Crossing the bridge is widely regarded as not a particularly good idea.

The idea is right up there with former President Abraham Lincoln who said to his wife, "I'm bored love, let's take in a show..."

The first half started well enough, we put pressure on their line-out, defended well and scored a good, if not slightly fortuitous try to Mayerhofler. Sadly our spirits were crudely crushed by Tanivula, one of the most overrated piles of human mince ever to set foot in New Zealand via the well-paddled route from the Pacific Isles.

Things got a little better when an easy conversion attempt was fumbled and we went to the break 7-5 up, although its fair to say the writing, if not on the wall, was certainly close to being sprayed on by a disaffected youth from South Auckland, well versed in teenage pregnancy and public nuisance.

We must make special mention of the fact that the loss of our own Captain Courageous Mark "Sharky" Robinson was a massive blow to the side. His urgency at the breakdowns, defending capabilities and leadership are all qualities which were needed to be displayed on the park not on a stretcher. The "head-knock" looked to be a bad one and this does not bade well for the next two games which are critical for a side going nowhere with no game plan and no structure.

We probably should have gone home somewhere between when Paddy blew for half-time and when play resumed nigh on 15 minutes later. Remember we had seven points and they had only a paltry five. The second-half can be surmised by the following statement:
"We didn't play well and Auckland scored 38 unanswered points".

I still can't quite believe it as Stensness, Spencer, and other shocking examples of imported Auckland filth carved us up, shat in our beds, stole our women-folk and set fire to our homes. My whole soul was rocked to the core, I felt intruded, violated and left physically reeling in the face of jeers from a sick collective of Pacific Island beneficiaries, Hero Parade administrators and latte-sipping arsewipes.

I don't do the loss thing well and I thought that this was the last bad thing that could possibly happen to me on this terrible eve. However God, who to be fair has never rated me, pulled out a royal flush from beneath his holy toga. As I crept into the Open Late Cafe in the small hours of Sunday morning (something I'm not proud of), who came in behind me to order his victory feast ... Eroni Clarke. My heart stopped and my normally vibrant personality was ripped from me with a ferocious velocity never seen before in the modern age.

I knew then that this Saturday was a bad day, a bad idea and a bad joke. God had in his infinite wisdom seen fit to stretch it out the Sabbath day as well.

Russell Jones - you must go..........