Little America

So Tremain biked down from damn near the Cook Strait to hang out in Christchurch with me the last couple days. I met him at Jade Stadium just as the game started. I had gone in previously because Trey had not shown up and the showtime was approaching. I called the number he gave me 16 times and left two rather impatient messages. Later a woman answered, proving to me that it wasn't Trey I had been calling after all. On a hunch I left right at kickoff and discovered him outside the stadium, loafing about.

To begin the festivities, seven armed and armored horsemen emerged from the stadium gates and proceeded to gallop laps around the field waving swords and looking dangerous. After they left to many a cheer, a weird silence developed. Before it had time to build, however, an enormous metallic roar exploded to my left, and my head jerked around just in time to see a Navy helicopter at full clip blow in, meters from the stands, and land in the middle of the field. One small kiwi child crept out with a rugby ball and made it to the sideline and the mammoth chopper was up and off again. "Okay, we can go now."

We should have, really. The Crusaders didn't look like the side that beat the chiefs weeks previously. Trey and I postulated for the entirety of the event reasons why nobody could catch the ball. Indeed, knocks and drops were the rule of the day, despite the Cantabrians having their All-black players back on staff, recovered from injuries the week before.

We made lamb and broccoli and called it a night. The next day was more interesting, and included visits to a children's choral rehearsal in the Christchurch cathedral, which was surprisingly powerful. I also picked up some undershirts, blahblahblah. The torrential wind and rain were not enough to keep us from bowling with the British Islanders next door, tenpin American style, and getting exceedingly wasted. I recall completing the entire journey through the storm to bowling and back wearing striped long johns and slippers. Where'd that bottle of whiskey go, Trey?

Funny enough, a bike ride is a great cure for a hangover. We rode out to Linwood to see the hometeam 10's tournament that I would have played in if not for my hip and watched more great rugby. Said hip feels heaps better and I might lift today. I will post pictures when photographer Tremain emails them to me.

Also, Colin had better post something inspiring (for entertainment) and misspelled (for authenticity) soon or I'm going to be pissed.