Rugby World Cup Road Trip: Puttin' on the Ritz

By Matt Johnson

Herald on Sunday·

1 Oct, 2011 04:30 PM3 mins to read

France v Japan at North Harbour. Photo / Greg Bowker

Matt Johnson is rambling through New Zealand in a campervan soaking up the sights and sounds of the Rugby World Cup, particularly the oddly dressed fans.

One day, when we are all dancing in wigs on Queen St, Kiwis will look back and have the 2011 Rugby World Cup to thank for it. Anyone dressed as a giant banana will no doubt have a tear in their eye.

Thanks to the RWC, New Zealand fans have discovered a palette of colour and a level of ridiculousness that was hitherto either forbidden or simply never existed. It is as though there was no drop-down menu for dressing up, nothing on the cards that indicated face paint might be just the thing to slap on for dessert.

Because let's face it - as pragmatic and daunting as black can be - it's also a shade more associated with funerals than Carnivale. Trails in its wake a certain grimness.

Tinsel and wigs are just the tip of this novelty-shop iceberg; our fever caught on the International Sevens Circuit, its origins traced back to Hong Kong. Like Bird Flu, only with more Batman outfits.

Yet few would contest the seed wasn't already in us. Right there, somewhere between the belly button and the brain cell. Our tickets to this rugby Mardi Gras stamped by the discovery we could not only barrack for the underdog but put on heels and cowboy hats for them as well.

Namibian Blue. Romanian Yellow. The rainbow has landed. Look at the Georgians, whose very emblem is Crepuscular Rays. Breaking through the clouds of Eastern Europe to shine their zany, fashion madness on us.

If not quite out of the closet, the country is at least spending more time in there before rugby matches. Now it is the blokes who are being thanked for bringing a plate. Usually strapped to their heads. A nation of do-it-yourselfers had found their biggest projects hidden right in front of them: Bucket-heads. Gaffer tape. The more obvious the handiwork, the better.

No one has dressed up as No8 fencing wire yet, but experts believe it's only a matter of time.

Psychologists will no doubt have a field day, but given that 15 of our most famous New Zealanders now wear German Lycra, things were bound to get a little kinkier sooner or later.

And the simple truth may be this: even as grown-ups, we never stop playing dress up. Ties, hard hats, stethoscopes: everyone has a uniform whether they like it or not, a costume beneath which we can stash our dashed expectations of adulthood. What we had really wanted to be when we grew up. Nothing changes. Unless you're heading to the rugby.