I Love It When A Plan Comes Together

We’re not quite there yet, but as the All Blacks prepare to repeat their World Cup triumph of 24 years ago against the same opponents, I just hope some of the naysayers are gaining an appetite for humble pie.

Let’s face it, if we couldn’t win the Webb Ellis trophy, most of us would rather see anyone but Australia take it. So, at the very least, our second-most preferred result as been achieved.

Personally, I decided weeks ago that if someone else had to capture the trophy, I’d like it to be the French, since they’re (historically) the best side in the world yet to win it. I’d rather they didn’t beat us to do it, but c’est la vie, as they say.

But now that the AB’s have a hand on the silverware, maybe it’s time to start giving them their dues. They’ve already answered many of the criticisms thrown their way over the past four years and especially last few weeks.

1. Robbie Deans should be the All Black coach.

I vividly remember the outrage when the NZRFU decided to persevere with the three wise men after they achieved our worst ever result at the last World Cup.

How dare the selection panel defy public and media opinion by sticking with these villains?

Well, turns out the panel knew something everyone else didn’t. Not only has Graham Henry enjoyed a 12-3 head-to-head advantage over his rival in those four years, he has now comprehensively outcoached him in the game that meant the most – the RWC semifinal.

Essentially, “Ted” managed to convince his bosses there was no need to throw the baby out with the bathwater, that the disappointment of losing in the 2007 quarterfinals might actually be part of the journey towards winning next time round.

Sure, they might have made some mistakes, but what’s the point of making them if you don’t learn and improve on them going forward.

At the time, I thought the RFU, a body not known for its progressive thinking, made an incredibly gutsy call by showing some loyalty to their coaches and I hoped it wouldn’t back fire on them.

They’re a win away from being proved correct.

2. Rotation doesn’t work.

Oh shivers, did I actually say the “R” word out loud?

Somehow, they have become the most despised three syllables in the Kiwi vocabulary.

Yet in basketball, rotation is used as a legitimate strategy to rest your starting players, bring in some fresh legs off the bench or change tactics. It also keeps your reserves engaged and ready to step up if one of your stars is forced out of the game.

It makes sense in rugby for the same reasons, especially over a schedule where 100kg bodies collide at speed every week for 12 months of the year.

The days of fielding your “best” lineup form 80 minutes of every test are long gone, people. It’s time you recognized that.

And how the hell do you even know what your best lineup is unless you give your fringe players a chance to prove themselves in the test environment anyway?

This is a classic example of the mass rugby hysteria that grips New Zealand.

Why would you risk playing studs like McCaw and Carter against bunnies like Tonga, Japan and Canada? Especially if they’re carrying niggles that could benefit from the rest.

OK, I buy the need to build team continuity to a point, but not at the expense of losing one of your kingpins. If Carter wasn’t warming up to play the Canucks (who we should beat with one hand tied behind our backs), would we still have him?

Maybe.

So we’re going to be critical of the three wise dudes, maybe we needed MORE rotation, not less.

3. Richie McCaw’s foot is about to fall off.

I don’t know about you, but I always think the things you don’t worry about are the ones that’ll kill you. You know, the proverbial bus with dodgy brakes rumbling towards you like one of those “Final Destination” movies.

So while everyone was talking about McCaw’s stress fracture, no one saw Carter’s groin (like an elevator cable) hanging by a thread of tendon, ready to snap.

The fact that medical staff know about the foot and have a management strategy in place gave me confidence that he would make it through this tournament. I may still be wrong, but it’s looking fairly good so far.

Does Matt Todd’s presence at practice mean he’s about to be dragged in as cover? If Richie’s injury is as bad as they say, his Crusaders team-mate probably should have been there all along, but as host nation, we did have some ability to call in replacements at short notice anyway.

McCaw is a tough hombre and if he has to produce a Buck Shelford/Mika Vukona/Willis Reed/Curt Schilling performance (google those last two, but they’re pretty macho too) to get us across the line, he’ll do it. Modern medicine is an amazing thing.

4. David Pocock is the best openside flanker in the world, better than Richie.

Look at the damn scoreboard.

Everyone says the breakdown holds the key to winning. No one really seems to understand it and the best exponents are all cheats.

