Cup organisers thank God for country boys

OPINION: It sounds like the start of a half-remembered joke. "A Kiwi, a Welshman and a Fijian walk into a bar in Hamilton." The naming of the training venues and host towns for the 2011 Rugby World Cup threw up some fascinating juxtapositions, placing Italians in Nelson, Canadians in Kerikeri, and Samoans in Silverdale.

The venues were announced, appropriately, in a spot where, a little like rugby today, tradition and commerce intersect – the tearooms of the old Auckland Farmers building. In the 1960s, parents enjoyed tea and custard squares here while their kids played in hired pedal cars. Now it is a glossy conference room inside the four-star Heritage Auckland.

For the first time since the euphoria of winning the rights in Dublin way back in 2005, you could feel some buzz over what the world cup will actually bring to the country, reviving memories of the electrifying five weeks of the first world cup in 1987.

Many predicted the tournament would be a disaster. Douglas Smith, the president of the Scottish rugby union, suggested that "some of the things the organisers have placed their faith in, quite frankly, makes me think they must be balmy".

We're all better informed than he was then, and one thing that should pay dividends is that the 2011 organisers have recognised that, if they want to tap into old-fashioned passion for the game, they need to leave the cities.

In 2005 one of many ridiculous decisions made by Lions coach Clive Woodward was to keep his side ensconced at the Hilton in Auckland, scurrying out in chartered planes to the provinces, then flying back under cover of darkness.

This attempt to build a germ-free environment was reflected in a series of sterile, uninspired and losing performances.

On the other hand, on the way to world cup victory in 87 the All Blacks management went so far as to billet players on farms around Pirinoa in Wairarapa.

Some of the city boys were a bit bemused. John Kirwan found to his embarrassment that when he woke at 11am his host had already completed almost a full day's work.

Others, like Joe Stanley, billeted with Canterbury farmer Bruce "Diesel" Deans, had a more adventuresome time.

Out for a jog, they found a tractor on the side of the road. Deans was delighted. "The owners won't mind," he told a nervous Stanley, "we'll take it for a ride."

Quickly finding the key, Deans soon had the tractor roaring. After a quick burn, the joyride was over without incident.

"We had lunch with the neighbours," recalls Stanley, "but no matter what Diesel said about it all being OK, I didn't say a word about the tractor."

Less than a week later the All Blacks were driving armoured personnel carriers at Burnham camp outside Christchurch, where, to the vast delight of the rest of the squad, big lock Albert Anderson flattened a good-sized tree.

Such homely treats may not enthuse every visiting player in 2011, but, with time to plan, it'd be astonishing if the hospitality for our international visitors wasn't light years ahead of the way the 1993 Manu Samoa team travelled the country.

It went everywhere by bus. Coming over the Bombay Hills veteran centre Keneti Sio became agitated.

"See that sheep on the hill?" His puzzled team-mates looked. What was the problem?

"I swear I saw that sheep in Invercargill. What's it doing up here?"

Captain Peter Fatialofa had grown up in Auckland seeing television reports of visiting teams fishing in the Bay of Islands, or jet-boating in Queenstown. The big day out for the Samoans was a little different. Fatialofa still laughs at the memory: "I know they call frontrowers concrete mixers, but I thought this was going a bit far. They took us on a tour of a cement factory."

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