Try: S Maitland
Cons: D Carter
Pen: D Carter (4)

It was looking so familiar. And then it wasn't. And then I went home for a little tug.

Dominating territorially for the first half-hour only to fall behind at half-time is part and parcel of any Harbour team, just as having one's still-beating heart ripped from one's chest then stomped and urinated on is part and parcel of being a Harbour fan. But something was different last night at the White Elephant Citadel of Broken Dreams: our boys showed ticker, then they turned that ticker into points, and sent the inbreeders back to Where The Wild Things Are to dwell on the possibility that, just maybe, heavy farm labour (such as buggering your cousin/step-sister in the woolshed) has its limitations as a training policy.

At halftime, the stats showed that Canterbury had won 55 breakdowns to our 11. This suggested that, like last year, our loosies were a bit tardy. The other part of that story is that we made about five times as many tackles. This suggested that, like last year, we would tire and die as the game wore on and the other team monopolised the ball. But our loosies never gave up - they tackled like men possessed, and had the assistance of not-so-wee George Pisi and Andrew "I will f**king hurt you if you run at me" Mailei, who acted like support-loosies. Ma'afu, whom the Hamster keeps unnecessarily bagging, was immense around the park, ably supported by Ravulo and Smith. Colhoun, whom the Hamster also keeps bagging but rather more understandably, then came on and played his best 15 minutes in a Harbour jersey. The front row held their own against the animal-bum bashers, to the extent that the ref. decided to give alternating penalties every time the scrums collapsed: one to them, one to us, one to them, one to us &c. [WELCOME TO OUR NEW SEGMENT - 'SUNDAY NEWS SHIT PUN CORNER'] Filo Paulo might sound like an Italian pastry dish, but nothing got pasta him (Sportswriter of the Year nominations on the back of a postcard to 'I Can't Get a Real Journalism Job' competition at Fairfax, thanks) and he was everywhere. We have a proud tradition at Harbour of picking up shit-hot locks from overseas (Italian Giacheri, Aussie van Humphreys, that massive African who made the ABs then deserted us to go cash-hunting in the northern hemisphere), and this chap looks the business, too. Keep up the good work, fella! Afoa's showing some leadership, too, which was lacking last season up front. He got angry. You wouldn't like him when he's angry…

The outside backs didn't have much to do in the shitty conditions, but Mike Harris - who appears to be taking the same supplements as George Pisi - finally put to rest that little boy who was forced into the breach at inside centre a couple of seasons back by the same people who were intent on destroying another promising back, Jon Elrick. The Northcote Nugget was steady under pressure, and kicked a couple of difficult penalties that ultimately won it for us. Even Ole Left-Peg Mullet McPhee (He's Not So Wee Any More - supplements…), despite some wayward kicking, was kind of solid at the back. Perhaps the coaches see him as the wet-weather alternative to Nafi. Pisi the Younger and Pisi the Even Younger made big strides in this game, and Mailei - a bit of a favourite in the harbourrugby.com office - was in his element, hurting people, smashing people, and injuring people. He's not got the line-breaking capabilities of the Tuitavakes or Pisis, but we've never seen him go missing during a game.

As trainee journos back in the early 90s, I and a couple of fellow trainees ran a radio story on Bfm about then-new AB Craig Dowd. It was hard-hitting journalism of the sort that is now missing in the digital age: we compared the width of his thighs to that of a power pole. (Granted, it was other two in my group - both female - who came up with this story idea. He was a carpenter at the time and working on a job at the 'Auckland University of Technology University' as it is now known, although it was just plain old AIT when I was there.) As I held the mike, the other two dribbled and fawned over him. He said little. Words were just things that conveyed simple ideas in simple terms. This was quite original to budding journos. We thought he was stupid. Now that I'm old, I realise that sometimes less can be more. I can imagine him playing the Grizz to Goldie's enthusiastic puppy: perhaps, just perhaps, he is what our forwards need.

Last word to Chris Smith in the post-match interview: "We don't want to do what Manawatu did last season, beating Canterbury then losing a whole lot of games. This is a good win, but we've got to get up for Tasman next week." F**k me. Almost sounds like perspective.