But we won, so we must have done something right.

Besides, if McCaw can even compete on one foot, how good is he with two?

But, to be sure, this is a rivalry for the ages.

5. The coaches did a lousy job of developing depth at key positions, namely first-five (Carter) and openside flanker (McCaw).

So, let me get this straight – rotation is a bad thing, but so is not blooding backup players? Make up your minds.

Henry got caned after Carter went down, and Colin Slade, Aaron Cruden and Stephen Donald were whistled up as replacements. Why hadn’t he done more to cover his bases?

Well, all three have had their chances at all levels over recent years. Ironically, Donald is probably the most qualified to fill the void, since he’s had the most opportunities at this level, but he’s taken a pounding in social media after being called up as third cab off the rank last week.

He’d still be my first choice (after Carter), simply because he has made just about every mistake possible and I’d expect him to take those hard lessons to heart. But Cruden is the people’s choice and that counts for a lot in a position where confidence is everything.

Initially, I liked the Slade/Weepu combination used against Canada, but Weepu’s emergence as a leader at halfback is hard to argue against and Cruden certainly hasn’t let anyone down.

Some think the NZRFU should have extended an invitation for Nick Evans to come home from the northern hemisphere, all is forgiven. Seems to me we tried that with Luke McAlister and it ended badly.

There are good reasons why the rugby union chooses not to reward players who chase the big bucks overseas and one is that those competitions are simply not as good as ours. They don’t make our players better and they certainly don’t promote loyalty to the All Black jersey.

5. The All Blacks don’t have world-class halfbacks.

Not sure where this one came from. Think it originated from some disgruntled Pommie journalist (where are your teams now, by the way?) and somehow picked up momentum.

We may not have a George Gregan or Will Genia or Fourie Du Preez, but since Carter’s departure, Weepu has certainly staked a strong MVP claim.

He’s always had the talent to be a star in either rugby code, but has been his own worst enemy in terms of staying fit and healthy. You never like his chances of going the distance and watching him wobble to the sideline early in the semi just reinforced that feeling.

Luckily, the rotation (there’s that word again) of Weepu, Jimmy Cowan and Andy Ellis offer different strengths that can be utilized according to opposition. What we lack in star quality (supposedly), we make up for in depth.

OK, I know. We haven’t won a thing yet (just bragging rights) and the always-unpredictable French still stand between us and the trophy. Everyone is dismissing Le Bleus as unworthy finalists, but this is a tournament and sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.

I read somewhere (think it was another disgruntled Pommie journo) that this shows winning the Six Nations is harder than making the World Cup final. I’m struggling with that logic – I thought it showed exactly the opposite.

France struggled to get out of RWC pool play after losing to two southern hemisphere teams, then knocked off two northern easybeats (I’m exaggerating ... slightly) to reach the title game. They got the soft side of the draw and you get the feeling they planned it that way.

Meanwhile, the world’s top three teams somehow landed in the other bracket, ensuring there would be a distinct North v South flavour to the final.

Anything can still happen, but you critics – you know who you are – better be ready. I’m just saying.

WITHOUT A LEG TO STAND ON

Been watching a lot of athletics lately and wondering how “the fastest man on no legs” will change my former pastime.

Yep, that’s the debate that raged in the Radio Sport studio last week and somehow spilt over into the NZ Herald as a “racist” slur.

South African 400m runner Oscar Pistorius has been the feel-good story of the IAAF World Championships in South Korea, progressing through to the individual semi-finals despite having his lower legs amputated as an infant.

Running on carbon fibre prosthetics (hence his other nickname, “The Blade Runner”), his 45.07s personal best is a full second faster than the New Zealand national record.

Pistorius first created headlines three years ago when he set his sights on making the South African team for the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

The list of Paralympians that have gone on to compete at the Olympics is very small and all are women. One of them is Kiwi archer Neroli Fairhall, who also won gold at the 1982 Brisbane Commonwealth Games from her wheelchair.

At Beijing, Polish table tennis exponent Natalia Partyka and South African swimmer Natalie Du Toit became the first athletes to appear at Paralymics and Olympics in the same year. Partyka contested the teams event without a right hand, while Du Toit finished 16th in the 10km open water race after losing her left leg in a motor scooter accident seven years earlier.

