KEY POINTS:
Some of the most cringing moments in my brief, undistinguished and dimly remembered rugby career involved pep talks from the coach. They could be so strenuously banal you didn't know where to look.
The worst I recall was at a midweek practice after a bad loss when the poor man, a dedicated club volunteer, demanded to know from each stringy youth whether the coming weekend's encounter was at that moment the most important thing in his life.
As he put the question to one after another and got the required answer, the damned rebel in me was aroused. When it came my turn, I answered truthfully.
He gave me a look that was surprisingly patient. A single dissenting answer from a readily expendable member of the squad probably reinforced the message for the rest.
The Herald has been challenging readers this week to be Graham Henry tonight, to stand in the locker room, face the team and say something just before they run on to Eden Park. It's a challenge I can't resist, though I probably should. Here goes.
OK fellas, gather round.
Just now I have been watching you put on the jersey, each of you. Every one of you did it the same way. You stopped kidding around, went silent, waited until your mind was ready, then you picked it up very carefully.
I have never done what you have just done, never will. I have dreamed about it of course; thousands upon thousands of New Zealand boys have dreamed about it. You dreamed about it.
And now you're in it. The reality is a bit different from the dream, I imagine. Every time you pull on that jersey, you realise you carry not your hopes but ours.
It probably weighs a tonne but it is the kind of weight that makes you grow. Just now I've watched each one of you become All Blacks again, become something bigger than yourself.
You all know better than me what the jersey means. This is not a warm night; the opposition will go out there in tracksuits. You won't.
You'll take the field as All Blacks always do, running not walking. You will hear the crowd's awe at the sudden, surprising blackness of the black. Each of you will look as big as you feel, running out, a rising tide of black.
You each know what you have to do; we've worked well this week. We've fixed the defence and drilled it to the point that your teammates have total confidence you will be where you need to be.
Robbie thinks we are going to exchange kicks with them tonight and we've encouraged that assumption with our comments to the press and our selections. So the opposition is going to be surprised.
Tonight I'm not going to mess up things with substitutions. You are all fit and capable of playing full-on for 80 minutes or you wouldn't be here. So that's what we're going to do. Anybody flagging will be taken off; it's only fair to the rest, but you know it won't be necessary.
Let me say again what I've said before every test: you have a harder task than any All Blacks before you. You are not just playing for your country, you are playing for rugby. You are the best, the only ones who can raise our game to a higher level, make it the art it will need to be to survive in these days of satellite television.
Retain the ball, move it wide at every chance, concentrate, support, get in their face, maintain the pace.
Nobody will suffer in my selections for trying something on attack. But most of all, after last week, I want the word "support" burned in your minds tonight.
When I ask one of you for the word at halftime, you'd better remember it.
They're calling for you now. Think of the great names who have carried your number in the past. Think of them and know this: none was more worthy than you are right now.
The jersey took them and it will take you tonight, beyond what you think you can do.
You're focused. You're together. Not one of you is going to let us down.
You are All Blacks; you're going to go out there and do what All Blacks do. Go for it.
