Graeme Hill: Reports of the invasion are greatly exaggerated

Graeme Hill

One writer stated recently that once the Barmy Army arrived on our shores, life would never be the same again. Really?

That's a big call, buddy, on anybody's newsprint. Sticking my head out the window this morning the street's major attraction is still the inorganic rubbish swap.

From what I've seen on the box I reckon the ratio of cameras to Lions supporters is about even so far, and minuscule compared to the size of the attraction themselves.

The touring party arrived in two jumbo jets. Two. The team photo looks like the start of Round the Bays.

You can actually feel the exasperation of frustrated network camera crews as they desperately hunt down any red-clad assemblage in the hope of capturing a flock on film in the wild.

OK. What the hell would I know? I'm not physically following the Lions on tour so maybe Rotorua really has been transformed into a geothermal version of the D-Day landings, but we probably need to toggle down a bit and let any hype reflect reality rather than create it.

I have no doubt the electricity will go on-line proper come the tests and don't doubt the British and Irish supporter presence will be felt then.

It's just this. Please, until it happens, stop making stuff up.

So, why exactly is there so much fuss and anticipation about a tour by a bunch of Brits and Irish dressed like Manchester United and named after Europe's rarest animal?

Don't we have a greater rivalry with South Africa? Yes, we do. But there are some factors that make this special:

Rarity. Lions don't tour here often. They have other places to go. What's more, they almost never play at home. Hence their supporters must travel, and travel far. They'll make the most of their time here.

History. New Zealand has pretty much cleaned up the Lions in the past (due in part to their selectors' compulsion to choose players with double-barrelled surnames in key positions) but those who witnessed the sparkling talents of the 1971 team will never forget them.

The silky skills and charming Beatle-esque good looks of Barry John made him a household name and housewife heart-throb. New Zealanders lined up to see his round-the-corner kicking style like it was the opening of the first Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Queer and as foreign as yoghurt, it was.

Another Lions tour in the late 1950s saw the All Blacks sneak home by the narrowest of margins (18-17) despite not scoring a try.

Don Clarke kicked the lot. That event provoked the great New Zealand sportswriter T.P. MacLean to cite it as New Zealand's darkest day in rugby. Hmmm.

That's something to consider when you hear howls of derision from New Zealand supporters every time Jonny Wilkinson attempts a field goal.

It's a tour. With the advent of professionalism, true tours have become practically extinct. Why play crummy little second division sides at crummy stadiums when the real cash comes from tests?

I've lamented the loss of tours. They create their own momentum. They galvanise our whole nation and create a commonality of experience. Provinces, not just the big cities, get their time in the sun and we physically, not virtually, stand up and say "We're here!"

Now is as good a time as any to remind the casual sports observer of something truly amazing about the Lions. They are the British AND IRISH Lions.

All of Ireland? Yep. For such a historically troubled and painfully divided land, rugby shines as a beacon of goodwill and positivism. The Irish Rugby Union side is selected from the one land. The British North and the republic, and that remains true for the Lions' Irish contingent.

Just think about that for a moment. To me, that transcends sport. It's one of those things that, if it didn't already exist, you'd bet the house that it could never, ever happen.

* Graeme Hill hosts the 12pm to 4pm show on Radio Sport. His column will appear on Tuesdays.