"Steve's good night out"
*** Taranaki
vs Italy ***
by 'Steve B.'
As we approached the gates
the sky lit up with explosions and whistles.
People were
chatting excitedly.
Our tickets were ripped in half, and handed
back, as we shuffled past.
We could see the grandstand roofs
between the bobbing heads,
and followed like sheep, towards our
allotted seats.
An opening arrived between the crowds.
Too
our right was the caravans, exuding delicious smells of cooking
oil and tomato sauce.
They were offering an endless supply of
hotdogs, energy for vocalizing our excitement.
To our left was
the playing field.
We stood for a moment and gazed down from
the top of the embankment,
at the bright yellow/green arena,
taboo to all except the players.
Above this, towered the dark
silhouettes of the grandstands,
standing between the huge light
towers.
The police presence was obvious,
as we avoided
one group, staring intently out at the masses of people.
Other
pairs were treading mechanically, circulating, and intimidating
any potential
'terrorists' into quite submission as they
passed.
It wasn’t long to wait, as we found our row and
blended into our uniform plastic seats,
the referee blew his
whistle once, to signal 'game on'.
It soon became apparent that
some spectators needed more than this pedestrian game,
to take
their minds off the coldness of the night air.
A rugby chant
broke out, drowning the bored, sarcastic, yelling,
minorities.
This invoked an immediate response from the
grandstand opposite.
Next on the menu of other
entertainment,
was a halfhearted Mexican wave, followed by a
whole one.
Further along our row, a paper dart glided, dipped,
and gently floated down over the heads,
nearly reaching the
sideline, amongst calls of encouragement
from the least mature
of the audience. Carefully made other darts, soon followed,
the
furthest reaching ones creating the loudest cheers,
to
broadcast the prowess of its maker.
At halftime we moved,
to the concrete terrace seats at the end of the field
which our
team was playing towards. If they scored now, we had a better
view.
Other people huddled in clouds of smoke feeding their
nicotine habits,
as constabulary lurked nearby, accusingly,
trying to sift out any illegal substances.
The game continued
to its inevitable conclusion, the loudspeakers became silent.
This
seemed to be the signal to leave, so everybody stood, and
shuffled, slowly away,
like a formation of penguins towards the
exit gates and home.
The field was left behind,
the
naked lights now only highlighting, the solitary figure of a
grounds man,
moving slowly, hesitating briefly, as he stooped
to capture yet another folded paper plane.
Large drops of rain,
hit the tops of our heads,
to add to the disappointment, as we
dispersed into the darkness outside the gate.
*****
Copyright:
Steve B., December 2003
Published www.tardemstudios.co.nz 23rd.
January 2004
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