Frank Greenall: We've all got rugby fever

LAST Saturday, the weekend of the All Blacks' momentous win against the French, I happened to meet a charming young French couple briefly visiting Whanganui. Arnaud, the male partner, a sturdily built builder, is himself a rugby player, so not surprisingly the conversation soon turned to the imminent game.

At a subsequent gathering on the Sunday, his partner Olivia apologised for Arnaud's non-appearance - he was confined to bed with a bad case of la grippe! One naturally avoided suggesting the malaise might also have had some psychosomatic origins, given the demolition job done on their compatriots earlier that morning. But Olivia's view of the game was that it was "boring" - "How you say, like watching ze amateurs play les professionals."

Naturally, she was immediately reminded of how the French had twice proved the nemesis of the vaunted Blacks in previous world cups, and how New Zealand was now current champion only by virtue of the slenderest of victories against Le Coq in the previous final. But it was nevertheless a reminder of how deeply the game - and sport in general - is embedded in the culture here.

My secondary school was Avondale College in West Auckland. The corridor outside the principal's office was lined with framed photographs of all the school alumni who had achieved national representative status in various sports. The four school athletic "houses" were also named after ex-pupil sports stars. (In its early days, Avondale College was scraping the barrel a bit for suitable sports luminaries. We did have Halberg House, commemorating the indomitable Sir Murray. But Hahn House, for instance, was named after Malcolm Hahn. No doubt Malcolm's heroic achievements palpably swelled his mother's bosom, but his best international result was a 13th place in the javelin at the 1958 Empire Games.)

In deference, too, to the hallowed playing fields of Eton, whose pitches purportedly forged the characters of steel who carried the Battle of Waterloo, there were also a couple of imposing-looking oaken honours boards in the school assembly hall. Members of the 1st XV who had either tonked a tonne or taken five or more wickets in a match were immortalised in gilded Gothic script.

But despite attending the school for five years, I only just recently learned that the acclaimed New Zealand writer Maurice Gee was a founding pupil of the college, and equally celebrated fellow author Maurice Shadbolt commenced a year later. Somehow, though, I don't think there's an honours board for arts at the college, although it would be nice to be contradicted.

For whatever reason, of all the crazy ball games going, rugby burrowed deepest into Kiwi culture. And, boosted by a bit of Pasifika talent, little old New Zealand has forged a rugby reputation way disproportionate to its population, with the ABs the most successful team in any sport in recent history. But forget the fairy tales about the game supposedly starting with a certain William Webb Ellis. A contact ball-handling game known as La Soule had already being going on for yonks in France, starting perhaps as early as the 14th century.

The ball was usually a leather-covered pig's bladder, with the aim being for two opposing teams to manhandle a ball by any means possible to pre-designated "goals" - often a point in front of the teams' respective parish churches. Parishes were sometimes distant enough to involve the traversing of farmland, forests and waterways. Team size could vary from 20 to literally hundreds of players. With no pesky rules and nothing forbidden, broken limbs were common. The game would quickly devolve into one immense swirling scrimmage, which could last for several days or until the players dropped from exhaustion.

Now that was a game of footy. So the French, too, have a vast cultural heritage in this respect. But perhaps the reason French form has fallen off a bit in recent times is that interest has waned - it's all got a bit too tame.

Hearteningly, Arnaud is reportedly now over la grippe.

-Frank Greenall has a master's degree in adult literacy and managed Far North Adult Literacy before moving to Wanganui.