“Aren’t you a b…

“Aren’t you a bit young to be the referee?”

– Security guard at Kings College this morning.

No, saffer security dude, I am not too young to be the referee, however I am running a touch late so if you could tell me which way to get to the fields that would be very frikken helpful.


A wild referee appears!


Look at it. It’s so beautiful.

Sorry, it’s been a while. Blame my ridiculous insides.

Firstly, thank you to everyone who pledged on my pledge drive. Thank you so much. You have enabled me to pay my flights and book my registration, so I will definitely be at the Bingham Cup. I’m excited, I’m nervous, and I’m totally humbled.

I’m also going to be travelling in a unicorn onesie. The people have spoken!

Anyway, rugby.

It’s always bad when you sleep in a bit and you can’t have a shower before your game. It’s REALLY bad when your game is at 4:00pm.

But I still made it to Mount Roskill Grammar to referee their girls team against Epsom Girls Grammar. While Roskill ended up winning 40-19, the game was a lot closer than that, and were it not for two converted tries in the last five minutes, EGGS could have won. Great game, played in excellent spirit though – even if neither team knew when it was scrum time.

Having been out for two weeks, lost a bunch of weight, and having just finished anti-biotics, I was worried about my fitness. I needn’t have been. By 20 minutes in both teams were walking. It’s kind of disappointing, as the games would be even better if the teams could run a bit more.

Though I’ll be in for a shock this weekend – three whole games! I’ll let you know if I survive.

Oh, and Mummy visited. She gave me a get-well gift. That lovely full tank of petrol there.

Round trip from home to Mt Roskill – 28.2km.

Kidney says no

No blog this week, as I am in hospital with nephritis.

I thought I had overdone it at training on Thursday, but it turns out my back pain is the result of some seriously pissed off kidneys, and not me pretending I can play rugby.

Hospital food sucks, send pizza.

And it’s the last 48ish hours of my pledgeme drive, so last chance to ensure I’ll be flying to Sydney in a onesie.


Mummy’s Boy

537268_519694411384397_485266905_nThat’s Orene Ai’i, sporting some truly spectacular jocks right there.

I’ll continue the Odyssey, I promise, all three parts of it, but I thought I’d write this little anecdote from my game today before I forget it in a haze of 5am starts.

There was a fight. One player hit another, the other player retaliated, they both got sent off.

The mother of the boy who retaliated was very upset, and in true Samoan matriarch fashion, she was going to let me know about it. In a rant that was startlingly polite and lasted the entire second half, she let me know that my calls had made her sad.

After the game, she asked me to explain my decision, and I told her what I had seen and that at U15 level a strike to the head was an automatic red card – even if he hadn’t started it. She accepted this calmly and politely, which was a bit odd considering the serve she’d given me.

But Mum was wanting to make sure that I truly understood her son was not the kind who made trouble.

“He is not like that, he is such like a girl, he is gentle.

“I am sorry I get so upset, but my son, he is the girl of the house, I get so worried when I see him hurt.”

Fafa’fine and playing rugby? Good on that kid!

(Reminder, I’m in the last 10 days of my pledgeme drive, and I’m still travelling to Aussie dressed like a normal person)