Forty minutes and 40 beers later, we blew another volley of duck calls as the Lions took the field to begin the second half leading 9-7.
All Black fans were nervous. Boozed and belligerent, the stadium was baying for British blood.
It was about then the strangest sensation hit me. Inexplicably, I willed the Brits to win.
Wary this wasn't kosher, I feigned angst and disbelief as it became increasingly obvious the men in black had a fight on their hands.
And then, with 20 minutes to go, just as I was wishing it, Sean Fitzpatrick answered my prayers. The All Blacks captain set in motion a spectacular Lions try after spilling the ball from a rolling maul. Happy Brits pounced on the ball and deftly fed it to their pace man, Rory Underwood. The English wing and former fighter-pilot engaged the after-burners, smoked John Kirwan and scored an outright screamer in the corner.
Kiwis cursed. Lions fans roared.
My hidden glee was quiet treason. I felt no guilt. Little shame. I was the arsonist watching from the crowd as the fire raged uncontrollably.
Despite my lifelong allegiance, which had hitherto been black, somewhere atop the country's coldest stand came the realisation I was never a die-hard fan.
Now a little wiser, I'm guessing this is a conundrum facing many Kiwi rugby followers. That is, fans don't want complete dominance. We want suspense, uncertainty, the occasional marred performance.
The All Blacks are this country's most successful international product. Thus, their flourishing poses a problem for an egalitarian nation. We don't like unremitting excellence. We prefer to align ourselves with the fallible.
That's a theory.
But of course we now live in the postmodern world where definitions of nationalism are more fluid.
That's another theory.
And then there's my British ancestry. Of which, I'm told most is Irish. With that in mind, a few years ago I disclosed my Millard Stand treason to a Maori friend. After copping some inevitable flack, I asked which he would back, hypothetically, if NZ Maori were playing the All Blacks. He was unequivocal: "Maoris".
Ancestry, it seems, out-muscles nationhood.
That's a third theory.
Funny how things change. Back in 1993, at the age of 20, I didn't tell a soul about my betrayal. Now, by virtue of writing this column, I'm confessing to 60,000 readers that I'll be stoked if Ireland beat the All Blacks this weekend.
I can tell you it's quite liberating.
On Saturday the Irish will attempt to chalk-up their first win over the All Blacks. All ancestry aside, there's something endearing about this team from the Emerald Isle.
Their shorts, for instance, are always a size too small. Consequently, when they stand for the anthem it looks like the team left their kit in the drier too long.
Said shorts are also often pulled up a tad too northwards - proudly indicating which hemisphere they're from. Either way, it means this team boasts the longest gap between socks and shorts in world rugby. As if we weren't already baulking at their ghost-white pegs.
This adds to their allure. And while I do admit to a green heritage, and still get the goose-bumps during the anthem, they remain without a doubt the most earnest, daring and gallant of rugby teams.
With the exception of centre Brian O'Driscoll - the best player to never take an All Black scalp - this team is without superstars. As they say, "together, standing tall".
Since losing to the All Blacks at Lansdowne Rd in their first clash in 1905, the men in green have yet to answer Ireland's call.
Six days out from the clash I can only hope again that my sporting infidelity will turn these gallant men into glorious men.
Mark Story is assistant editor at Hawke's Bay Today.
