Tries: S Austin, P Perez, T Ryder
Con: W Ripia
Pen: W Ripia

What a roaring surprise that f**king wasn't. In truth, I expected us to lose and not get a bonus point, so by that yardstick this match was a shining success. However, if we were to use more conventional yardsticks like retaining our ball at crucial moments, tackling, having a kicking game, and scoring more points than the other side, then it wasn't.

With any luck, Pivac might think about shoving a couple of yardsticks up his backs' lardy arses, their - the backs, not the arses - having produced one of the most woeful performances by a Harbour backline since the Shield challenge at the Bullring in '96. Our forwards turned over a bit too much ball and our scrum was alarmingly shite, but at least a few of them looked interested. Conversely, our backs were out to lunch…and the menu du jour comprised rashers of dropped ball on a compote of shite tackling, washed down with glasses of finest Taranaki chateau la f**koff. The funniest part was that when the 'Naki backs fumbled their ball, we stood and watched and waited for them to drop it so that when they didn't drop it and instead waltzed over in the corner…oh, how we chortled and guffawed and ho-ho-ho-ed our full cans of beer across the room and through the wall.

Actually that wasn't the funniest part. The funniest part was when Jimmy Gopperth, having checked his talent at Wellington airport and failed to claim it when he arrived at Mangere, kicked like he'd been taking lessons from Tusi, before running full-tilt at his own lock forward's hip and mildly concussing himself. Aaah, priceless moments of jollity enjoyed by all who weren't me.

We at harbourrugby.com can get a little cynical from time to time, and charges may be laid against us on occasion that we do not offer enough constructive criticism, instead preferring to hide behind a cloak of cyberspace anonymity whilst throwing dirty bombs at those who are actually doing their very best to win themselves overseas contracts worth lots of moolah. Here, then, are some tips for the lads in advance of possibly the most intimidating set of fixtures in our history - tips intended to prevent us getting humped by embarrassing margins:

• Tell the backs to tackle anything that moves. Do not hang off, waiting for errors.
• Tell the backs to come up in a line, rather than in a staggered fashion that resembles a poor Dawn of the Dead parody.
• Tell the forwards not to push stupid passes. For the first time in two years, we might just have a loosie combination that can get to the breakdown faster than my senile Great-Auntie Gerty. 'Might' is a key word here: the jury is still out. 'Senile' is not a key word but it sounds a bit dirty and I like it.