MAORI RUGBY.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20391, 23 August 1934, Page 5

MAORI RUGBY.

Many Pies and Much Enthusiasm. A STYLE ALL ITS OWN. There is a delightful atmosphere about a Maori football match, writes a correspondent. In the first place, the play itself is different from that indulged in by Europeans. The Natives are inclined to discard the orthodox for the spectacular, and, while the latter may please those on the touch-line, it does not always prove of value in the winning of matches. On a recent Saturday there was a comparatively small crowd at Spriggens Park to see the Maori representatives of Wanganui and Taranaki play for the Tuera Shield. The game itself was bright, and incidents on the touchline and behind the scenes distinctly humorous. Asked on the Friday night as to how his Wanganui team was shaping, Mr Alex. Takarangi, sole selector, manager, wardrobe custodian and a host of other things, was quite hopeful. “ No news is good news,” he told the “ Chronicle.” “ I haven’t heard a word from one of the beggars, but they will be here all right. They have never let me down yet. What i’m worrying about is a spare pair of pants. I’m bound to be asked for them, and the match won’t be able to go on if I haven’t got them.” Hitlerism Encountered. The newspaper man could not see much difficulty on that score, but Mr Takarangi referred to treasurers, secretaries and other officials of Rugby Unions as being akin to Hitler in some things. “ They don’t know the value of a spare pair of pants,” he confided. Alex, has played for Kaierau in his young days, and has worthily represented Wanganui. He frankly admits to-day that playing full-back can be easier than mustering, managing and directing a Maori Rugby team. Only twelve alterations were necessary on the programme which the public paid threepence each for, and apparently Taranaki also experienced

difficulty in fielding the players actually selected. Alex. Takarangi had no reserves, but the luck of the game did not call upon any. Taranaki had one who had to play. No doubt a hurried muster along the touch-line would have been able to produce at least one duj-ky spectator capable of wearing the blue jersey with dignity, but the need never arose.

As a spectacle the game was bright. The Maoris seemed keyed up to the idea that they had to play football. It did not matter which side won, and it was pleasing to see how the ball was thrown about. Proceedings were livened by the antics of a spectator who took upon himself the role of announcer. “ I have no microphone,” this Maori told all who could hear, “ but the game’s a good one. Taranaki and Wanganui. Play now at half-way. Taranaki putting the ball in the scrum. I’m backing Taranaki. Keep it tight there, Taranaki. Kick it into touch, boy. There, he did as I told him. Good boy. Play on Wanganui’s line now. Taranaki scored. Good play, boy. Good play. Teams now eight all. I’m Still backing Taranaki. Good play.” An obvious Wanganui supporter, another Maori, gently suggested that the announcer keep quiet. The request was made quietly, but it led to a crescendo of lurid language and to an argument on the relative merits of that rather ungentlemanlv subject of keeping mouths shut. The announcer won and carried on with his detailed description. lie was game to the last, even though his beloved Taranaki were beaten. Nicely Cut Shorts. The pants which Alex. Takarangi had carefully guarded all day were called on eventually in the second spell. They were a shapely pair, new and modelled on the lines of the All Blacks’ nether garment, and very like the now famous pants of the British team of 1930. So striking was the cut of them that the intending wearer, forgetting for the moment that his old nether garment was off. rose to display them to the crowd. lie was in the act of hurriedly putting the new pair on when his mates closed round him and he was lost to view. “ I knew those pants would be wanted,” Alex. Takarangi

consoled within himself on the concrete steps of the stand. After the match the two teams had dinner together. It was a happy affair, and when it was over the task Mr Takarangi had was to see him team on the road for home. Asked later if his efforts in that direction had proved successful, he was in much the same mind as when accosted on the Friday. “No new’s is gopd news,” he said. “ Yes, I think they all got away safely, and we’ve got the shield, and I had that spare pair of pants when they were wanted.” The Wanganui and Taranaki Unions are doing a great deal to foster Rugby among the Maoris, and the annual match for the Tuera Shield has become a big factor in their policy. It is a game of gay abandon, of occasional flashes of stern determination, but mostly of the bright, open order which the public like to see. On the side line many pies are eaten and enthusiasm ebbs and flow's with the movement of the Rugby tide. It w’ould be a pity to spoil such a match for the sake of a pair of pants!