Aaaaah, yes, Northland. Sweet, sweet Northland: our poor - in every sense of the word - cousins from over the beautiful Brynderwyns. Chock-full of tourist hotspots like Paihia, Russell, Whatuwhiwhi. And Dargaville. It was once said that the sun never sets and the fun never stops in the playground of the north. But that was by a blind, computer technician who hadn't actually been there. Probably.

I feel a certain comradeship with those in the north because they, too, suffer under the heat of Auckland Rugby Union oppression. If Caucaunibuca, for example, isn't playing for Auckland within the next two years, I'll eat a big slice of apple pie. If he is - which he probably will be - then I'll eat two slices. Therefore, whilst I wouldn't go to the extent of saying that I like Northland, I certainly feel their pain. (In a rugby sense, that is. Their economic pain is foreign to me, living as I do on the Shore and thus being endowed with the sort of money that Northlanders are only able to see if they don balaclavas, wield baseball bats, and the scale the counter at the Kaikohe T.A.B.) In much the same way that Liverpool fans allow themselves to be a little debased by feeling an affinity with Manchester City - shared as they are in their hatred of Manchester United - so do good Harbour fans feel a special friendship with those in the north.

So to the game.

I can't remember.

Roll on the 2003 relegation battle.