Tries: J Shoemark, K Lowe,
Z Guildford, G Naoupu
Cons: M Berquist (3)
Pens: M Berquist (3)

Lordy, lordy, how it's all gone f**ked upside. One win in four with three of the easy games out of the way. 'But there are no easy games,' they shout. Too right. Not for us, there f**king isn't. Watching our forward pack crumble like the old days evoked a tear to the eye, a heave in the heart, and a smashed bottle embedded in the back wall of the lounge.

Nick Williams emerged with some credit for being our only tight forward, but it left us a bit scrabbly around the fringes, an area where - in a hitherto unprecedented move for a professional rugby team - we have decided not to compete this season. Sacrificing ball-winning duties to the rugby Gods that we might focus attention on one of provincial rugby's most exciting backlines is a bold move. Sadly, it's also a horseshit move, and it prompts goodly folk like us to seek revenge on living beings, like baby seals and coaches.

We appear to have become a 20-minute side, which is about 20-minutes down on our average. The early glow of some Pisi Bros. magic and a rampant scrum, was extinguished by a level of limp-wristedness not seen in NZ since John Inman toured in the early 90s. Apart from Pisi Junior, our backs were awful. Yet again, an average team managed to ride the advantage line right up into our woeful five-eighths' faces, prompting comedy passes, hilarious kicking, wacky failed double-arounds, and a nice bottle of Pinot blasting a three-foot hole in my cat.

Poor old Michael Harris must be wondering if the initiation rites for the Mongrel Mob are as bad as this. There were moments in this game when getting chained across gob and copping weighty blows to the solar plexus from Jake the Muss's size 13s would've been like high tea at the Ritz compared to the monstering he got. I actually had the novel feeling of dread at the sight of Tusi leaving the field, and begged with anyone who'd listen for Pivac to put McPhee (He's Very Wee) into flyhalf. It was not to be, as we were treated to a first-five performance that rivaled Tusi at his inept best, circa 2004. Not that McPhee (He's Very Wee) would have done much better, receiving as he would have passes from a halfback who has suffered concussions more times than he can remember having had hot dinners. Which is not very many. McPhee was the only shining light in a backline attack that consisted of nothing after the 12th minute. Even Tuitavake took to throwing miracle balls into Row 8 of the east stand. Georgie Pisi further illustrated his improved defensive game with some monster hits on men six times his size but rarely got the chance to attack. (That's an example of a journalistic technique called sensationalism. The men he tackled were around 85kgs but 'six times his size' maintains the truth whilst being more emphatic.)

Anyhoo, we're pretty much rooted now. Time to find my cricket bat.