But neither required mechanical assistance to compete.

Initial testing suggested Pistorius’ blades actually gave him a marked advantage over his able-bodied rivals and the IAAF banned him. He protested to the Court of Arbitration for Sport, claiming the tests only measured his top straight-line speed and didn’t factor in his slower acceleration, so the court overturned the ban.

Ultimately, Pistorius didn’t achieve the qualifying time and also missed selection for the 4x400m relay team. Three years later, his performances clearly place him in top world class and the issue has resurfaced.

When you think about it, 400m is probably the perfect distance for Pistorius. His personal bests over the shorter sprints – 10.91s for 100m and 21.41s for 200m – indicate he may not have the top speed or pickup of his able-bodied rivals.

But anyone who has ever run the one lap hard can tell you, it’s not just about how fast you run, but also how well you can maintain form when that tidal wave of lactic acid hits you down the home straight. Under those circumstances, not having leg muscles that seize up in the final metres seems like a distinct benefit.

Now, I love an underdog as much as the next guy, I totally respect all he’s achieved in his career (apologies if that sounds condescending), and was cheering as loud as anyone when he guided the South African team to a national record and relay final at Daegu.

Still, I can’t help feeling that the arbitration court has opened up a real can of worms that may become quite self-serving if it’s called upon to rule on further technology issues in track and field.

The sport has the same drug problems as any other sport and we won’t dwell on them right now. But otherwise, athletics remains relatively “pure” – contests are won by those that simply run fastest, throw furthest, and jump highest and longest.

Tactics definitely play a part and occasionally new techniques (like Fosbury Flop in high jump) will revolutionise events, but generally, technology plays little part in the outcome.

Perhaps the only discipline that currently relies on gadgetry is the pole vault, where competitors are experimenting with carbon fibre construction to replace fiberglass poles.

Occasionally, officialdom will tinker with rules as needed. When javelins began overshooting stadium infields, they adjusted the implements’ balance to limit their flight, an unpopular, but very necessary precaution.

And I fully support the new “one-and-done” false start rule that eliminates much of the gamesmanship in sprinting and ultimately rewards reaction over anticipation.

But track and field already struggles with one arbitrary set of standards for drugs. Pistorius and his legs raise a similar question on the technology front – how much is too much?

The IAAF came up with an answer when they tried to ban Pistorius the first time, eliminating "any technical device that incorporates springs, wheels or any other element that provides a user with an advantage over another athlete not using such a device". The arbitration court threw that rule out.

Sure, you might look at Pistorius’ simply constructed legs now and scoff, but hands up if you remember astronaut Steve Austin, the man barely alive. They rebuilt him, alright ... better ... stronger ... faster.

Bionics are here, people. They might not be up to “Six Million Dollar Man” level yet, but local company Rex Bionics has begun selling an apparatus that enables paraplegics to get out of their wheelchairs and walk.

Sooner or later, you just know someone will front up to a track meet and ask the question.

This comment from 400m world recordholder Michael Johnson seems to sum it up: "I'm supportive of Oscar because the rules state that he can compete.

"My position on the rule is that probably more work should be done. Now that there's this controversy again, I think people are unsure."

By the way, I was intrigued by the IAAF ruling that Pistorius could only contest the lead-off lap – run in lanes – in the relay and then, apparently, only from the inside lane at the very back of the field. Maybe officials feared that his blades posed some kind of threat in an unlaned, free-for-all melee, although realistically, you’re probably more likely to get spiked, or cop a loose elbow or baton in such a situation.

Or they might have worried about him falling over and impeding others around him. This didn’t seem to be a concern when he drew lane seven - between two other runners - of the 400m semis.

Perhaps it was just some small measure of payback for the inconvenience of having to let him run at all.

IT'S GONNA START RAINING MEN!

All those Kiwi women who have complained about a “man drought” over the last couple of years will soon have their prayers answered. Ladies, I offer you the Rugby World Cup.

Yes, that’s right. New Zealand is about to be inundated by that most attractive of the male sub species – the Rugbyhead – as if the country isn’t already over-populated with them.

