Wasting my time, but not as much as I might have …
Wednesday 16th November: Harlequins v Maori All Blacks at the Stoop (part of the club’s 150th anniversary celebrations), kick-off 7.45pm: Result: Harlequins 10 Maori All Blacks 26.
About three weeks ago, both because I was being repeatedly reminded of it by the club and felt something of an obligation, I bought a ticket to this match. It was only the second time in history that such a match had taken place – the first had been in 1926, won 11-5 by Quins – and there was also a degree to which I felt I might have missed out if I did not attend (the match was not being televised).
As it happens I had one other engagement in my diary for the day – an important luncheon in central London.
Dear reader, because I knew I would not be driving afterwards (normally I would avoid alcohol if things had been otherwise) I imbibed rather more liberally at the event than perhaps I should have and by the time I’d reached the sanctuary of my home – having been up since just before 1.00am – I was feeling decidedly, let us say, weary.
Having fired up my computer and checked my email inbox, in which as usual there seem to be nothing of significance, I therefore opted to retire to my bedroom and have a swift forty winks before making my way down to the Stoop.
For good or ill I then recovered consciousness with my bedside clock registering 7.04pm, at that point there being no more than 41 minutes to kick-off. This barely left me time to get to the ground in advance of the commencement of the match, even if the trains and/or buses had been on time and in my favour.
Suddenly the anticipatory joys of attending the match seemed less attractive than pottering about at home, having a sandwich or equivalent and watching a bit of television. Out of curiosity I then went online to the official club website in order to see what sort of team Quins were going to be fielding.
Despite the bravura words of Quins director of rugby John Kingston on the club’s website referring to the privilege of the occasion – the Maori All Blacks are often treated as if they are an unofficial All Blacks 2nd XV – from a first cursory glance at the team sheet thereon posted, it was plain that this wasn’t going to be a serious contest. It contained but a handful of first team squadders and the bulk of the 23 were academy players and ‘guests’, either from championship side Ealing Trailfinders or God knows where.
It was then I noticed that it would also be possible to watch the game on an online ‘live stream’.
That clinched it, I decided not to go. Instead I’d watch it online and save myself the time, effort and trouble of attending it in the flesh.
It was the best decision I’ve probably made all year.
It was immediately apparent from the kick-off (mind you, I thoroughly enjoyed the visitors’ performance of the haka) that neither side was taking the match seriously. The Maoris approached it as if they were out doing a training run – and Quins couldn’t even manage that with their scratch team of odds and sods.
To be fair, from what I could see of the stands, the Stoop was pretty full, maybe 10,000 to 12,000 present.
However, given what was happening on the pitch – the scrums were just a mess of false starts, referee lectures and then more false starts, the general action full of basic handling errors, knock-ons and cock-ups – the atmosphere was ‘dead’ and by half-time (at which point the Maori All Blacks were 26-3 and several tries to the good, the Quins defence having gone completely AWOL, I wouldn’t have been surprised if most of the spectators were not only wondering why on earth they’d bothered to turn up but probably wishing they’d stayed at home like I had.
(I don’t say that with any sense of smug satisfaction by the way).
From what I saw, and indeed heard from the commentators Martin Gillingham and Brian Moore, it was probable that both teams got a talking-to during the half-time interval because the second half (won 7-0 by Quins) was several notches more competitive.
In fact, one might even venture to suggest that Quins somehow got their act together in the second stanza because – if they had not done so and the one-way traffic of the first half had continued – the Maoris might have put 50 to 60 points on the board.
That said, overall this evening was a major disappointment – even for me, sitting at home, half-watching it and half-watching whatever else was being broadcast on my television in the corner of the room. I was wasting my time, of course, but at least I was wasting less of it than if I’d made the trip down to the Stoop.
