sportsthought for the Warriors, keen for an early touch as usual. So the sooner he can get off the field, the sooner he can find one. . . .
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Maps Are For Pussies


Hard to believe it was eight long years ago, but there I was, sitting in Manchester at the Theatre of Dreams - the famous home ground of Manchester United, watching the final of the Rugby League World Cup 2000. 


A mate and I had booked final tickets months before the event - we wanted to make sure we wouldnt miss out. Little did we know that only a third of the tickets for the final sold. 


All up, there were six of us attending, (all Kiwi's based in London), so we hired a 7-seater car for the drive up. Little did we know that one of our crew promised his two Aussie mates that they could come up with us. Suffice to say, there was some bleached blonde Aussie bloke sitting between two hard plastic seats in the back. His ride was as comfortable as the Kiwi's was during the post match journey to the hotel. 


We left London at 7am on the day of the final to give ourselves plenty of time to get to the game. We figured we did not need a map to get to Manchester. We were in London and Manchester was North. We found the Northbound motorway and headed off. Someone in the car asked if we had a map and the following conversation took place: 


Manchesters up North aye bro?

Yeah bro.

We're heading North aye bro?

Yeah bro.

So eventually we'll hit Manchester right?

Yeeeaahhh


Sweet. Maps are for pussies!


That became the 'call' of the tour. Not 'Cattle dog' or 'Queenslander', but the elegant and sophisticated 'Maps are for pussies!'


In actual fact it turns out that maps are not just for pussies. They are for league heads as well. A case in point; another carload of mates left London two hours
after us, and rang us when we were about half way there. The following conversation took place: 


Where are you guys?

In Manchester.

WTF? What time did you leave?

9am bro, what about you guys?
7am
Did youse get lost?

Nah, but we don't have a map.

(Laughter in the background) F**king idiots, we'll see you when you get to Manchester.


So eventually we arrived in Manchester, and after getting lost on the way to the hotel, we managed to make it to Old Trafford with a few minutes to spare. 


Now, I'm sure we have all been to events that have only sold a third of their tickets. It makes for a limp atmosphere as fans are spread paper thin around the ground. However, this was different in that almost all of the punters were sitting together, making for a surreal atmosphere, as much of the stadium was totally empty yet other parts were packed.

We were pumped, really pumped - and full of confidence that we would beat the Aussies. Little did we know that our confidence was sadly misplaced. Actually we really should have known better.
When Tonie Carroll threw a fantastic dummy and eventually crossed for his try, we were jumping for joy, as the score was 18-12 after the conversion.
My mate yelled out that we were watching the greatest match of the century unfold. The guys nickname is 'superlative' - need I explain? I wisely reminded him that given this was the year 2000 the century was not actually that old! I don't need to remind you about the final outcome. 


The next day we headed off, and in another navigational blunder kept heading North, away from London. It wasn't until someone pointed out that the sun was on the right side of the car, when it should have been on the left that we realised what had happened.
Someone muttered that maybe we did need a map. The following conversation took place: 


Jeez, maybe we should have taken a map.

Bro, we are heading south now right?

Yeah mate.

And London is South right?

Yeah bro.

Sweet. Maps are for pussies!


Everyone cracked up laughing and suddenly the 40-12 score line seemed very far away. 

So in the end, the six Kiwi's plus two tag along Aussies headed back to London knowing that despite our dented pride and bruised egos, our collective spirit was alive and kicking. 

Bring on World Cup 2008. If you are making your way to the final in Brisbane, dont use a map to get there, because as we all know . . .
Maps are for pussies!
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750 between the stars