And maybe that’s the truth about this so-called drought – it never actually existed at all, just another convenient excuse for our fickle womenfolk to explain their failure to find the perfect male.

But word on the street is that many of these single women have deliberately taken themselves off the market in recent months to save themselves for RWC.

If nothing else, at least that’s eliminated those who aren’t really serious about romance, the ones just looking for an opportunistic fling they can tell their girlfriends about over coffee long after they’ve become Remuera trophy wives.

Presumably, they have their sights set on some swarthy Argentine first-five in tight shorts, but unfortunately for them, it’s more likely to be a drunken lieutenant in the Barmy Army, egged on by his equally pissed cohorts.

The road to perfection is potholed with compromise.

It does happen, I suppose. Once, during a cozy rendezvous at the Heritage, my date informed me that she had spent quite a few nights at this establishment when the Italian sailors used it as their America’s Cup headquarters.

That was a pretty difficult image to dismiss for the rest of the night. Sigh!

And athletes are obviously quick to exploit such situations. Players at the Wellington Sevens are usually issued small replica footballs to toss into the crowd during the annual street parade.

Many have phone numbers written on them and are aimed at potential hook-ups among the bystanders.

Any time you put fit, young adults together in one place, hormones will inevitably intervene. Sydney Olympic organizers were said to have distributed 70,000 condoms to visiting athletes, but were still 20,000 short.

I wonder how they calculated that statistic. Maybe they had team liaisons rushing down to the nearest after-hours pharmacy each night, desperately trying to cover the shortfall and keeping count.

So, alas, last week’s short-lived “abstain for the team” campaign by Telecom was doomed to fail. Even as a tongue-in-cheek prank, it defied any passing semblance to reality.

The call would have made far more sense coming from a religious group lobbying against pre-marital relations or pitched as a war against sexually transmitted diseases (and maybe Telecom can still flick off their discounted IP and collateral to recoup some costs).

They could even have gone in the opposite direction with a variation on the old “better phone your daddy and tell him you won’t be coming home tonight” line.

See, who needs Saatchi & Saatchi anyway? This is too easy!

But, no, they didn’t.

The campaign did spark a debate among some of us about whether players themselves would be abstaining during the tournament and if this was, in fact, likely to improve or detract from their performance on the field.

Legend has it that American long jumper Bob Beamon feared the worst when he engaged in sex the night before his 1968 Mexico City Olympic final, then went out and added more than a foot (30cm) to the world record. That mark would last nearly quarter of a century.

I think you should just go with whatever you’re used to. Some guys hit the sack early the night before a big game and nod straight off to sleep, while others need a couple of beers to settle the nerves.

For some reason, our conversation turned to whether Ma’a Nonu (and I have no idea why we picked him as an example) should be allowed to have sex with 10 women on the eve of the World Cup final. My view – if that’s how Nonu prepares best, the manager should be out scouring the Viaduct bars for potential matchwinners.

That way, some lucky lasses won’t have saved themselves for nothing AND they get to take one in service of their country.

In the meantime, if you’re a sweet, sensitive Kiwi fella just looking for love, you’d better enjoy the on-field action and hope the All Blacks win, because that could be the only consolation you get from the next couple of months. You’ll be far outnumbered by the invading hordes with their sexy accents and simply won’t get a look-in.

I suppose, if you’re really desperate, you could always start swilling Guinness and learn the words to “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”.

No, nothing’s worth that.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING?

It’s only 1.30pm Saturday, but I’m already late for my date with an ITM Cup quadruple play. Canterbury is playing ... someone I can’t remember.

This national provincial championship season has been a bit like that with games stacked on top of one another across all days of the week except (a little ironically) Monday.

Of course, a couple of other codes have made Monday night football a feature of their brand, so maybe NOT playing then has become a bizarre point of difference for rugby.

Those old skool types who have advocated a return to afternoon rugby have gotten their wish to the extent it’s almost morning rugby. This Canterbury v Taranaki (as it turns out) encounter started at 12.35pm.

I’ve got a valid excuse for my tardiness – I was watching my nephew’s soccer team squander a 2-1 halftime lead to lose 4-2 across town. Rugby might be our national religion, but family has to come first.

Try to remember that.

