Rugby tests are no place for frivolity

It is around 3pm, when the southerly hits, that the mood begins to change. As the rain drives over pin-neat Christchurch in icy waves, the excitement in the city turns to tension. This is test day. The weather matters.

By 7.10pm, when Brian O'Driscoll leads his Lions out of the tunnel into Jade Stadium, the temperature has dropped to minus 2C and tension has become unbearable. The players, despite their warmup, look about as happy as a paid-for pack of mourners. Even Tana Umaga's face is stony.

By now the 47,200 fans, who have queued in the rain for half an hour just to get in the ground, are cold and restless. They queue again for beers, hot dogs and toilets, then settle into the stands in a shivering patchwork of red and black. After the over-hyped expectations, Lions supporters, in their red jackets, have now materialised. Around 10,000, on of the largest away crowds ever, flood into Jade Stadium from campervans, hotel rooms, berths on their own cruise ship. They have flown 12,000 miles to be a part of history - and drive their men to victory.

With their stuffed lion hats they have brought their traditions. A red-jacketed Welsh male choir is so civilised it seems out of place in this war ground. Another singer attempts, unsuccessfully, to put excitement into the dirge-like Lions' song.

But even the locals' black flag-waving exhibition and towering, fizzing and sparkling silver fern seems just one more stalling tactic in a build-up to a test series that has lasted too long. "Black, Black, Black, Black," yell the crowd. "Li-ons, Li-ons, Li-ons," respond the boys in red in their softer lilt.

It's only when they run through the players on the big TV screen that the crowd really responds. The big cheers go to Richie McCaw, Justin Marshall, Dan Carter and for the Lions, Brian O'Driscoll, Jonny Wilkinson, Josh Lewsey.

Then Rico Gear leads the haka and the battle is on. Within a splintered second of kickoff, the tension explodes. O'Driscoll is down, then off. The ball is like a greasy wild thing. And still the rain drives in, fuelled by a bone-chilling southerly direct from Antarctica, making the black plastic parkas of the black-out brigade sparkle under the lights.

Justin Marshall dislocates a finger and has it rammed back in. "Easy to fix, but hugely painful". He plays on. And so it goes, Li-ons, Li-ons, Li-ons, Black Black Black". "Oooohhhhh" like animals, when they maul, "Owww" for a bone-crunching tackle.

The UK journalists explode with frustration at their own players:

"It's a f ****** miracle they're only six points down. "Jayzuz C," with a groan from the pit of the stomach. "Did you see that!"

Then as more players are sent off or subbed off, "They're dropping like flies". And as they lose another lineout, "Williams is outstanding".

Even when Jonny Wilkinson does his crouching tiger thing and kicks a penalty there is no celebration, just more grimaces.

There is no lift when the Lions come back after halftime in their clean white shorts and combed hair. And when a young girl stands up to dance after one of the All Black tries, she is politely but firmly asked to sit by a middle-aged man. Clearly puzzled, she does what she's told. This is no time for frivolity.

Later, after the 21-3 win, the complaints, the hour-long wait for a taxi in the hail and rain, when the chill has penetrated both pairs of socks, the tights, the thermals and the coat, I share a taxivan home with four Lions supporters. All are outraged by the jeering youths who kept driving past, mocking them. "Back home people just chat and commiserate. Up till now everyone in New Zealand has been lovely," says Katie. "But this is terrible. They were hanging out their windows, saying, 'I can spell Lions'."

"What's the problem with that?"

"Can't say, too rude. The word they spelled started with C."

The four became friends when they played in the front row for Richmond Rugby Club, England.

Katie Bell, now a special needs teacher in London, was a prop, Carol Isherwood, who works for the Rugby Union for women, a flanker, internet marketer Sarah Escott packed down against Katie, and Debs Griffin, an accountant who has left her children behind in London, played centre.

They toured New Zealand in 1989, "played nine games and won nine".

This is their third Lions tour and they're having the time of their lives.

Despite the time, 12.15am, the cold, the hail, the hour-long wait for a taxi, the abusive youths - and the loss - they're looking for action. As they say, "We love to chat and commiserate. The only saving grace is that we played like shite and we didn't get hammered."