THE TEST MATCH

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22985, 14 September 1936, Page 7

THE TEST MATCH

IMPRESSIONS AND REACTIONS By One Who Knows Nothing About the Game On Saturday it seemed to be everybody’s duty and intention to join the steady stream of humanity that flowed southwards to Carisbrook to see New Zealand wrest the Bledisloe Cup from Australia. The just and the unjust, the initiated and the ignorant, all blacks and green stripes—everyone seemed to have a single purpose. Among those thousands was one to whom the great national sport is still a closed book. Common candour compels me to confess that all public exhibitions of skill and prowess have the same curious effect on my mind, which I suppose the Clown’s feat had on the author of “ The Vicar of Wakefield.” Rugby football is very definitely a case in point. It was enough just to stand and watch the sprightly leapings, twistings, twirlings and twinklings of 31 men (referee included), chasing a ridicu-lously-shaped ball which always seemed to bounce the wrong way. And when I observed that their hands and legs were in every respect like mine, and when I saw the amazing uses to which the players could put them, I blushed at the mortifying thought and sight of my own limbs, and dwelt dolefully on the dormant dexterities which I have never cultivated, and which I can now never hope to acquire. At the end of it all I left the entertainment (if such doughty battlings can be so lightly styled) secretly ashamed of my grossly unlimber frame and genuinely relieved that a 22-inch trouser leg provided a kindly refuge from .the public gaze for unsinewy calves. It must be a strong feeling indeed that makes a man ashamed of his own legs, the contemplation of which in the past has given me a grave and vacant satisfaction in my progress down the street. Whatever happens now, I fear that I shall never have either the courage or the curiosity to look at mine again. What various results the exciting play, high scoring and strong kick-' ing of the game had on the minds of the large crowd that milled around me all afternoon, I cannot pretend to say, knowing nothing of the game, but one of the results it all produced on me was of a kind which, I suspect, neither the players nor myself foresaw when the match began. My opinion of myself has been lowered in ,a most remarkable and disastrous manner. My own petty accomplishments have turned out to be nothing but plated goods. A week ago I thought they were genuine silver —I did, indeed! Happy persons—and there seemed to be thousands of them, male and female —who could thrill to the game, understand why the referee whistled so insistently, sum up the merits of this and that player, and set off back home thankful to the teams for entertaining them, and not a wliit depreciated in their own estimation. Actually the articulate erudition on every side was almost unbearable. It began with the first kick and not even the last rush could bring it to an end, because it continued in the tram and all the way home. “Heavens, they can’t get away with that sort of stuff One had not the first idea what “ that sort of stuff ” was, but I found myself hoping vaguely that they would not go on trying to “ get away with it.” The incident of the torn shorts seemed to explain itself, but the whole sack of others taken on to the field, seemed a little unnecessary. And seeing it was green pants that were torn off him, it seemed only right that it should be a black jersey that went next. But apart fronf such simplicities, the continuous pounding and pushing, running and kicking were beyond me. The general idea seenied to be to go to the opposite end of the field somehow, anyhow. My lefthand neighbour had the appearance of knowing all about it, and I gathered that he was for the most part pleased. The referee provoked many an “ Ah! ” and “He missed that,” but it was someone called an “ inside back ” who gave rise to the stentorian command, “ Give it to watt.” The stupid fellow would not “give it to Watt,” however and I found my shoulder grasped in a vice-like grip while my eardrums reacted to something hardly printable. It was all too much. I laughed That mirthful ebullition was fatal He at once took advantage of it to dilate on the admirable qualities of “ fast wingers,” of whom I gathered that “ this Watt ” was a prince. “ Yes, and what about Trevathan? Some people ” “Did you see that? What would you do if you were the ref? ” he interjected. I muttered something weakly, and then Watt scored a try. which I was told was “one out of the box.” and Trevathan was forgotten. By this time everyone within earshot was on speaking terms with everybody else. The talk drifted through alternating periods of excitement to the final hysteria that greeted the almost continuous duties of a man on the score platform, who dashed about with big white figures in his hands. All around me thrilled voices asking me, “ Could I beat that? ” “ Had I ever seen anything like it? ” and “ How did I like my eggs done? ” And so it all ended, the only ray of sunshine in my unfamiliar afternoon being the utter refusal of anyone to believe that I knew nothing about any of it. My “ don’t knows ” were attributed to modesty and not to ignorance, and my tormentors would merely change their ground to the wider field of Ranfurly Shield policy, two or three tests for the Bledisloe Cup, or Wellington’s prospects next week. Soon I was well out of my depth, so grasping a chance of getting in with a bold assertion, I came out with a determined, “Decidedly,” which originated a general discussion under cover of which I made my escape No! lam convinced that Carisbrook is no place for one who knows nothing about Rugby football.