Anyway, the red-and-blacks are putting a beating on the ‘Naki and are already up 17-0 just after halftime. It’s their best display of the season and they don’t ease up, running in a bonus-point try in the final moments for a 27-0 outcome.

The afternoon fixtures have been a godsend for people of Christchurch. Since the quakes made AMI Stadium unplayable, they’ve had to take home games to Rugby Park, where the floodlights are not up to broadcast standard as dusk falls.

Canterbury have struggled at times this season, but such is the even nature of this competition, their victory today puts them on top of the premiership table.

Personally, I don’t really care who wins the provincial titles – I’m much more interested in which players put their hands up for a chance at the next level. Canterbury wing Patrick Osborne has definitely been one of those for me, and he again shows his lethal combination of strength and speed to good effect in this outing.

I’ve also been to the gym this morning and need a shower, but Auckland v Bay of Plenty has already started, so that will have to wait until halftime.

But the signs are ominous. Twenty minutes into the game, Auckland are 7-3 up, but I can’t remember anything about the on-field action.

The highlight has been a discussion among the commentators about how long it takes to set down a scrum and I totally agree. This whole crouch-touch-pause-engage business just seems to have made this area of the game even messier than it was before.

Maybe it’s time to totally depower the scrum, rugby league style.

A few minutes into the second half – Bay up 13-10 – promising Auckland lock Liaki Moli is being stretchered off the field with a shoulder problem. I hate seeing slow-motion replays of athletes getting injured, ever since the day I watched about six different views of a guy breaking his forearm at the world wrist-wrestling championships.

Moli is replaced by Steven Luatua, who promptly scores the go-ahead try. Luatua is another to catch my eye this season, although he’s a little short (1.95m) for a lock and may end up as a blindside flanker.

It’s a beautiful day outside and most right-thinking New Zealanders are probably mowing their lawns or taking their kids to the park. But the setting sun has the audacity to drift across my TV screen and the blind must come down.

Auckland prevail 25-16, but BOP, looking unbeatable only a couple of weeks ago, blow a possible bonus point by chasing their third try instead of taking a very kickable penalty attempt in the final minute. This is their fourth loss in a row after four wins to start the comp, and the wheels are well and truly off their campaign.

SKY’s Heartland rugby coverage is on for an hour, but maybe it’s time for a little nana nap.

OK, when I nap, there’s nothing “little” about it. I’m still drifting in and out of consciousness through the first half of North Harbour v Northland, which is probably the best way to watch Harbour this season.

Any season, actually.

When they squander an 11-point lead to trail 26-23 with 20 minutes remaining, you can just sense they’re about to let another one slip. But Matt “The Monster” Leamanu strikes right back and finally, FINALLY Harbour fans have a reason to celebrate.

The last clash of the day pits championship leaders Manawatu against the team that led the premiership into this weekend, Waikato. Guided by the young inside combination of Aaron Smith and Aaron Cruden, the Turbos have been the real darlings of this competition.

Remember, too, it wasn’t that long ago that the NZRFU had consigned this outfit to the heartland wilderness, only to reverse their decision against a groundswell of opposition from the Buckethead fans.

Commentator Murray Mexted opens the coverage with another of his pearlers – a reference to the “girls on heat” in a sideline spa pool – before Manawatu runs in a couple of the tries of the season to open up a 21-3 margin midway through the first half.

The Mooloo get a couple of tries just before halftime to breathe life into their hopes, but the Turbos aren’t to be denied, running out 54-20 victors.

With 29 points, Cruden just carves up. Over the past couple of years, he has probably suffered the weight of expectation more than any other player in NZ rugby, but this ITM Cup has really been his coming out party.

Spare a thought, too, for Manawatu coach Dave Rennie, who receives a standing ovation as he made his way down to the sideline as the final seconds ticked off the clock. He’s heading to Hamilton to take over the Chiefs next summer, so tonight’s match held some special interest for him.

It’s now 9.15pm – the ITM marathon is over for today, but the Warriors kick off against Penrith in quarter of an hour. Time to get out of this bean bag and find a change of scenery for the league.

And don’t forget, if you aren’t already suffering overload, tomorrow’s rugby fest starts at 3am with the All Blacks v Springboks.

