa was a rugby union obsessive.
He had played and lived rugby all his life. He had started off as a nippy halfback believe it or not and had received the name ‘Little Saint Nick’ because of his ability to conjure up miracles on the rugby field, with his deft passing game and sniping runs.
Fame and attention went to his head and he turned to alcohol and late night burgers. Then the weight came on. Little Saint Nick fell into legend and then into myth.
A few years he’d rather forget followed but out of those booze-soaked days emerged the Santa fairytales we wax lyrical about.
At the time his bad boy rap suited his move to the front row and not many people realise it but the fashion among props to grow grizzly beards came from Santa’s new-found notoriety at white-head prop.
Unfortunately, Santa had to give away the game. The reindeer were allergic to Deep Heat and Rudolf still wears the scars of Santa’s misguided and overgenerous application after one post-match celebration.
But Santa never stopped his unrivaled passion for rugby. He had specially selected children from the major rugby nations to write to his personal email account.
Unfortunately Santa was a technophobe and only had dial-up.
This is what he had read this year while he was waiting for the other pages to load properly.
Australia
Santa, mate! We need a scrum. Our locks are about as useful as those little cabin baggage ones you can get real cheap. They bend in half with ease.
Injury keeps hitting our hookers and our props may look good in the loose but they look like they’re performing yoga when it comes to scrum time.
Our back row have been watching too many wildlife documentaries as they all seem to think they’re all meerkats. Mate, it’s a disgrace. You’re our last hope.
Sort us out and you can forget about the need to buy us toys for us union kids. We also promise to ensure those league and Aussie football kids keep behaving badly so you don’t have to get them anything. You little ripper Santa, I know you won’t let us down.
New Zealand
Santa, bro! Our breakdown sucks the kumara this year. Normally we’re really exceptional in this area so it’s got us all scratching our heads. But I think this is the reason why our defence has been so bad and our attack a bit like a kakapo trying to lift itself off the ground and fly.
Can you stop the ref coming so hard down on us so we can go back to stealing ball with reckless abandon and get that quick counter-attack ball we crave? That way we can also slow down opposition ball and not have them run at us on the back foot. Chur bro.
South Africa
Santa, boet! I promise you that I was over the moon with the lekker Ellis Park win this year. Shame! I never doubted you for a second that your present last year would finally arrive. Ag, if you could only get us our captain back to fitness and in the form he was in 2013.
We know we can beat anyone we come up against next year but it’s too soon to craft another leader. We need our inspiration back. I’ll send you a lifetime supply of biltong if you can arrange this one, bru.
Argentina
Hola Santa! You know that in my language Santa means saint and you getting us our first win in the Rugby Championship against Australia has cemented your sainthood application. After all, the Pope used to live just round the corner from my house and he’s big on humility and listening to common children like me.
I think the rugby world still doesn’t give us enough credit so Señor Santa, if you could be so kind as to secure us a really big result next year.
A World Cup semi final, a win against South Africa or New Zealand, por ejemplo. You surprise us but you get the idea, verdad? Muchas gracias y vaya con dios.
England
Dearest Santa! My humblest apologies. I obviously didn’t address the envelope properly last year. We didn’t win against New Zealand or South Africa.
Completely my fault, old bean. Or maybe you did get my letter but there are just some miracles you can’t just conjure up out of thin air. Completely understand my dear. So old sport, this year I’ve decided to be a little more realistic.
I’d be jolly grateful if you could do something about our back line. It currently has the cutting edge of the scissors I use in primary school. If you fix that area for us, then last year’s wish might come true as well.
Of course, I don’t wish to imply in any way that was your fault. Totally my mistake and apologies again.
France
Bonjour Père Noël! Comment vas-tu? Moi, ça va. Comme toujours! Three losses against Australia and a win against them in November. Followed up by a loss to Argentina! Zis is magnifique! Just what I asked for.
So maddeningly, wonderfully ambivalent. So French! Je t’en remercie! I ask for much the same next year. A few losses against weak teams and a good performance against England in between a baguette of mediocrity.
I don’t deserve to have all these wishes keep coming true. Eternally yours.
Wales
Alright or wha, Santa! That was a lush late-year gift you delivered against Australia. You kept telling me good things come to those who wait. And I sure did wait!
I’m not being funny but I think it’s not too much ask now this year to make the quarter finals next year in the World Cup. We don’t have to qualify first.
We can even lose to Fiji. Just get us past either one of England or Australia. My bampi says I should ask for a win against New Zealand so he can celebrate another victory but just get us out of that group of death and I’ll be forever grateful.
Ireland
Santa. What are you playing at? A win against South Africa and Australia and a great craic this November. Aw sure look it. Third in the rankings and now favourites to take out the Six Nations crown and a target on our backs for the World Cup.
Go way outta that! You’ve only gone about my Christmas wish last year arseways. Tanks for nothin’! Have you been going too hard at the pint of gat I left out for you last year?
What I want next year is for us to start losing important games. Get that underdog tag we so crave and don’t put any unnecessary pressure on us. Fourth or fifth in the Six Nations will do nicely. Just make sure we beat England. Sláinte!
Scotland
Awrite Santa my mukker! Hou ar ye? That was the best gift sending us that grumpy Kiwi coach and giving that Aussie mullet a swift kick up the jacksie. Thenk ye!
We finally look as though we know what we’re doin’. The only problem is that I know the players don’t really know what they’re doing. They’re not used to things going their way.
All I ask is that you give them some much needed belief and confidence in what they’re doing. I’ll leave out the 80 year-old Glenmoragie like last time. Nae bother!
Join The Roar rugby editor Christy Doran, former Wallaby Matt Toomua and a cast of regular and special guests as they look at the biggest issues in the game on The Roar Rugby Podcast. If you’re looking for great odds on the next game check out Aussie bookmaker PlayUp. Chances are you’re about to lose. Set a deposit limit.