SUPER 14 - Enigmatic Thorne in the Crusaders' side

SPORTRITE with Tim Eves
Puzzling, isn't it, that the team song for the Crusaders consists of the very two words that can send rugby tragics from anywhere north of about Kaikoura into involuntary spasms: Reuben Thorne.
As the Super 14 reaches the sudden-death phase, the Crusaders are like a Bengal tiger at sunset. That lazy devil-may-care swagger and laidback cute pussycat pose suddenly transforms into a terrifying stealth killer.
And when they win, which it seems almost inevitable they will, the players will cuddle in a shameless display of man-love - group man-love even - and sing that infernal song called, for obvious reasons: Reuben Thorne.
Try not to throw all five of your remotes at your brand-new wide-screen plasma television, refrain from kicking the cat and swearing at the kids. Save that for next week when the Crusaders play in the final which, if they make it, is a game they are statistically destined to succeed in.
Plonk these random facts into your search engine for a start.
The Crusaders have contested eight finals and won six times. Last year was the first time they lost a semifinal and this is the seventh consecutive year they have made the playoffs.
Three current squad members already have five "Super Rugby" medals hanging over the mantelpiece - Leon MacDonald, Caleb Ralph and Greg Somerville.
But it is that man Reuben Thorne who rides tallest in the saddle. The former skipper of both the Crusaders and the All Blacks has six titles to his name and has played in all eight finals.
Okay, that explains the song. But what is it about that man that rubs rugby supporters, at least those not subjugated to the red-and-black cause, like rough sandpaper on the private parts?
When Thorne was captain of the All Blacks, a status that would normally elevate a sewer rat to sainthood, rugby punters were puzzled. From the outside looking in, Thorne appeared to have the personality of a brick and the presence of a pauper.
But then successions of coaches and players kept telling us we were missing the point. They reckoned Reuben Thorne was the backbone of the team. He was the one the lads would go over the top for.
To question his rugby pedigree cast you either as a complete rugby imbecile or an All Black anti-Christ.
But even now, as hordes of die-hard Crusaders rugby fans are busy painting pro-Thorne tributes on their finest linen sheets to drape over the grandstand tomorrow night, a large contingent of rugby know-alls are still to be convinced about Reuben (add expletive of your choice) Thorne.
Which is why there will be loud cheering noises and much merriment and frivolity from sports central if the Hurricanes tip the Crusaders out of the title race tomorrow night.
Given the choice, Jerry Collins is someone worth singing about. For the sheer joy of expression, the Hurricanes are streets ahead of the mechanical efficiency of the Crusaders.
They conjure up madness when sanity would normally prevail, are capable of feats of the extraordinary when the ordinary would do, and have that unpredictable magic that make them a weekly headache for sports betters with an eye for the easy buck.
Thorne will sign off and head off overseas when the Crusaders campaign 2008 finishes. There won't be tears of anguish shed round these parts, because Thorne represents something we don't like about rugby these days: He's statistically sound, but somehow soulless.
And, anyway, if Reuben Thorne is so damn good, why is he on the bench tomorrow night?