New Zealand Regain Crown Despite Brave French

Slightly delayed due to prolonged, in depth and heavy celebrating, but here are my Final thoughts.

The day dawned with heavy clouds and heavier expectations. Saturday had been spent at a combination of 2 friends' cousins, for a relaxing afternoon and then a BBQ where 7 of us ate a lamb, some cows and part of a pig, washed down with lashings of Pinot and Syrah. Not even remotely hungover, Sunday saw nerves on the Auckland streets. I was collected by friends and we headed up to their place for an outdoor brunch to settle the nerves and line the stomach. The fact that 4 beers were drunk before the brunch started is neither here nor there. A half hour stroll to the bar, and the usual good humour and confusion (well I was wearing England shirt, French hat and All Blacks tattoos) saw the time fly by and before we knew it it was time to head to the ground. 

Absolute chockablock is the only way to describe it. Still we were in our seats, 12 rows back behind the posts where both tries would be scored and if you look hard enough, you could see me in white shirt between the sticks as France converted their try, in plenty of time for the build-up. Rarely have I heard hymns sung with such gusto. I bellowed out La Marseillaise with a thought for all my friends back in Paris, both of how they should be here, not me, and in fear of the battering they were about to receive. The Haka and its fantastic response from the French added to the occasion, and were it not for the ad break to dim burning fires, the game would have set off at a great lick. But, cars and insurance must be sold, and it was a little less intense come the start, but not much.

The All Blacks put on a show for half an hour, and Woodcock's try was no more than they deserved. In fact, had Weepu not been shaking like a wet lettuce over every kick, they would have been as out of sight as France themselves had been in their Quarter FInal win against England. Cruden became the latest 10 to limp off for the hosts, meaning the much vilified and lampooned Donald entered the fray in a shirt that looked 3 sizes too small (best muffin tops of RWC 2011). At half time, as I queued patiently for the rest room (!), I told all and sundry he would win the game for them, to much ridicule. 1 Aussie said I was a buffoon and he had no chance (he didn't like my "More chance than Quade" reply which tickled nervous All Blacks. How I wish I could have seen them all at the end of the game.

Donald it was who in the early moments of the second half sent New Zealand 2 scores clear at 8-0 with a penalty that eased inside the post. Weepu then completed his awful day at the office by handing the ball on a plate, and Rougerie, who had his best game in a French shirt, pounced and almost went over. Recycled ball went wide, where once more recycled it came back to Rougerie who timed his pass to Dusautoir to perfection, and in an echo of 2007, the French skipper romped over by the posts, to make the extras easy for Trinh-Duc, who had replaced Parra and had a good game himself. Many have said that McCaw's knee in Parra's face was deliberate. I don't see it that way. Yes, Mr Joubert missed a couple of McCaw offsides, but referees have been doing that for years for some reason. 

France played the rugby they are capable of, and on the whole probably deserved to win, but the All Blacks were not to be denied, and a last 30 minutes of near exemplary defence (1 penalty which Trinh-Duc pulled aside) saw them hold on and send the country into a prolonged state of ecstasy that only 24 years of abstinence can produce. Dusautoir was rightly named Man of the Match, and you would be hard placed to put 1 All Black in the top 5, with Rougerie, Harinordoquy, Nallet and Pape all producing magnificent games. Donald's late impact with some astute kicking bore fruit and justified Henry's ultimate faith in his 4th choice fly half, but it was a largely unremarkable performance as individuals, with Kieran Read possibly being the best on the night after a barnstorming first 40.

Once France conceded a penalty, it was left for the ball to be belted into touch and seal a win which, on the whole of the tournament, you would be hard pushed not to say the All Blacks deserved. On the basis of 80 minutes on Sunday October 23rd, they were lucky though. Presentations followed, with the dignified French (so much better losers than winners) and the All Blacks receiving medals and the latter the trophy, immortalising Richie McCaw amid calls for his and Graham Henry's knighthood. McCaw already has half of the nation wanting to marry him (including the men) and his start will rise on the back of it. There are those who will retire (Muliaina, Thorn for two) and those who may seek pastures new and golden contracts in France and Japan, but the monkey on the back of the All Blacks, which had turned into a gorilla, has finally been removed before it turned into King Kong. To paraphrase that film, it wasn't beauty that killed the French, it was ugly rugby, but after 24 years of trying, the ABs finally learned how to win ugly.

On to the partying. The troup reunited in the excellent and welcoming New Bond Street bar, and hugs were exchanged while Frenchmen sporting soggy tear-stained Lievremont moustaches glared daggers amid facepaint which had run down cheeks. Indeed the French, who had been a joy to witness in my four weeks, completely went into themselves and were anonymous through the evening. Bar closed at 0230, burger consumed, we headed off into town to find further sustenance of a liquid variety, but everywhere was heaving. I've rarely witnessed such life in the streets at 0400 and 0430. Tales started to be told of a victory parade on Monday (a bank holiday) and the next day's activity was set. In fact, rather than the 100,000 expected, 250,000 lined the Auckland streets (that's 20% plus of the population) and crowds ten deep witnessed a parade of flat back trucks with 3 squad members each on, followed by a huge trailer with McCaw, Henry, Muliaina, Thorn and the trophy. The highlights were a car of Weepu, Nonu and Kaino who clearly had been on the energy drinks with the fist-pumping, and an Ali Williams who looked Andrew Flintoff-like as he danced his way along Queen Street. 

A glorious end to a glorious tournament. The right winner all said and done, and praise to the organisers and IRB for putting on a show that made me proud to be a Rugby fan.

Team of the tournament:

1. Guthro Steenkamp (RSA)

2. William Servat (FRA)

3. Martin Castrogiavanni (ITA)

4. Lionel Nallet (FRA)

5. Dani Rossouw (RSA)

6. Thierry Dusautoir (FRA)

7. Sean O'Brien (IRE)

8. Imanol Harinordoquy (FRA)

9. Will Genia (AUS)

10. Stephen Donald (NZL)

11. Richard Kahui (NZL)

12. Ma'a Nonu (NZL)

13. Jamie Roberts (WAL)

14. Vincent Clerc (FRA)

15. Israel Dagg (NZL)

The French came with a strong run to get a few players in, with the 4 forwards meriting their places for keeping their side in the tournament and stepping up when it mattered. You may sneer at my selection at 10, but this is more an indictment of the amount of poor play seen at 10, and the fact that, with so many injuries (Carter, Slade, Cruden, Priestland) no-one made the shirt their own. Donald's calming influence and vital three points saw him be crucial in his 50 minutes, so I'll take the easy option and stick him in.

The plane back beckons later, and I have no doubt on my return I will give more detailed analysis. Until then, thanks for reading these blogs. If you have enjoyed them, please leave a comment here. I will be back at the weekend with some thoughts of the tournament, the weekend rugby and the future of the game (this time for definite I promise).