All Black Everything. Enough Said.

Overview

Come on guys, do we really need to point this out? You know what you need to be doing come Sunday. Enough said.

We built a cloud. We created a Quarter. We nailed public transport (sorta, not really, I think we actually got 3rd world ranking on this - but we managed to glamourise walking the whole way to Eden Park with a fancy name). We invited the world to play and, in good time, sent them packing to the Air New Zealand departure lounge. We've pimped our rides in the most flaggish of fashions and it's been a good while since I logged onto Facebook without seeing an All Blacks status or #RWC trending on Twitter. Our profile pictures have mirrored the nation's support, when hit with the Jock Shock we saw a patriarchal switch to Slade along with the invention of the Colin Slade Fan Club. And then when Slade got injured we all thought 'ok sh*t let's stop jinxing this'.

The trans Tasman tension peaked this week as we geared up for the most on-edge game so far. "Quade, you beauty" was heard before the Spanish 'ta ra da da' for the initial kick off had finished sounding - a trend that was well maintained and gave the poor chap good reason to wear that rather anxious look for most of the game. It would have been an entertaining experience to place web cams on the tops of all our tv sets and record the contorted facials and body positions we all wrangled ourselves into during the 80 minutes of seat-edge spectating. But a 20 - 6 victory saw us punching the air like we've never punched before. McCaw, you beauty, what sore foot?

So we've clocked the dingos and it's now it's time to fry some frenchies. If you've got plans for Sunday that aren't watching the game in some form or another, who are you? Change them, now. It's time to don the black, paint the face, flap the flags, find a screen and prep the voice box for an absolute slamming. Altogether now.. quatre années de plus!

Thank God Monday's a holiday.