As a third former I'll never forget witnessing their 1st XV take the field. A trademark was to tuck their collars into their jerseys. Amid cheers and haka from supporters, they hit their home ground like celebrities on the red carpet. Faces of stone and menace. A pack with more mana and purpose than any premier club team of the day. It was the Maori warrior at his best.
For whatever reason, they looked much older than their rivals. Too mean to be teens.
Legend has it they once boasted a heavier forward pack than the All Blacks.
Many had dense facial hair. We consoled ourselves by calling them "9th formers". It was an attempt to level the playing field and justify why we slept fitfully the night before a game.
I never had the skill to make the 1st XV but played many games against this foe in an ill-fated attempt to do so. It didn't help that a generation beforehand my uncle broke his leg playing Te Aute.
Either way, there was something daunting about facing these boys from the historic college on SH2.
Times have changed. Last year I watched their top team flail about directionless and lose easily to a school that in my time they'd have crushed by 30 points. The full-time scoreboard a symbol of a troubling malaise within Te Aute.
Now comes the unfathomable news they're having trouble sourcing a coach.
A dwindling roll doesn't help of course. Neither does the old chestnut that Te Aute's emphasis on sporting dominance precludes success in other areas.
Four years ago, more than 25 years on from my last game at that venue, I returned to the No 1 field in Pukehou as a reporter to cover the final of a traditional match against Hamilton's Church College. Due to the latter's imminent closure, it was the terminating clash of a fierce 43-year rivalry.
I was given star treatment. For one, I was privy to the 1st XV's preparation and team talk. I was privy to a historic haka and an epic game where the lead changed four times. But most memorably, I was privy to the aftermatch function.
After serving visitors a steaming boil-up of pork bones and puha, the Te Aute team rose to sing.
The ensuing song remains one of my career highlights. The majesty of the accomplished, unplugged, collective voice raised the hair on the back of my neck. Strange as it may seem, that Maori harmony was tenfold more powerful than the earlier haka.
It's why I see the coach-less scenario as cause for great concern. Te Aute rugby now has its own flu to cope with.
Much like George Nepia's haunting 1936 recording of Beneath the Maori Moon, that afternoon of sport and song in Pukehou indicated one doesn't preclude the other.
Much like Nepia, I say the Te Aute gentleman and warrior are impossible to separate.
.Mark Story is deputy editor at Hawke's Bay Today.
