Tries: J Ellison, A Leuia,
M Nonu, H Gear
Cons: F Fili (4)
Pens: F Fili (3)

At 70% possession and 13-all, there wouldn't've been a Harbour fan alive who couldn't see this coming. Rather than push on from last week's impressive blitz, we reverted to 'possums in the opposition's 22-metre headlights' form: utterly dominant for the first 80-odd metres out of our in-goal and clueless when we got a sniff of their line.

The only redeeming feature of this game is that I knew at half-time that Wellington would not play as shittily as they had in the first half, and that the inevitable consequence of our uncanny knack of disengaging foot from throat would be a pants-down, Renee Chignall-on-Peter-Plumley-Walker-styled spanking of monumental proportions. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if we managed to get Clayton Weatherston's lawyer onto it, there'd be a solid case for arguing that the gradual build up of the spectators during the game was entirely attributable to our boys provoking the entire population of the capital city's voyeuristic sadists - who, I am reliably informed, comprise a significant proportion of Wellington's arts crowd - to get on down to the Tin o' Cake to watch our panties being systematically removed and our fleshy cheeks flagellated. (Sentence length: 84 words - next week, I'll crack the hundy.)

I hope to the sweet love of f**k that the reason for using our full compliment of ninety-seven reserves was owing to multiple injuries: Harris, playing well, was subbed. Mayhew, playing well, was subbed. Smylie, playing well, was subbed. But then, even as I write this, I realise that many players played well for at least 50 minutes - the starting front row, Harris, Boric, Uren, Mailei, Filo Pastry - but that this contributed to the sum total of one try. Why oh why can we not take advantage and score tries when we're ascendant? And why oh why do we let so many in when we're not?

I'm sure I could go on but I'm a bit pissed and the effects of the alcohol are running out, the consequence of which is that my head is starting to hurt and my palate is crying out for further sustenance. One to go and you can be sure that the Turbos will be out to beat up 'those city boys' because 'those country boys' have f**k-all else to live for. Let's not let them, please.

MVP points: Ma'afu (everywhere and for 80 minutes); King (everywhere, try-saving tackles, huge hits, great ball-carrying for 60 minutes); Wulf (heart, ran hard, looked reasonable).