Most of Dunedin traversed the few miles to Carisbrook relentlessly, the surprising cold stinging our faces and hands. Spring had, for this night, given Winter back its reins, but even so, nothing could dispel the palpable, electric excitement that crackled through the air. Like any good Dunedin pedestrian, we crossed the street and interrupted traffic flows at our leisure, drawn to Carisbrook stadium like a toddler to something very expensive and breakable.

This was Tri-Nations.

Every year, the Tri-Nations Cup in rugby is held between the South Africa Springboks, the Australia Wallabies, and the New Zealand All Blacks. Though South Africa are the defending champs, and leaders for this year’s Cup, a win this night would put the All Blacks in good position to snatch the championship away. Just a feather in the ol’ cap, really, since we Kiwis (that’s right, we Kiwis) had already thoroughly thrashed the British & Irish Lions during their tour, as well as secured the Bledisloe Cup against Australia.

Jockeying with what seemed like every Kiwi in existence (excepting Kez , of course), we eventually found our seats, right on the 50-meter line, about twelve rows back. Prime seating. “We” included the students who also came to Dunedin through Arcadia’s program; our director bought us tickets and offered them at half price. “We” also included Dan, who bought a ticket, at full price, from one of the Arcadia kids. Poor guy didn’t realize it until we were wandering around the parking lot just before the game.

Now seated, I gazed around the medium-sized stadium, and my jaw hung unhinged. Nearly every single seat contained a fan completely dressed in black. The few exceptions were that handful brave enough to dress in lurid green in support of the ‘Boks. The entire complex abuzz, I chatted with my friends, one eye on the field for any sign of the game starting. A brass band played while some nameless group of females sang, but they soon left, and a sudden upswing in the noise level occurred in as everyone turned from the fireworks display and prepared for the national anthems.

The national anthems of New Zealand and South Africa are amazingly multicultural, and would alone be sufficient for an entire post. However, for brevity’s sake, I will only say that New Zealand’s anthem is performed in two languages, and South Africa’s, at least three, and both are very stirring.

Then came what has become my favourite part of any All Blacks rugby match, the haka, one of the trademarks of New Zealand known the world over. Simply put, a haka is a Māori war dance (though my Māori Society instructor would kill me if I didn’t also add that not all haka are war dances). The All Blacks use it as a sort of intimidation factor before every game. But not even my instructor was prepared for what the All Blacks were about to do.

They lined up in untidy rows in the middle of the field. I had seen the haka in action before; though I didn’t quite have the level of haka mastery that most small Kiwi children possessed, I still had at least picked out a few cool parts to copy. But those cool parts never came. The audience grew very quiet and still as the All Blacks, for the first time ever, debuted a brand-new haka, which they had been working on in secret for over a year, and the crowd went wild. It’s since been called the Kapa O Pango, or Team in Black haka, replacing the Ka Mate Ka Mate (I Die, I Die) haka, which the All Blacks had been performing for one hundred years, and regularly since 1987. (You can see videos of both hakas for yourselves, at this link

The stage set, the game began with a roar and a kickoff. Rugby is a bit like American football on steroids. With very few exceptions, there are no pads, no stoppages, and no commercials, which makes for a very intense game, and very involved audience. The lead changed with every dramatic try (touchdowns are called “tries”) until the All Blacks pulled ahead for good late in the second half, taking the game 31-27.

The audience cheered, stomped, and shouted their joy at the All Blacks’ victory, at their victory. For me, the end of the game came with a deep sense of satisfaction. I was here, right in the middle of true-blue Kiwi culture. For two hours, I wasn’t The American, looking in on New Zealand and saying “Good on ya” in a terrible attempt at an accent. We cheered, stomped, and shouted together, and it was absolutely incredible.

My satisfaction was tempered with a small amount of relief though, for the raucous crowd had taken to performing the Wave, which increasingly involved launching half-empty beer cans in every direction. As beer drained from the sky like so many shooting stars, Dan and I took our leave of Carisbrook, a little tired, a little hoarse, a little happy.