KEY POINTS:
Am I not a real Kiwi if for some reason I don't feel grief at what happened on Saturday night in Cardiff?
I'm really upset for Graham Henry because he is a genuinely good person, and I wanted him to do well. I'm sorry for all the 20,000
or so New Zealanders that have saved up their pennies to get over here for the semifinals and final.
But somehow the infectious joy the Marseille locals exhibited when I was watching the match has rubbed off.
I was sitting in a beach side café it was dingy, dark, and smoke was everywhere (I think I'm now a recessive smoker). No one spoke English really, but my pigeon French is improving.
It started off with four regulars...but the kebab chef from next door kept coming in to watch the match (he had a lot of smokos), then the owner of the Italian restaurant, then some very out of place sexy Greek girls, then some gym buffs, then a beggar... and it goes on.
Most were drinking liqueurs or something called pastisse...it's a local Marseille drink - tastes like aniseed - it's awful. The mood was not particularly optimistic... but there was plenty of anticipation.
The big hits were whistled at, the try scoring ability cheered on. The haka ... they loved it. They wanted me to do it. Get real.
Then things started to happen in this order. The All Blacks started to asphyxiate, a bit like the man on my plane once that started to choke on his own vomit after falling into a deep sleep after a big night on the booze. He blamed it on the ABs cos they were playing.
The looks on my new friend's faces were changing. Light appeared in their eyes. Then Jauzion. The joy, the shock, the tension through the bar as the clock ticked down. And then, the moment that I will never forget.
Sitting in a bar with yells and whoops and car horn beeps from the streets as the realisation set in. We'd lost. The street itself went crazy. People everywhere. Women look confused. What is this about?
And my other question. Why do the French do this to us?
Every place I have been I've been greeted and warmly taken in. I have made new friends like the drop of a hat. I meet them on the side of the road. The bakery. The bus.
The French. They are so welcoming, friendly and quick to help. They love Kiwis. Yet in two World Cups so far they've caused us so much pain.
But somehow their happiness makes me happy at this point - in Marseille, in the sunshine, surrounded by other rugby fans whose teams have also dropped out.
My most prominent thought. If we can't win this World Cup, then hopefully it will be France.
