It’s the Rugby
World Cup, an international fixture on the calendar that occupies the thoughts
of many nations. The fixture that engenders a plethora of emotions that bring
grown men to tears has arrived. Everybody's an expert. This stage is the moment
of truth. Hours of training, planning, team work and honing of individual
skills are now to be pitted, nation against nation. This is the moment when
dedication and preparation are to be put to the test. National expectation runs
high. I settle myself into my chair,
switch on the T.V. for the long awaited moment of our team's first match. The
hubbub of the opening ceremony sidelined, the teams take the field, line up
behind the national emblem and 'male bond.' The music strikes up. The first
strains of the our National Anthem fire my emotions; send me back fifty odd
years when I too, with the silver fern on my chest, felt the surge of national
passion rise.
Then, my heart
tight in my chest pulsed with uncanny speed in my ears at the opening phrase,
Eh Ihowa Ahtua. Nerves jangling and muscles taut, I tried to sing. My body on
fire, only a squawk squeezed from my constricted throat. I ranged my eyes over
the sea of faces looking down on the oval.
A tingle of doubt wormed its way so I averted my eyes and stared at the
ground. Exhilaration dampened and a sudden
fear that I would not perform gripping, tears trickled down my cheeks. I raked
them and doubt away and concentrated on the ground until the closing phrase of
our anthem, 'Make her praises heard afar.' "Yes," I mumbled. My mind
cleared of niggling doubts. "Our praises will be heard afar."
Maureen Green
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