They poured out of the city bars and waterfront watering holes and rolled down Fran Wilde Walk dressed in any colour they liked, as long as it was black.
It was windless Wellington evening, the late twilight conceding defeat to black night. The day had been a capital dream, the kind of day that made true on that masterful work of ironic civic marketing: “You Can’t Beat Wellington on a Good Day.”
It had been a good day for sure, but would it be a good night?
With no wind to speak of, anticipation hovered above the hordes as they made their way toward the stadium, an unseen vapour of repetitive headlines typed in invisible ink. All the way along that depressingly barren, sprawling concourse, one heard the same snatches of purloined copy, the same retellings of the same old reckons. "Big night for Beaudy", "gotta be better in the final quarter", "the Wallabies will be hungry", "I thought Grace DuVal’s ‘Curves Ahead’ neatly encapsulated New Zealand’s obsession with road cones."
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The last comment piqued my interest. Could it be that rugby’s church was broadening? Was the sport reaching an age of enlightenment, one in which erudite analysis of a hand sculpted homage to New Zealand’s geography and its relationship to the prevalence of roadside high visibility clothing could exist side by side with such searing insights as "they need to front up"?
Alas no.
It turns out a group of World of Wearable Art visitors had accidentally found themselves walking to the stadium but suddenly realising their error, swiftly exited the jetstream and hurried back to their polychromatic universe, leaving the darkness behind them.
There is a certain anxiety that descends when choosing to attend an All Blacks fixture. It has nothing to do with what is about to unfold on the field, but how the crowd, expectant to the point of obsessive, will play to the occasion. When the All Blacks are a dominant force there is a clamour for perfection. The diners at the test match buffet wish only to pile their plates high. They demand their money’s worth, and to hell with a slow savouring of the fare.
Watch Scotty Stevenson and Pat McKendry analyse the All Blacks' win on TVNZ+
On this Wellington night, however, the mood has changed. The All Blacks have had their struggles, and the crowd, still warm from the bluebird day, have arrived with a fresh appreciation of the sacred contract. Could it be that they feel they have a part to play in this contest? That they could be the difference makers, the scene setters? That they weren’t there to be spoon fed eighty minutes of chaos, but to take part in the theatre of the evening?
It was decidedly so.
No one likes to be confined by a curse, and Wellington’s stadium was cursed. Wellingtonians wanted out, but they realised any ceremonial lifting of would take a collective effort. The All Blacks had not won on the rectangle within in a circle (haunting masonic geometry) for six years, and tonight was the night that changed.
It changed when the crowd sung the national anthem, proudly and loudly. It changed when local lad TJ Perenara led the haka and got the Wellington faithful fizzed up. It changed when the Wallabies started fast and scored their first (and only) try, and put the All Blacks on the back foot. The crowd, sensing the time was nigh, lifted their voices to drown out all past maledictions and imprecations.
It was…fun. Three rows behind me a child hollered a constant stream of exhortations in a voice untroubled by the passing of puberty. From the mouth of an adult, this type of running commentary would have ruined the night for everyone within a 30-metre radius. But the kid had pipes and passion and pretty much everyone thought it was bloody entertaining.
The All Blacks got their act together, riding the wave. Later in the match they were riding multiple Mexican waves, which take on a certain surrealist comedy value when starting on opposite sides of the ring and travelling in opposite directions. When Sam Cane, the 13th All Black to reach 100 test caps, was substituted, the crowd rose as one to salute him. No one on the field got the memo, and play carried on. A moment everyone had been waiting for was sadly squandered, but that’s a small gripe, really.
Cane was applauded after the match, and the All Blacks got the win by 20 points and the black masses left with smiles on their faces while the home side rattled their changing room walls, and Joe Schmidt’s press conference. The curse had been lifted!
The following day the All Blacks milled about the lobby of their hotel. Scott Robertson appeared, relieved, happy, proud. The coaches and the players talked about the crowd, how it felt so different, how its energy infused the team. In this serious business of wins and losses, they all noticed the power of the people who came to watch. That does not happen very often, or at least not often enough.
For the pundits, there were signs of life from the players. They had produced a performance that demonstrated a growing mastery of their craft. And the fans produced their best performance of the year, which just goes to show, you can enjoy yourself watching a test match.
And you probably can’t beat Wellington on a good day.
Watch Scotty Stevenson and Pat McKendry analyse the All Blacks' win on TVNZ+
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