The Great Political Ping Pong Tournament: Shrewd shots from cheerful opponent

Steve Braunias has challenged all the party political leaders to a game of table tennis. His latest opponent: United Future leader Peter Dunne.

Late on Monday night, when it looked likely Jacinda Ardern might replace Andrew Little as leader of the Labour Party, I sent her a text: "But can you play table tennis?"

She replied: "Badminton?"

Nice sidestep. I've since sent her another text asking the same question because one of the things I do for a living these days is challenge all political party leaders to a game of table tennis, and then write about it in the Weekend Herald.

Over the past few weeks I've played Act leader David Seymour (thrashed him), Green co-leader James Shaw (thrashed him), and Maori Party co-leader Te Ururoa Flavell (luck played a significant part in his narrow victory).

I also played Andrew Little. I don't feel good about the fact I beat him like a cur. I really liked Little and it was fun playing him, too; of all the leaders I've played, he had the best sense of humour.

Also he was the only leader who looked me in the eyes when we played. Great guy.

But maybe it didn't look too great that he lost; maybe it further doomed him in the polls; maybe it was the final nail in the coffin, which I hammered and bashed and generally quite remorselessly whacked with my table tennis bat.

And maybe Ardern is thinking about these things, because she hasn't replied to my challenge. Nothing. Not a peep. Ardern! Let's play. Go on. It can't do you any harm. Okay maybe it could but listen, Jacinda, I never took you for a chicken.

Not like Bill "Chicken" English, who "declined" my challenge. You're better than him, Jacinda. Ain't you? Isn't that the central question of the coming election?

English hasn't been the only chicken. Winston Peters of New Zealand First declined. Hone Harawira of Hone Harawira First declined. Gareth Morgan of something or other declined.

I was sure that United Future leader Peter Dunne would decline, too, once I remembered to issue a challenge. The truth is that I forgot he existed. It was only when I came across his name in the paper that I was reminded of him; even with his trademark bow tie and haircut, he doesn't stand out, and for all his various portfolios, he isn't a politician you associate with power.

He's a National Party puppet, their decorative garden gnome.

I was surprised and impressed he accepted my challenge. There he was at the Auckland Table Tennis Stadium on Wednesday morning, a bright, eager presence with his bow tie and his bouffant: the laughing gnome.

***

He was just as cheerful an hour later when I had finished taking him to the cleaners, and won three games to nil.

I thought: I like this guy. I thought: he's one of those crazy people who have no idea they're crazy.

There was a strange innocence about him. More than 30 years in Parliament had failed to make him a cynic.

Certainly he was shrewd to survive that long, an opportunist who dragged his sorry ass along the walk of shame that goes from left (Dunne is a former Labour MP) to right (the Tory gnome). And yet he had a childlike quality, and he radiated something that no other leader exhibited in my table tennis series: joy.

All these various aspects of his character were revealed during our match. Table tennis is an X-ray of who we really are. It's like a science experiment; the intellectual nature of the sport is a kind of Rorschach test, at speed, with each shot the equivalent of the Rorschach inkblot.

Not that Dunne actually hit too many shots in our opening game. He played like an old man. His movement was slow, his mind was elsewhere, his attack was feeble and he had no defence.

It would be unfair to see his game as a metaphor for his performance as a politician, because frankly he was a waste of space. I won 21-7.

Dunne is 63. He has a short, chunky build, with strong legs. His grandfather Frank played for the All Blacks. Dunne had played a bit of table tennis, 20-30 years ago, and said he fancied himself as an all-round sportsman. He was disappointed with his opening game, but offered no excuses and I could sense a quiet determination to do better.

He got better immediately and played like a demon in the second game. His style of play was totally unpredictable, and he had really beautiful hands when he struck the ball. He had me running all over the table and when he saw an opening, he was completely ruthless.

I won 21-19 and to do it I had to summon the dead.

"Roy," I whispered to myself. "Roy." I got to know Dunedin writer Roy Colbert when I began commissioning him - begging him, really - to write things for the Listener. He was a brilliant writer, reliably funny, with a unique style.

He was also, I discovered, an ace table tennis player. A couple of days before he died last month I emailed his wife Christine and asked her to tell Roy that I would be dedicating my next table tennis challenge to him. He'll like that, she said.

And so I called on Roy to help me beat Dunne in that torrid second game. He came to my rescue. I forced Dunne into returning the ball with a high lob. As the ball rose up in front of me, I thought of Roy, and desperately wanted to make him proud; I smashed that ball so hard it flew past Dunne into next week.

The viciousness of the shot could have demoralised a weaker opponent. But Dunne was having too much fun.

This is a man who enjoys life. He even enjoys politics. We chatted between games and at one point he told me that when was growing up in Christchurch, he subscribed to weekly copies of Hansard.

In between shots, Dunne admitted to subscribing to Hansard as a boy. Photo / Jason Oxenham

"As a boy," I marvelled, "your idea of literature was the record of Parliament?"

"Yes," he beamed. "I read every word."

I said, "So you were experiencing Parliament not as a spoken thing, but as literature?"

"That's right," he said. "I devoured Hansard."

"Who were your favourite writers?"

He named former Prime Ministers Norman Kirk and Sir John Marshall. I said, "Kirk's remembered as a very good orator. I don't think of him as a writer."

"Lovely style," he said.

These days, he said, most MPs wrote as they spoke - staccato, monosyllabic. He said he took great pleasure in writing his political blog. He tried to get the language right. He wrote the first draft with ink and quill, then typed it on a keyboard.

A quill! Who was this guy? But it was a mistake to regard him as merely kooky. There was real bitterness in his remarks about Labour, and he was similarly scornful of Winston Peters.

"He's style, and I'm substance," he said. What substance was that, exactly? Plaster of Paris, or whatever material used to build an ornamental gnome? He's only in Parliament as a United Future MP because National endorse him in Ohariu.

Dunne actually quite likes the misperception of him as a silly old duffer in Parliament on a free ride.

He talked about the advantages of being underestimated: it gave him space to examine the weaknesses of his political opponents. It would be fair to see this tactic as a metaphor for his table tennis, because he once again had me on the ropes in our third game.

"Roy," I whimpered. Roy Colbert had no time for cry babies. I was on my own.

Actually, not quite. The table behind us was being used for a training session, held by the great Wei Zhong Jiang; he was once ranked number 87 in the world, and played for Croatia.

The sleeves of his T-shirt were patterned in the distinctive red and white checkerboard of the Croatian flag. I glanced now and then at the way Wei carried himself around the table. It was inspiration of a kind and I held on to win 21-19.

Dunne had played very, very well. Once or twice his ambition got the better of him, but for the most part he played to his limits. He had no backhand. His forehand was strong. He had a wonderful understanding of the table, and was at his best when forced deep; he always returned shots, never gave up.

We had a few long and thrilling rallies, and he kept his nerve. I played quite a few shots low and fast directly at his stomach and he was unable to cope. He couldn't take it. He didn't know how to defend his ground.

His natural play was to attack, attack, attack. Those beautiful hands! The great Swedish table tennis champion Jan-Ove Waldner is known as "the Mozart of table tennis"; Dunne's wonderful, unpredictable shots made me think of him as a minor but very gifted composer.

There was such a joy in him and it expressed itself on the table. He played a bewitching music.

Ardern! What tune are you in? Let's play. Go on. Please? You're on a roll. One media commentator wrote this week, "On this form, she'd wipe the journalist Steve Braunias off the table if he invites her to his pre-election ping pong challenge."

The invitation is there. I hope she says yes. It's only a game.

Series score: Braunias survives a scare to streak to a 4-1 lead