Page 86 of Under Southern Stars
“Against the Aussies? Guaranteed.”
The stadium atmosphere is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—a sea of black and white, coordinated chants already echoing through the stands. Behind us, a group of men in matching Black Ferns scarves are passing around lyric sheets.
“What are they doing?” I ask Jack, nodding toward the group.
He follows my gaze and laughs. “Probably working on a new chant for the Australian captain. Last time she was here, they had a five-verse song about her controversial penalty in the World Cup quarterfinal.”
“You’re joking.”
“Welcome to Kiwi rugby,taku ipo.” He guides us to our seats, hand at the small of my back. “During my very first All Blacks match, the blokes behind us performed a four-part harmony about the opposing fly-half’s drunk driving charge. To the tune of ‘Clair de Lune.’”
“Jesus,” I laugh. “And I thought SEC football rivalries were intense.”
“Americans chant ‘Defense! Defense!’” Jack mimics in a deep, flat American monotone. “Kiwis compose operettas about your personal failures.”
Madison’s eyes are wide. “That’s hardcore.”
“That’s rugby, love.” Jack grins, then perks up as fans around us surge to their feet. “Here they come!”
The Black Ferns enter to deafening noise. Jack immediately joins in, his accent thickening as he shouts encouragement in what sounds like a mixture of English and Maori. Madison catches on quickly, mimicking his chants with surprising accuracy.
“So when they have the ball, that’s good, right?” I ask, trying to follow the blur of motion on the field.
Jack and Madison exchange an amused glance.
“Yes, Mom, that’s good,” Madison says with the patient tone of someone explaining colors to a toddler.
“Just checking!” I hold up my hands defensively. “I’m learning!”
The intensity builds through the first half. I’ve never been much of a sports fan, but there is something about their shared enthusiasm that is utterly captivating. Jack is explaining something to Madison—hand gestures illustrating some complex play—when a roar goes up from the crowd.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to follow the blur of motion on the field.
“Australia’s down to fourteen players,” Jack explains, excitement edging his voice. “Yellow card for a high tackle on Wilson.”
“Is that good for us?” Madison asks.
“Very good. Watch what happens next.”
“Wait, is that like a power play in hockey?” I ask, searching for any familiar sports reference.
“Exactly!” Jack looks impressed. “One player down for ten minutes.”
“I know some sports things,” I say proudly.
The Black Ferns capitalize immediately. Their offensive line surges forward, passing the ball with lightning precision. The crowd noise builds like a gathering storm.
“There’s Thompson!” Jack yells as a player breaks away. “GO GO GO!”
“GET THERE!” Madison screams beside him, on her feet now.
“GO TEAM!” I shout, caught up in their excitement despite only vaguely understanding what is happening. “DO THE THING!”
The Australian defense converges, but Thompson somehow slips through, ball tucked under her arm.
“She’s going to do it!” Jack’s arm is around my shoulders, pulling me up. “WATCH THIS!”
“What’s she doing?” I ask as Thompson suddenly kicks the ball forward.
