"Initially I thought it was just another North Harbour RFU public relations organisational abortion. From the union that brought us gems like one open gate for every three closed when Jonah and Cully came to town. (End result: six-mile long queues outside the ground when the game kicked off.) Or the ban on foghorns, despite our mascot being a Harbour Master, but the blind eye to cow bells when Waikato came to visit. Or the two stewards manning the only open gate whilst one hundred and fifty six stewards inside the ground told kids not to stand on seats. Against Canterbury, the Union decided to open only the main stand, having finally realised that short of offering tax cuts and free blow-jobs, nothing will drag apathetic Shore-ites from their ludicrous deck extensions and ninety-inch tellies. Yet somehow it worked. Because our lads on the field did such a good job, some people actually started a chant. And because everyone was nice and cosy, sitting in close proximity to each other, the mood caught on and more people chanted. And then, despite the inanity and lack of originality of the chant - (harbourrugby.com has always believed that the low, grumbling "Haaaaaaaaa-baaaaaaaaaa" is more befitting than the catchy but ultimately gay "Harbour [clap, clap, clap]" a la Hadlee, mid-80s) - it almost felt like an atmosphere.

That is, until the Classic Hits ground announcer joined in.

I don't know who QBE Insurance are, but I am grateful to them. I have not been to North Harbour Ford but I drive a Ford and I can pretend that my reason is their support of Harbour. I will never go to Wizard for a home loan because I believe that borrowing anything from something called Wizard is asking for trouble, but I like the fact that they - and the others mentioned - give our Union money. I don't know if Classic Hits give our union money and I don't give a shit whether or not they do because their ground announcer is a cock and their music is fucking rubbish. For worse or for even worse, music has become a part of the 'entertainment' at rugby grounds, but I personally witnessed on Saturday eight old men die from heart attacks brought on from aural abuse perpetrated in the name of this turgid, soulless radio station. A lack of bass is in no way supplemented by an increase in treble - tannoys at footie grounds are notoriously tinny-sounding so that the resulting noise, whilst low in decibels, has the same impact as standing next to the speaker at a Who concert. Yet Bum-muck upstairs seemed to think that cranking up Bonnie Tyler would get the crowd - some of whom were from Massey and would probably throw bricks at Bonnie Tyler given half the chance - pumping. It didn't. Nor did any one of the other empty, antiseptic tracks manufactured by plastic bands for the benefit of people whose idea of extreme excitement is a seven-letter word on a triple-word score. (History Never Repeats by Split Enz is the only exception to this, but it should be noted that this song was considered alternative when first released so it now gives our boring demographic the chance to feel rebellious and intellectual.) Our white fans are, largely, a boring lot. We have spent much of our lives sheltered by the umbrella of middle-class suburbia. Our politicians are Wayne Mapp, Ann Hartley, John Key, Lockwood Smith, and some other old white guys whose names escape more than just me, I'd imagine. Although we would like to think otherwise, these people reflect us. In many respects, Classic Hits FM reflects us, too (I'm using the royal 'us' here because I'd rather be raped by my cat than listen to 95% of the smegma they air). However, Bum-muck has to realize that we didn't go to the game to listen to him, and if he must violate us with his MOR pseudo-music, then he's got to adapt the volume to suit the sound system."