It's been fascinating during the build-up to speak to a fine variety of folks who all have their favourite All Blacks moment.
We are a rugby land, there is no doubt about that, and the best thing of all is we are very good at it.
I wanted to be a good player in the days when I could wear shorts without creating a disturbance, and I had all the goods except for two ... skill and ability. So after an average season with the Tech Under-21s I resigned myself to my rugby future. Spectating.
And I got quite good at it, but then we all get quite good at spectating in the end and we are never wrong.
The only one who gets it wrong, according to we seasoned spectators, is the referee.
To my regret I once yelled advice to a ref along the lines that one particularly errant player had been "doing it all day" and should be sent off.
I should have been sent from the ground.
I am quieter today.
And so, there I was in Wales (bear with me).
It was back in 1974 when I was but 20 years of this world I was wandering the land of green valleys and Harry Secombe.
I had ridden my protesting motorcycle over and across the Brecon Beacons from England and I'd headed down to the coastal towns and villages.
The coast of Wales is a beautiful landscape and the names of the places are rather bewitching. Like Aberaeron and Caenarfon and Aberystwyth - the latter being the delightful little coastal spot I parked up for a break and sought refuge at in a small bar.
It was a remarkable little village soaked in salt air.
A seafront of charming old buildings and a castle and green fields just off the seafront and just down from a little inner harbour.
There was a pier, if I recall rightly, and it was one of those beaches where when the tide went out it really went out ... hundreds of metres.
This little town, in the heart of rugby-mad Wales, would provide me with my favourite All Black experience, despite the fact it was mid-summer.
As mentioned 90 words ago, I stepped into a bar. Upon the walls there were grand framed photographs of the fine Welsh rugby team in action.
This was a grand rugby bar "boyo" and the first thing I did upon entering was soak up the atmosphere.
A barman was behind the bar and a table of about four old chaps in one corner and two other blokes standing at the bar chatting with the barman, who looked a bit like Ronnie Barker.
One picture caught my eye, as there he was amidst the action - Kel Tremain.
I smiled as I took it in and heard the barman ask if I wanted to order something.
I said yep, a beer would be nice and remarked that it was grand to see the All Blacks in several of the photos, and especially Kel Tremain as he had been to our house back home in Napier.
It was as if a stranger had walked into a bar in Abilene ... it went so silent.
"You have met Kelvin Tree-main?" he asked.
Oh yes, I replied.
Many times during the Ranfurly Shield era because dad was the shield custodian and also helped sort the aftermatch functions.
"And Kelvin Tree-main once went to your house?"
Oh yes, a couple of times, I think, to see dad about something, I replied.
Well, forget about buying a drink. It was anything I wanted, and it just got better when I said us kids had also bumped into Billy Davis and Ian MacRae.
It was a long and wonderful day and I could not ride the bike afterwards, because my vision had disintegrated, and I'd forgotten where I'd parked it anyway.
My most wonderful memory is of that endless ale-offering barman telling those who had come in after me that "this young man has met Kelvin Tree-main!"
Just magic.
• Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre
