Tries: J Gopperth
Con: J Gopperth
Pens: J Gopperth (3)

If Wellington is as great as everyone says it is, how come it's the only capital city I know of that feels compelled to remind the rest of the country that it's the capital? Whence does this painfully self-congratulatory habit stem? Allow me to elucidate: because it's got nothing that any other cities actually want anyway. Te Papa? Faki offi. Café culture? Steamy wankpiles. Beehive? Architectural national disgrace and international laughing stock. Public transport? Gimme my V8 and a hundy worth of gas and I'll sit in traffic for an hour listening to The Offspring and paralyzing the atmosphere coz, frankly, I don't give a shit. Yep, it's another game against the eyeline-enhanced boys (pronounced with a hard 's') from the city of cold wind and hot air, which means scrappy, ugly footie and rain. When their inside centre's a guy who relies on about 200 kilos of lard to carry himself through tackles only to remember that he can't offload because he's spent too much time using his hands to apply Revlon Illuminance Crème and not enough time in passing practice, you're in for a dull kind of night. Compound this with a number 8 whose effectiveness stems solely from the sort of bulk that suggests direct genealogical links to the Roman Colliseum, then open, flowing rugger is set to be at a premium.

How uplifting, then, that we fucked them up and kicked them home with their make-up bags between their outrageously-tattooed legs. Four tries to one, no less, and even with a little help from Paul Honiss. Naturally, Honiss was substituted midway through the second half following a 'phone call from the Wellington RFU to the NZRFU detailing his crimes against a Super 12 franchise base. He was hastily replaced by the Cake Tin hot-dog stand vendor who proceeded to fling his arm up for a home team penalty whenever their woefully inept forwards turned it over.

But on now to our brave lads. Nick Williams was immense and as the game went on, the Wellington forwards became quite visibly scared of him. That was funny. So funny that Nick himself started chuckling whenever he got his hands on the ball. That was also funny. The front row as a whole, and Mike Noble in particular, were outstanding. After an initial spell when they held the advantage, we wrested it back and were embarrassing them by the end. Rawlinson stole their line-out ball at will, whilst Marty Veale set about disrupting the ones they did win, by hitting people. Which is out-of-character for him. Our other loosies were probably just shaded, but with 6 of our 8 having the games of their lives, it didn't matter. The backs were awkward - Luke had the worst game I've seen him play in a Harbour jersey, and Zar Lawrence looked terribly lost, despite his try. Waqaseduadua was outstanding, but most of us knew he would be after seeing him earlier in the season with North Shore. He's quick and deceptive and a bit of a loose cannon. Poluleuligaga's clearances were a bit laboured but his running was good, his vision occasionally brilliant, and his ticker's in the right place. His strength was rewarded, too, with a try that made a bunch of Wellington hangers-on look like the useless, overrated losers they are. To say that George Pisi is twice the player that his brother is would be to say that George Pisi is useless and this wouldn't be fair because he looked like someone who could catch and kick, and I didn't register any noticeable heart palpitations when the ball fell in his direction. Because of the unfortunate links to crapness that his surname threatens, I shall reserve judgement, other than to say that he looked promising and please can we have him next week instead of Whiteman who is not good.

A fantastic victory and five points in the bag without letting the Estee Lauder lads get so much as a bonus point. Consolatory pedicures and Pimms all round for them, I should think.