Rugby World Cup Road Trip: Yuri Gagarin comes to Te Kauwhata

The Te Kauwhata Tavern. Photo / Matt Johnson

Opinion

How better to gauge the nation's Rugby World Cup mood than put a man in a campervan and tell him to get lost?

For this entry, Matt Johnson checks in from the Waikato.

The idea Te Kauwhata almost put a man on the moon in 1968 is something most New Zealanders tend to ignore.

People prefer to concentrate on the fact he was hitching there.

But the Space Race wasn't on the menu at the Te Kauwhata Tavern. Neither was the roast. Still, the roast spoke to me. Whispered things. It was out there somewhere. Like Sputnik 1, only with gravy.

"There's probably roast as well if you want it," the manager said. I asked if I could have mine with a hot bread roll as a woman arrived at the bar with the night's first complaint:
The Pokies were running out of coins.

Justin Marshall's comments were muted on the bigscreen. Laura, from Limerick, poured me a drink. It was her first night working. The skin around her palms still soft. I felt a bit gay walking my Lime & Soda past the leaners and the half-empty jugs.

People said Gidday. Mainly on their way to the toilets.

Tipped their chins. You all good mate?

I nodded back.

The match got underway. The USA thrust forward; threw the ball around. No one liked the Russians. They had been hard to like ever since Ivan Drago had killed Apollo Creed. Then he almost killed Rocky. Only at the last minute had Rocky bounced back to beat him.

Beautiful Maori kids play pool. One of them looked up at the screen and said:
"Man, if the New Zealand coach ever coaches America or Russisa, New Zealand are gonna get ****ed over."

The roast arrived. It came to the table under the weight of expectations, and surpassed them. Behind me, as the USA drove into Russia again, there was a trellis separating the gambling area, every stool inside taken. A hope whirlpool. A sign had fallen on the floor reminding patrons not to move the trellis.

On crazy nights here, people sometimes did that.

Moved the trellis.

The woman who'd been complaining kept walking past with large plastic cups. She was cleaning up. Invincible. The jackpot was $902.55. Heads kept turning towards the musical clink of coins on one side; the clack of pool balls releasing on the other. One old-timer clad in a Warnocks jersey ran a steady relay from the bar to the machines. Trying to get his wife to come home.

"I'm only watching!" she told him. Doubled up.

The waitress arrived with my hot bread roll.

"I just nuked it." She said.

Considering who was playing, it was the best thing I had heard all night.

**Hamilton's Holiday Parks are all full. If anyone has space on their lawn (and a shower) for Matt, contact him on mattysaurus@hotmail.com**

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