KEY POINTS:
New Zealand rugby will conduct yet more farewells this weekend.
It's hard to keep up with all of the jokers heading off, but two who stand out in the latest batch of runaways are the Canterbury duo of Greg "Yoda" Somerville and Scott Hamilton, who will no doubt be thanked for their contributions and wished a bon voyage.
Somerville was the prop most unlikely to become our test record holder, but who did. He thrived on an upbringing in the back blocks that, among other things, managed to reduce his number of toes by one thanks to that endearing rural experience known as a farm accident.
Very casual. Farmer-types who thrill over seed variations and quote the batch numbers of herbicides put incidents in which body parts are removed into a generic category that doesn't even bother identifying the offending machinery.
Coming from the city, I want to know more after the wincing has subsided. Was it a runaway rotary hoe, a sheep dog gone mad, a dangerously sharp hay bale, or an over enthusiastic electric fence? All we get is "farm accident".
At best, I can find a suggestion that a tractor was involved in Somerville's misadventure. Further details though are in short supply.
Similarly, Somerville has been a no-fuss front-row merchant. He has not only been a damn fine, if not exceptional, test prop who most countries (eat your heart out, Australia) would have killed for, but a cornerstone of the stupendous Crusaders outfit.
Somerville may have been a bit old fashioned in demeanour, but he was awfully good at new-age propping duties like defending in the line and guarding the edge of rucks.
He had an extremely unusual gait, one that doesn't scream out to be let loose in public. But the crafty Crusaders knew that a collection of body parts that appeared thrown together from innovative angles included a very strong head and a stout heart. From the day he and the equally ordinary-in-a-great-way Dave Hewett were unleashed on an unsuspecting NPC in Hamilton, the red and blacks knew they had uncovered something special from the wilds of Hawkes Bay.
Somerville has been a very unusual star. And through the thick and thin, Somerville would still be the All Black tighthead by most counts since Carl Hayman took off.
Outside back Hamilton has also been an overachiever, although it is extremely doubtful that these achievements should have included becoming an All Black.
Still, in an era where they gave an All Black jersey to David Hill, you can hardly complain about Hamilton getting one.
Like Somerville, he has been at the core of everything good about New Zealand rugby.
He is also the latest, although not greatest, player to emerge from the remarkable Glenmark club in the Canterbury hinterland.
It might sum up the no-nonsense attitude of this holy rugby place that on a recent TV segment about a club that has produced an inordinate number of great coaches and players, a turning point was identified as the day they got a bigger fridge behind the bar.
Who knows what Glenmark might have achieved had they also come across, say, an extra toasted-sandwich maker at a pivotal moment in their history. But they should still be happy with names like Wyllie, Deans, Loe and Earl adorning the wall.
The departure of Somerville and Hamilton shines a light on the freaky influence that tiny New Zealand places are having on the professional All Black rugby era. Quite frankly, it is completely out of whack.
The cities might have all the blokes licensed to carry clipboards. But when it comes to the cream of the crop, our best players are emerging out of places that have lost their post offices.
Either that, or from places in the Pacific that you could fit into the Grey Lynn shops, or - come to think of it - look a lot like the Grey Lynn shops.
Apart from the incredible number of NRL players who have an aversion to leaving nightclubs - the precise number will be known after the annual players' poll, but it is expected to be extremely high - the small-town invasion of the All Blacks might be the most interesting statistic in Australasian sport.
The only dead-set All Black run-on pick at the moment who burst into life in the big smoke is the pride of Auckland, Ali Williams (although there are people who swear that he was launched from another planet).
The top All Black side right now - accepting that there might be arguments over a few places - would have the birthplaces Salelesi, Suva, Hawera, Wellington, Nadi, Leeston, Gore, Moto'otua, Kurow, Tutuila, Auckland, Mosgiel, Wairoa, Dunedin and Helensville.
That equals Mils Muliaina, Sitiveni Sivivatu, Conrad Smith, Ma'a Nonu, Joe Rokocoko, Daniel Carter, Jimmy Cowan, Rodney So'oialo, Richie McCaw, Jerome Kaino, Ali Williams, Brad Thorn, Greg Somerville, Andrew Hore and Tony Woodcock.
Some might argue, of course, that Leon MacDonald is our best fullback, in which case you could shuffle in Blenheim at 15, and move Salesi into the centres.
The selectors prefer Richard Kahui on the wing - even though Kahui himself is not all that fussed on the idea - which brings in Tokoroa for one of two places in Fiji.
Hore is just about a certainty these days, so that's a vote for hurly burly Dunedin. But for those of you who think otherwise, Keven Mealamu was born and largely raised in Tokoroa where his dad worked in the mill. Corey Flynn and Hikawera Elliot equals Invercargill and Hastings.
And the players widely rated as the most promising newcomers are led by Tokoroa, Invercargill, Gisborne, Te Puke and Marton (Kahui, Jamie Mackintosh, Hosea Gear, Tanerau Latimer and Israel Dagg).
To deny those who might claim this is manipulative selecting in the name of a small town story, the next admittedly dodgy cab off the first five-eighths rank has been Stephen Donald of Papakura, an absolutely enormous place compared to Marton.
Without going into details, the big city area doing the best in putting Leeston and co in their place is the thriving metropolis in the Hutt Valley.
It was almost a relief, at this point, to discover that the rising Wellington lock Jeremy Thrush, who is mentioned in an increasing number of dispatches, was born in Auckland. He'll be able to talk the same language as Ali Williams, although, come to think of it, probably not.
What's the significance of all of this? There must be something in it. Maybe little kids from the sticks run around outside more, dream a bit and feel they have more to prove.
Carter learned to kick goals over makeshift posts in a potato field, or some such story like that. If he'd been born in Auckland, he'd have been stuffing his face with chips and been ruined for life at a lower decile school, whatever one of those is.
Or maybe the big cities don't have to worry about producing great footballers any more, because scouts can drive around the countryside and scoop them up by the busload while they get on with being captains of industry, or fiddling the stock exchange in other words. Little places produce real things, because to not do so would mean their dot being removed from the map.
Or maybe this current small state of affairs is just a quirk, and the big cities are about to strike back.
Significant or not, I just thought it was worth mentioning.
How does this compare to, say, the 60s, one of the finest of All Black eras when mythology decreed that a load of fence-post-carrying farmers were ruling the rugby world when they weren't dipping sheep and scooping money out of their boots.
Being an Auckland journo type, I not only decided to pick on just one All Black team on a given day as a comparison point, but accepted the invitation of another journo who hails from little old Papakura to do the research.
That's how we get ahead in the big cities.
My excuse: I was too busy trying to find out where Tutuila is (American Samoa) and figure out how a village in Samoa can produce a current topline All Black, while Christchurch - the home of everything mighty in the mighty land of rugby - can't.
Anyway, this bloke ripped through the assignment at an extraordinary pace, and his diligence told an interesting story.
His pin had pierced a 1965 All Black XV that included seven players born in big cities, five of them from Auckland. Funnily enough, there was no Christchurch-born player in that team either, although to throw the struggling southerners a crumb of comfort, Ashburton - which produced the prototype fullback-slash-knuckleduster in Fergie McCormick - is close by.