Think I’ll be sound asleep by then, dreaming of Tasman v Otago and Counties Manukau v Hawke’s Bay in the afternoon.

CREDIT WHERE IT'S DUE

Whatever you think of Steve Williams’ outburst last week, he did raise the question of how any of us would get by without a little help from our friends.

To be fair, the Kiwi caddy’s comments after guiding Aussie Adam Scott to convincing victory at the WCG-Bridgestone Invitational lacked class. A whole range of factors combined to create the perfect storm of controversy as the world’s top golfers prepared for this week’s PGA Championship.

Williams’ firing as Tiger Woods’ bagman, the return of Woods from injury, Scott’s emergence as a bona fide title contender and, by no means least, the public and media’s thirst for any new twist to the Woods soap opera ... it was all too good to be true.

Even before the Williams found the microphone thrust under his nose on the 18th green, CBS coverage of the event had put him squarely in the spotlight, picking up and broadcasting much of his dialogue with Scott through the last round.

They set the cunning trap and our guy walked right into it, obviously still smarting from his sudden fallout with Woods.

The response from other golfers was curious. They didn’t seem to have a problem with Williams putting the boot into Woods, only that he claimed just a little too much credit for Scott’s win.

Sure, Scott was the one swinging the clubs. But the CBS intrusion did reveal that the caddy had a huge influence on which clubs were swung and what shots were played.

At one point, Williams called his man off the ball and handed him another club, with which he hit an approach that led to a key birdie. Even the pinpoint final approach on the 18th was achieved only after earnest discussion between the pair.

It was truly a team effort, but how often do you hear a golfer acknowledge his caddy’s contribution? You probably wouldn’t have heard it from Scott this time if the CBS interviewers hadn’t imposed their own agenda on proceedings.

Recently, I was part of a five-person support crew for Aucklander Ron Skelton as he cycled in the Race Across America – 5000km from California to Maryland in 12 days.

No question, Ron was the guy wearing saddle sores 22 hours a day on the bike. But he was also quick to tell anyone listening that the only way Team iRONman could be any stronger was if it had a better rider.

It’s an obvious exaggeration, but it showed two things – Ron was an incredibly caring guy who knew how to inspire his team, even when he was utterly exhausted, and he also knew he couldn’t have finished this race by himself.

This wasn’t just Ron Skelton’s success – it belonged to the team and he was happy to share it. There aren’t many so-called individual sports where you’ll find that selfless attitude.

Boxing might qualify. Even if trainers are largely ignored, fighters seem perfectly willing to thank God (or whichever deity they subscribe to) for getting them through this contest alive.

But maybe the only sport you consistently hear winners giving credit to their mates is motor racing, where drivers will usually compliment their pit crew on a great car.

The other day, I even heard one driver – I think it was Nascar ace Jimmie Johnson – almost in tears, desperately trying to put a positive spin on the fact his crew had clearly dropped the ball and cost him the chequered flag. It went something like this ...

“I know how hard these guys work to be great and I know how much it will hurt them to perform like this.”

Now, that’s throwing someone under the bus in the nicest possible way.

Back to Williams. Everyone has their own opinion on his comments.

There are many reasons why Scott’s victory might have meant so much to him. It’s not always about the size of the prize and undoubtedly Wood’s presence had something to do with it.

But Scott has also been something of an unrealized talent on the PGA Tour and this result may well prove a turning point. Maybe Williams is relishing the opportunity to pass his experience on to Scott at this point in his career.

One of the things I love about Kiwis is we tend to speak our minds. There are no airs or graces – what you see is what you get.

Williams went beyond that. His rant seemed to be very self serving and after all the great things he had achieved over the years (and over the previous four days), I was disappointed to have New Zealand represented so immodestly on the international stage.

Two thoughts struck me as I listened – firstly, how Woods had fired previous caddy “Fluff” Cowan when he began to enjoy his own celebrity status rather too much.

Also, Woods had an unfortunate reputation for bad behaviour around the greens and fairways, and Williams’ outburst made me wonder how much his sidekick had contributed to that.

I’m sure Williams has learned his lesson, and hopefully he’ll go on to notch up another 145 victories and a place in the Golf Hall of Fame. Then he’ll have the perfect platform to talk about himself.

