Write Space Literary news, views and reviews http://taurangawriters.org.nz

This week's Write Space by Margaret Beverland.

Another day of equinox winds roaring down the gully, lopping branches off trees.

To watch the RWC matches, I have had to turn the TV volume to high, yet still struggle to hear the roar from the dedicated in the stands.

A fortnight prior to the cup kicking off, I vowed not to watch any of the RWC.

For a few months, TV One's news had turned rugby into a soap opera.

Days of Their Lives: which player had strained a muscle in his little toe, or had cut his chin shaving, each occurrence analysed to death.

Then, there were the interviews with the fathers of players.

If Colonel Gadaffi had rocked on up for a beer at the Viaduct Basin in a nine carat gold Hummer, I figured we would not have heard about it.

TV One had forgotten that the rest of the world existed. I pulled the plug on our news providers.

I pulled the plug on the internet too when I read that poor little Cory Jane was struggling to cope while in pre-cup AB boot camp.

The headmaster had banned access to Twitter, and young Cory, unable to tweet, was sobbing in his Weetbix.

I wanted to tweet him: ‘Young man, you have an important assignment, so get on with it. Show us you are made of the stuff of former rugby heroes, who trained by breaking in land, cutting down trees with an axe, sawing them up by hand. Carting strainer posts up gullies, four on each shoulder, and returning with a couple of two-tooth ewes, one on each shoulder, before downing a roast meal cooked by a devoted Mum prior to footy practice. Before the Saturday game, they did a morning's work as a pre-match warm-up. They shook off injuries, never leaving the field unless a limb had suffered a compound fracture, or they were laid out cold on the field to the count of ten. Men, Cory. Real men. Tweeting was for the birds, the feathered kind.'

However, on September 9, Big Friday, I was listening to the National Radio commentary prior to the opening ceremony at Party Central, and I knew I had to watch.

New Zealand has few opportunities to throw events this big, and when we do we give it our best.

A pity about the public transport situation. Perhaps the debacle has something to do with our British heritage.

The London underground is notorious for breaking down on a regular day, closing up shop completely if things get out of hand, for example at The Notting Hill festival as I discovered on one visit. Nothing to do with terrorists; the crowd that day was much bigger than expected.

If London still struggles to get it right, let us not beat up on ourselves.

New Zealand has had a big year, with a mine disaster, the earthquakes, and now we host a major world event.

There are so many good stories coming in of our famous hospitality, how Kiwis are reaching out to make sure visitors have a good and memorable time. We are amazing.

May I ask just one thing? That we do not boo when the All Blacks opposition (usually the Wallabies) scores points.

Booing, in my opinion, is for those times when a team, or an individual does not perform to expectations. To boo when the opposition triumphs is mean-spirited. Let us rise above such things, and may the best team win.