Richard Reeve: The All Blacks v Maoist China

       There wasn't so much in it. Serious men
   Who shoveled in the door at one-to-ten
   To see the game on Sky,
Were sure at one point, somewhere near half past,
   That even Howlett wasn't half so fast
      We'd get a single try.

      But then their ears fell off. And without sound
   The paddy farmers, clawing at the ground,
   Were pretty soon afraid.
They couldn't hear their coach. A score of years
   Of cigarettes put out inside their ears
      Had lowered them a grade.

      The Great Might of our props, rucking through
   Their broken corpses, popping up like poo,
   Made yum chah of the game.
A match of seven hundred halfs, it seemed
   No bug-eyed Quin or Mexted would've dreamed
      That China was so tame.

      Two hundred Nil we won; and I contend
   That when the carnage shivered to its end,
   Rugby had siezed the day.
A student, name of Feng, began to cry
   But when reporters asked his captain why,
      He said he didn't know.