IF compromise is intended to leave everyone feeling bitter and ripped off, the SANZAR board meeting had been a huge success. The South Africans, in particular, were smouldering at what had just unfolded. Yes, they had succeeded in having the expanded Super rugby competition scaled back from 22 weeks to 17 to protect their precious Currie Cup competition but at the terrible cost of having to concede to Australia the right to field the new expansion team.
SA Rugby boss Hoss O'Reagan dreaded opening the meeting-room door and having to tell the Eastern Cape lobby they had been done over yet again by the silky-tongued eloquence of Australian rugby's head honcho, Neil Johns. Not for the first time, he looked at Johns and a red mist clouded his eyes. Every time they sat down together at a SANZAR board table, Johns somehow outmanoeuvred him. It had happened again just now, as Johns had swayed the meeting by lampooning South Africa's ludicrous proposal that Eastern Cape should be allowed to play in the Australian conference as the expansion team.
Who was going to meet the costs of basing the Southern Kings in Australia for a month, Johns had asked? SANZAR? South Africa? Australia? Don't bet on it! Why, he asked, are we even debating this nonsense when Australia has an even better and cheaper candidate ready and waiting to go-Melbourne? Deep down, O'Reagan realised the folly of his own position but, hey, sometimes in politics you've got to passionately advocate what you don't for a minute believe in. Still, as Johns clinically dissected his insane proposal, O'Reagan's rage mounted. Somehow he managed to control himself but now, as the board members packed up their briefcases and prepared to leave, he could contain himself no longer. Leaning into Johns' face, he growled: "You realise this means war!" Johns smiled back at him coldly. Seriously, the Australian thought, how can you deal with such people? He walked out, thinking no more of O'Reagan's outburst. Which was a big mistake because O'Reagan is not a man to make idle threats.
Barely two weeks later, the war began. The first salvos from the South African fleet-all its ships cunningly disguised as refugee boats to avoid detection-exploded on St Kilda just before dawn. Under cover of the barrage, a swarm of landing craft headed for shore, each crammed with heavily muscled South African rugby players, armed to the teeth. Even as the invasion fleet was in the water, a grim communique was being issued in Johannesburg: "South Africa will not be dictated to or bullied!" it thundered. "We have compromised at every turn. Hence Australia's refusal to allow its sovereignty to be compromised by an Eastern Cape team is provocative and unacceptable. Therefore, as of 8pm (South African time) a state of war exists between our two nations." The invasion commander, General "Outrageous" Whatson, wasn't concerning himself with the diplomatic niceties. He had an objective to capture and destroy, the showpiece of Melbourne's bid, the oddly-named Rectangular Stadium, then get his men evacuated before peak hour and those trams clogged up his schedule.
Suffice to say that when the barrage lifted, the good people of St Kilda were more than a little bemused to see thousands of heavily armed men in rugby jerseys pouring ashore on their iconic beach. But hey, they figured, if it involved rugby, then it didn't involve them. Or so they thought until the heavy machine guns opened fire. Victorian Rugby boss Grey Garry was sound asleep, but still musing in his subconscious whether to appoint John Connolly or Michael Foley as the inaugural Melbourne Super 15 coach, when the phone rang. One of his committee members, out walking his dog, had identified Stormers, Cheetahs and Bulls jerseys on some of the invaders and, terrified, had figured Garry might be able to make some sense of it. In a flash, Garry realised what was happening and where the invasion force was heading. He knew he had to act fast but figured that by the time the South Africans formed up properly, landed tanks and artillery and started their advance up King's Way, peak hour would have begun. That might just give him enough time to alert Johns and round up a few troops of his own. A Melburnian through and through, he knew there was only one thing that could save the day now-the Yarra. If he and a few defenders could just dig in on the strategic approaches to the stadium, Melbourne's mighty moat might slow down the South Africans until help arrived.
Johns, meanwhile, was busily working the phones. The Reds were aware of the South African communique and were already mobilising. So too the Waratahs. The Force, unfortunately, were pinned down for the moment by the Sharks, who had launched a surprise attack on Subiaco Oval in the middle of the Perth night. And for some reason, the Brumbies weren't answering. Little was he to know that the Brumbies had been interred in Johannesburg moments before the declaration of war. There had even been plans to arrest the Australian cricketers at the same time but after their first innings batting collapse, the South African authorities decided it might be in their interests to allow the Newlands Test to proceed. Johns phoned his Kiwi counterpart to invoke the ANZUS treaty, only to be told that New Zealand intended to maintain strict neutrality throughout this intra-SANZAR conflict. And besides, all its players were tied up in NPC trials. Muttering under his breath about the death of the Anzac spirit, Johns got back to Garry who by now was deep in his riverside trench, a wire-guided anti-tank missile launcher in his hands and a motley collection of Pommie expats, Polynesians and home-grown Victorian rugby fanatics by his side. "No surrender!" Johns ordered. Garry and his troops didn't need to be told. Volunteers every one, they had fought too long and too hard to establish Melbourne as a rugby stronghold and they weren't about to give it all up now.
But in the still, crisp morning air, as the ominous clank of enemy tanks grew steadily louder, Garry paused for his last conscious thought before the battle began.
I wonder if we're all taking this just a little bit too seriously.