The All Blacks: My Selection
Robert J Pope
The Free Lance has ordained that all
Must pick a team of “Blacks,”
That shall the stormy ocean brave
And face the British packs;
A sense of duty urged me on
To honour this decree,
But sorely was I puzzled what
The personnel should be.
I read reports by ev’ry scribe
From Auckland to the Bluff,
But very soon I learned that this
Would hardly be enough;
For there are countless players who
Are born to kick unseen;
Yet, nathless, mighty champions
Upon their native green.
The “Oio Examiner” I
Indeed was forced to scan
To see if there was a mention of
A real outstanding man;
I found at least, a dozen that
‘Twas held, must find a place;
While the Kawa Kawa “Sentinel”
Had thirteen in the race.
There was seventeen from Auckland,
And nineteen from Hawke’s Bay,
All positively certainties,
Whose claims none could gainsay.
Only eight I found in Southland,
Who were sure to be included;
But from Canterbury’s fertile plains
“All Blacks” in scores exuded.
Otago’s quota to the team
Was put down as eleven,
And five of these were forwards who
Would grace a team from heaven.
The “Times,” indeed, had qualms about
The eighteen from outside;
And wound up thus: “Our men have claims
That cannot be denied.”
I read the Westport “Sun’s” reports,
And there I quickly learned
Of a full-back and three forwards,
Who had fern-leaves safely earned.
The “Examiner” of Woodville
Was but sparing in its claims;
The list of men it termed “foregones,”
Comprised just seven names.
The Marlborough“Express,” I found,
Took quite a gloomy view
Of the number of its candidates,
And put it down as two;
The Nelson “Weekly News” complained
Of being in the cold;
Yet “Apple Land” had five great backs,
Perforce must be enrolled.
To Taranaki’s claims I then
Directed my attention,
And in the “Herald’s” columns, ten
Had honourable mention.
“These two,” ‘twas said, “must sure find place,
Let those stand out who must;
But, lacking these, we’d have a team,
New Zealand dare not trust.”
Such multifarious reading had
By now my mind perplexed;
The problem of those Twenty-nine
Was making me sore vexed.
I totted up the certainties
And found them sixty-one;
But, sixty-ones in twenty-nine –
It really can’t be done.
I sat me down and scratched my head.
Now aching – when, anon,
I found I’d made a blunder great –
I’d left out Wellington;
Then rapidly I conned the notes,
Of “Drop Kick” and “Touch Line,”
And found the local certainties
A modest twenty-nine.
