The Great political ping-pong tournament: The sad, final chapter

Steve Braunias challenged all the party political leaders to a game of table tennis. The Prime Minister wasn't game.

He was given every opportunity to stand up and be a man. I don't know how many times I challenged Bill English to a game of table tennis, but he chickened out, kept his distance, refused to take part in my series of games against other party leaders, and look where it's got him.

Only losers are afraid of losing; and the very first thing Mike Hosking asked English at the leaders debate on Thursday night was, "Why are you losing?"

English rocked back on his feet just like he would have against my low, wicked serve, and gabbled, "We're not! We're a party who've shown we can do all sorts of things!"

Hosking: "You're losing."

The subject was the Colmar-Brunton opinion poll. Why did it go so badly for English, who is now behind Labour's Jacinda Ardern as preferred Prime Minister?

A better question: how could it have gone otherwise? Sunday was National's awkward, joyless campaign launch at the Trusts Stadium, with its rows of empty seats and freezing cold draughts.

Monday was Winston Peters blaming National for leaking the scandal about his superannuation payments.

Tuesday was English being asked point-blank by Paul Barlow from Hamilton's Free FM whether he would finally accept my challenge to a game of table tennis, and answering with a firm no.

No, despite the message it would have sent of a good sport. No, despite the need for the English camp to grab every PR stunt going. No, despite the will of the people. Last weekend I climbed inside the Twitter machine, and wrote, "Retweet this if you think Bill English should accept my challenge" - and got 11,765 retweets.

It would have been a tight game. I'm quite useless at table tennis, and English moves with the physical grace of a robot. I watched him at close quarters during his walkabout at LynnMall in New Lynn on Thursday.

He was very good at walking in a straight line but not so confident having to turn corners.

Every time he posed with someone for a selfie, and rested his hand on the small of their back, he clenched it into a tense fist. Uptight dude, not exactly detached, but someone who gives the impression they'd rather be sitting at the kitchen table sorting out the bills.

I traipsed alongside in a wistful mood. It was at Farmers in LynnMall back in June that I found the terrifically nerdy black, white and grey top that I wore to every one of my table tennis games against party leaders.

I bought it on the way to playing David Seymour. I had it in mind to wear it to the mall walkabout, and slip a couple of table tennis bats into the pockets of my jacket. Rodney's Table Tennis store, Auckland's leading supplier, is just around the corner from the mall; it has a table fitted out, ready for play...

I was snapped out of my reverie by a man saying into my ear, "You're the man who ate Lincoln Road!"

It was Graeme Macdonald, a nice guy in a National Party T-shirt, who had come along to lend support to his leader's walkabout. We stood and chatted for a while. He said he was confident of victory on September 23. The media, he said, were talking up Ardern, but the reality was that people were worried about what would happen to the economy if Labour came to power.

I said, "What do you do?"

He said, "I'm a sole trader in the motor industry."

I thought how the only time we ever hear from sole traders in the motor industry is on the campaign trail. An election brings out the salt of the earth. Macdonald specialises in selling vehicles under $10,000 - family transport, nothing flash.

"People need security to make these capital purchases," he said. "But right now they're nervous. There's been a slow-down the past four-six weeks, and it's getting worse. Everyone's nervous about Labour getting in."

English blundered on ahead, looking for votes to keep Labour out. At least this time there were people in the vicinity; his press flunkies have been screaming at journalists for posting photos on their social media accounts of English standing in eerily deserted warehouses on the campaign trail.

There's a classic taken in a factory in Pukekohe (photo credit: Katie Bradford, One News) with a lot of wooden pallets and no other sign of life.

LynnMall kept English busy, and he seemed to enjoy himself. A visit to Just Jeans confirmed that they sell jeans.

He chatted and joked, was in cheerful spirits.

There's such a deep and obvious decency about the guy. He met an adorable little 8-year-old girl called Imogen, who is blind, or "non-light dependent", as she preferred.

Imogen is a hand-holder. English took both her hands in his as she talked to him at great length. He was charmed, quite dazzled; how could he not? I spoke with Imogen afterwards, and she mentioned in passing she's read 12 of Shakespeare's plays in Braille, and is further improving her vocabulary by reading the Bible.

I said, "Where are you up to?"

She said, "Halfway through Leviticus."

And then her dad took her for an ice-cream.

On Tuesday morning, Jacinda Ardern was welcomed with excited applause as she walked into the main assembly hall of Western Springs College, that centre of teenage excellence in Pt Chevalier.

Opposition Leader Jacinda Ardern visited Western Springs College to announce the Labour Party's tertiary education policy in Auckland. Photo / Getty Images

She walked in with an entourage and it's entirely possible that some of the ovation was for that diplomatic protection security guy who has emerged as the breakout star of election 2017 - the one with the shaved head and amazing hipster beard.

Bill English moves with thin-lipped bodyguards who look like they know 37 different ways to kill someone who gets too close; at Western Springs, both of Ardern's protective detail were bearded, and seemed like agreeable fellows with views on craft beer and Netflix.

This was the campaign appearance where Ardern announced Labour's policy of free education for first-year tertiary students.

Bill Ralston later wrote on the Twitter machine, "Why am I going to pay for someone else's kid to go to university when my own kids are still paying off their own student loans?"

It was a good question, because it was so easy to answer: there were 176 replies. Many were scornful, but they missed the poignancy of the question. Ralston was really asking: "Why, O why do things have to change?"

Change is always terrifying to the elderly. They need to know where they are at all times.

English gave a cautious non-answer when asked on Thursday night's debate whether he'd legalise medicinal cannabis, and talked about the need to send out a working party to examine the exact properties of "cannaboids...uh...cannabinoids". Ardern simply said, "Yes."

There was a question about that from the audience of Year 12 and Year 13 students at Western Springs, and a question about transgender.

"The last time I was here," Ardern said, "was for your feminist club".

She was funny, relaxed, said youthy things like "big props!" and "cohort". She banged on about her own college years in Morrinsville. She answered a question about Maori by pronouncing the r's in the word "tomorrow" like it was in te reo, and laughed at her foolishness.

She bragged about how her thoughts on most things were so wonderfully "transparent".

Then she brought MPs Grant Robertson and Chris Hipkins to the front of the hall.

Somehow things just weren't as wildly exciting with the presence of these cohorts. Hipkins began by saying, "You may have noticed we arrived today with law enforcement."

A murmur spread through the crowd; was he going to ask the DPS guy with the amazing hipster beard to stand up, and wave to his fans?

Instead he told a yarn about how he got arrested when he was a teenage political firebrand and got served a Big Mac for dinner in the Wellington police station and the burger was cold and whatever.

Robertson didn't say anything, just smiled. Strange to recall that he once had front billing: a few years ago Robertson and Ardern made a bid for the Labour leadership on the "Gracinda" ticket. Any attempt to conjoin their names now would have to be something like Arson.

There was a fun question from a long-haired dude wearing a most curious red knitted hat: "Are you on Tinder, Jacinda?"

There were questions about mental health, and accelerated learning, and pay rises for teachers. Sometimes Ardern took the questions, sometimes she shuffled Robertson and Hipkins around like window dummies to take the microphone.

I ran into her afterwards. The last time we'd met was at the Auckland Table Tennis Stadium in Epsom, where I beat her 2-1 in a thrilling encounter. Experience and stability won the day.

She said, "So has Bill accepted your challenge for a game?"

"Nah," I said.

"That's a shame," she said.