Amazingly, no caddies are yet among the Hall’s 130-plus members.

WINDS OF CHANGE

Seriously, is anyone really surprised at how quickly the Hurricanes playing roster has unraveled under new coach Mark Hammett?

As many of the franchise’s established stars leave to find their fortunes elsewhere, those of us on the sidelines now understand that “loyalty” is not what it used to be, it’s not just a one (or two) way street and is now virtually a redundant concept in professional sport.

The latest to depart is All Black halfback Piri Weepu, whose signing with the Blues for next year’s Super 15 has prompted screams of betrayal from the Cake Tin faithful. How could he do this to us?

Well, why wouldn’t he?

Let’s look at it from Weepu’s perspective. His rugby world has been tipped on its head over the past 12 months.

He’s already seen some of his closest allies driven out of town and while the Hurricanes organization apparently wants him to stay, he’d likely have to adjust his approach to the game if he is to thrive under Hammett’s regime.

It’s natural for players to stick together under these circumstances. For years, Weepu has spilt blood in the trenches with his team-mates and is probably disgusted at how rudely they’re being treated right now.

It just won’t be the same without them and if things are going to change so drastically, why shouldn’t he exercise the last vestige of control he has over his destiny and go start again somewhere new?

These are the kinds of decisions we all make in our lives every day. They’re never taken lightly, so good luck to him.

With all this going on so close to home, it’s sobering to watch a similar scenario unfold in the American NFL, where quarterback Carson Palmer wants to be traded from a terrible Cincinnati Bengals side, but administrators have dug their toes in and forced him into retirement rather than tear up his contract.

Sure, a contract is a contract and the Bengals don't want to reward Palmer for breaking his, but, if it suited them, you can bet Palmer would be out of there with no control over where. Everyone expects loyalty, but it’s such a fickle commodity.

Meanwhile, back in New Zealand, I’m NOT one of those beating up on Hammett.

The former All Black hooker has come from a winning culture at Canterbury and the Crusaders, and has been asked to transform an underachieving programme in Wellington.

And let’s be very clear – given the talent available to them, the Hurricanes have been disappointing.

For whatever reason, the likes of Weepu, Cory Jane, Hosea Gear, Conrad Smith, Ma’a Nonu, Aaron Cruden, Victor Vito, Neemia Tialata and Andrew Hore (not to mention Christian Cullen, Jonah Lomu, Tana Umaga, Jerry Collins and Rodney So’oialo before them) have failed to deliver a Super Rugby title to the capital.

Their free-flowing style of play has been entertaining, but hasn’t proved a successful formula and, too often, fans have been left lamenting its inconsistencies. Those are the same supporters now hammering on Hammett for trying to buck the trend.

During his first season at the helm, he tried to work with what he had inherited, but found many of his stars either unable or unwilling to move from their comfort zones. Now he’s searching for others that will share his vision.

Give the Hurricanes some credit for backing their coach in this process, because many organisations would simply have bowed to player power. But there will undoubtedly be more pain and some defeats before things turn around.

I’m also NOT jumping on the Blues bandwagon now they have a backline that features Weepu, Nonu, Alby Matthewson, U20s star Gareth Anscombe, Isaia Toeava and possibly Sonny Bill Williams.

On paper, they’re all great talents, but there are already questions over how Weepu, Matthewson and Anscombe will co-exist close to the scrum. And if both Nonu and Williams end up in Auckland, who will wear the “12” jersey they both covet at international level and who will play out of their preferred position?

Chemistry isn’t a word you readily associate with the Blues, so coach Pat Lam clearly has his work cut out molding this lineup into a championship unit.

END OF THE MING DYNASTY

Being 6ft 5in (1.95m) tall is a mixed blessing in a land of giants.

Among mere mortals, it enables you to tower above most crowds, and draws the usual “what’s the weather like up there” and “do you play basketball” taunts. But when you hang out among true basketballers, 6-5 is really nothing special.

And it’s never less special than when you’re standing in the shadow of 7ft 6in (2.28m), which was exactly where I found myself on the first day of my first tour of China as Tall Blacks media manager back in 2002.

