The Bay senior rugby championship and the Northland men's 2nd division football title were decided last weekend, indicating the thick snow of another relentless winter sporting season were beginning to melt. A number of other competitions would be completed in two to three weeks' time. Sure, the provincial team would soon start plying its trade but it had been many moons before the selectors had looked to the north and, with money tight, would likely be many more before they would once again send their slave traders to the remote region for their tithe in manpower.
The Offsider felt the weariness of a long and brutal campaign in his bones, one which had taken its toll on and off the battlefield. Overwhelmed by the sheer size of the front he covered had again left a litany of casualties, poorly recorded dispatches, rudimentary copy and a number of politically insensitive remarks which had drawn unwanted attention from higher up. But the only option was to leave the wounded by the roadside while families wept and gnashed their teeth over his carelessness. Maybe when spring came, their hands would be revealed again, reaching angrily out towards him like strange flowers caught in the drying mud.
The Offsider's eyes narrowed in the icy wind. No one could never be all things to all people but he knew he could do it better than most. And he had been warmed whenever he caught glimpses of his pages plastered on the fridges and walls of houses and stores when he passed through hamlets unseen in the night of his forced march.
The meandering passage had also delivered him to the freezing sea, often to find all-time conditions. A memorable season. One day he had arrived too late to paddle out and was left to ask those who the sharks had not taken how good it had really been. He kept a straight face, pretending he was pleased for them when they told him of magnificent waves and empty breaks. But his insides twisted painfully, consumed by a green eyed monster which mocked the very flesh upon which it fed.
A major magazine came to the remote north to cover a big swell and in a subsequent edition, told of a local group opposed to webcams which would help to prevent their breaks from being overrun by unclean hoards. Accompanying the article was a two page spread showing a perfect and pumping line up shot from earlier this winter with not a single wave being ridden. Was it real?