Richard Boock: Oh sister! Omens are right for Otago

This is the confession I've always dreaded to write; the tale of a skeleton in the cupboard, lifelong shame - and of a curse that's haunted a community for almost 50 years.

This is a story that stabs at the heart of the staunchest Southern man, telling of a day when an unfortunate sequence of events conspired to lay waste to a once-green and fertile pasture.

It pains me that ever since that fateful afternoon, shadows have appeared where the sun shone, clouds hang where previously there were blue skies, and the townsfolk have become stricken by pessimism.

But here are the facts. Margot, my sister, was born in Dunedin on September 28, 1957, about mid-afternoon.

It might not mean much to anyone living north of the Waitaki River but, to those poor souls who call Otago home, this is a date to make the skin crawl and the spirit sag.

It is to them what January 3, 1920, is to Red Sox fans. The gist is this: On that dark Saturday, as my sister was struggling into the world at a maternity hospital not far from Carisbrook, Otago lost the Ranfurly Shield to Taranaki 11-9. Since then, despite 19 challenges and a couple of agonisingly close finishes, notably at Lancaster Park in 1994, they've never been able to win it back. Most people there have only seen pictures of it.

Of course, my sister has always pleaded innocence, claiming it's silly to call her a jinx and a hex, and that there's obviously no connection between her and Otago's shield drought. But the fact remains that, ever since she's drawn breath, when Keith Holyoake was Prime Minister and the currency was still in pounds and pence, Otago's shield cabinet has gathered only dust.

My father attended the game, of course. From all accounts, hospital matrons were not to be trifled with in 1957, so he jammed himself into the Carisbrook terraces and watched the agonising scenes unfold. Otago struggled in the mud to lead 9-0 early in the second half, Taranaki launched a memorable comeback and stole the game on the wire.

I can't begin to explain the chain of horror stories since then. Sometimes Otago seemed to have a reasonable chance, but would be completely destroyed, as they were in 1984 against Canterbury, and 1990 by Auckland.

On other occasions, they seemed to have the shield in their grasp, only to be denied by some last-ditch defence or a game-deciding penalty.

Otago people know what you mean when you refer to Frank Bunce's tackle on Noel Pilcher, or Crazy Latta's brain-explosion at Christchurch. So when it comes to tonight's shield challenge against Canterbury, suffice to say you won't find too many Otago supporters holding their breath. The humiliation has been too complete.

Yet, dare I say it, there is hope - and it's got nothing to do with the quality of Nick Evans, the ability of the loose trio, or the effectiveness of the defensive line. In fact, it's got nothing to do with either side.

Tonight, for the first time in 49 years, 19 unsuccessful shield challenges and much wailing and gnashing of teeth, my sister will be out of the country. Could it be an omen? We can but hope.