Tries: A Hore
Cons: M Nikora
Pens: M Nikora (2)

The contributors to this website have never been tempted to lapse into the kind of hyperbole of which reporters at lesser organs are guilty. When we see a six-fingered, in-bred, cousin-mother, we're not going to embellish our descriptions for cheap laughs.

Suffice to say that many six-fingered, in-bred, cousin-mothers from the isolated rocky outcrop of our fair isle descended upon our stadium with immoral designs on our forward pack. We can happily report that our forwards not only avoided bestial reaming but repelled every attempted violation by the sexually-conflicted dairy farmers with some insanely impressive 'backs-to-the-wall' offence.

This was one of the best wet weather performances by a North Harbour team, ever. With Lucas at inside-centre, we avoided the usual nerve-jangling experience of Tusi calling the shots, and it must be said that Tusi himself looked much more assured without any responsibility besides catching and passing. Wayward territorial punting that we've come to not love aside, Tusi seemed to grow in confidence as Lucas gave his master-class (and occasional wayward territorial punting). Or perhaps Tusi has been taking mid-week lessons from younger sibling Georgie, who despite the conditions looked lethal whenever he got the ball and defended well when the kicks came over. I'm going to ask him to marry me.

If he says no, which is possible, then there's always Dougie Fletcher and Jarpie Rawlinson - though it'd be a raving lunatic to proposition one of these guys. They killed their more illustrious opposites, Not-Of-Woman-Born Tito and AB media darling, Mullet-Man. That our lineouts managed to have some semblance of order is a credit to them, their blockers, and the fast-improving Hinchco. The loosies complemented on a day where they had to act as extra tight-forwards. In the front-row, AD and Wood of Cock outshone two hunch-shouldered knuckle-draggers from purgatory, with the former stealing an outrageous 5-pointer near the end. What a fresh lease of life this chap's found: last year's 20-minute brawler is now an 80-minute mainstay and try-scorer extraordinaire. And brawler. Fortunately he doesn't prop like he celebrates his tries, or we'd be in deep shit.

The 'Naki turned up to play their usual brand of pig-shit-dull non-rugby "which they do well" (according to every boring-as-fuck sycophant of the rugby journalists' club. Something I can "do well" is urinate into a paper cup from 20 feet but I don't do it at every opportunity. Although it's more entertaining than watching Taranaki play rugby.) And they failed. Apart from Dougie Fletcher's Westie mate, Census Johnson, their fullback, and some disfigured gorilla who wore '8' but might just as well have worn 'Beast', they were crap.

We asked Polly for an extra 50% on last week and got way more. Respect.