Of course, the man mountain in front of me at the lunch buffet was Chinese hero Yao Ming, who officially retired from the sport last week. At the time, I was just hoping he would leave something for my plate.

Later that day, as we became acquainted with our surroundings in Lushan – an old mountain retreat for the Communist Party – Tall Blacks point guard Mark Dickel wondered if there might be a Yeti living in the nearby forest. Physio Dave Harris mused we could already have one staying in the hotel with us.

Mark and the Kiwis had faced Yao two years earlier at the Sydney Olympics, where he combined with fellow giants Wang Zhizhi and Menke Bateer as the imposing “Great Wall of China”.

But this was my first encounter with him, so the next morning, I hung back after TB practice to catch an early glimpse of Yao in action. It didn’t take long for the locals to realise they were being watching, and I was promptly ushered into the back of a police car and escorted back to the team hotel.

Yao had not yet entered the NBA, but as this tour tipped off, Chinese authorities and the Houston Rockets were haggling over his talents. The Chinese were understandably keen to retain his services for their national team, while the Rockets wanted to make him their marquee player.

Soon after, Houston selected him as top pick of the NBA draft, but one of my vivid memories of this bizarre tour was seeing a frustrated Yao surrounded by little guys in suits, literally trying to drag him in three or four different directions at once. It seemed to sum up his predicament perfectly.

That tug-of-war probably led to his early retirement after a career beset by injury. When healthy, Yao was an eight-time NBA All-Star and absolutely dominant on the world stage.

When he first entered the NBA, few imagined he would be as good as he turned out, perhaps because the international giants before him – players like German Uwe Blab (7ft 1in/21.3m), Sudanese Manute Bol (7ft 7in/2.31m) and Romanian Georghe Muresan (7ft 7in/2.31m) – were little more than circus acts.

NBA legend Charles Barkley promised to kiss the “ass” of former Rockets team-mate Kenny Smith if Yao scored more than 19 points in game during his rookie season. In his eighth outing, Yao had 20 against the Lakers and Barkley duly puckered up for a donkey bought specially for the occasion.

Before their first meeting, Shaquille O’Neal said “Tell Yao Ming, ‘ching chong yang wah ah soh’”, prompting accusations of racism. Yao said he believed Shaq was just joking, then rejected his shot twice in the opening minutes of a 10 points/10 rebounds/six blocks performance.

But in the last six years, he missed about 250 games to a range of mainly stress-related problems to his feet and legs. There were undoubtedly times when both teams could have made allowances for such a rare talent, but the physical toll of satisfying two masters became too much.

In the end, a broken left foot, suffered during the 2009 NBA playoffs caused him to miss the entire 09/10 schedule and let him down again early last season. There was no way back from that.

But Yao’s contribution to the sport didn’t end with his prowess on the court. He really popularized basketball and the NBA in Asia, opening up the world’s biggest market in terms of population.

Much of that had to do with the dignity and poise with which he conducted himself throughout all the frustrations. He helped raise money for a variety of causes in China and personally contributed $US2 million to Sichuan earthquake relief in 2008.

On hearing of his retirement, NBA commissioner David Stern credited Yao with “a wonderful mixture of talent, dedication, humanitarian aspirations and a sense of humour”.

Surely the Tall Blacks’ most remarkable encounter with Yao came at the 2002 world championships in Indianapolis when New Zealand faced China in a must-win pool game. The Asian champions got out to an early 20-point lead, but the Tall Blacks clawed their way to an historic victory that sent them through to the quarterfinals.

Yao produced a perfect shooting night for 27 points, but also featured in two incidents that will long stay with anyone who was there that night. He had to sit early in the fourth quarter after Pero Cameron cleverly faked him into the air for his fourth personal foul – PC was shooting from the arc and made all three free throws in a pivotal play.

But, to be fair, the Chinese colossus had been getting a raw deal from the referees, who were allowing a fired-up Rob Hickey to get away with absolute murder at the defensive end. Poor Yao seemed on the verge of tears.

At one point, he tumbled to the floor right in front of the Kiwi bench, and Rob stood over him, yelling “All night long, mate ... all night long”.

Classic.

Thanks for the memories, Yao.