Field Theory by Hadyn Green

I read my media guide at the pub before I got to the game. Last year the Pulse were last in all the good stats. Goal-shooting percentage. Shot attempts. Wins.

That's not to say they don't have Heart and Fight and other capitalised adjectives, (perhaps Gumption). They went to extra time three times last season, the most of any team.

Jed and I wandered up to the TSB Arena and it seemed deserted. There's barely any people coming in and the atmosphere is … well I was going to say gloomy, but it's not. The few people who are there are smiling and seem to be buzzing in anticipation. There just aren't many of them.

As they run out the Pulse seemed keen but inexperienced, smiling but not battle hardened. Still most players look like that when the opposition is Vilimaina Davu. Davu herself looked slightly disinterested and not exactly as fit as the Mystics pre-season fitness regime would suggest (in the end Davu only played the first quarter despite doing well against Pulse shooter Jamilah Gupwell).

The teams were going through their warm up drills and the deep booming voice of Frankie Stevens rumbled across the arena, instructing the crowd on how to use the "thundersticks" (hold them up and bang them together). The crowd did grow, and eventually both main stands were fairly full and raucous.

The loud and very camp man sitting behind me turned out to be someone from Dancing with the Stars. Frankie made him stand for scattered applause, while I realised that there is a large chunk of popular culture knowledge that I'm missing.

The crowd's early enthusiasm had slowed down, despite Frankie's best efforts, but the roar grew not long after the first centre pass-off as the Mystics committed some un-forced errors and the Pulse got out to an early 4-1 lead. It sounds terrible but this was a crowd that had seen some bad times with this team and anything good was worth screaming about.

The Pulse had some good combos running through the midcourt, Paula Griffin at GA was coming a long way out in defense, and their long range passes were getting around the tight Mystics defence. But long range passes also are a sign of a team that's desperate. Seventeen straight losses are bound to make you desperate.

It was clear that the Pulse really wanted to win this match, they had a finger hold on the victory and weren't letting go. So any Mystics fight back was met with shoulders and pushing and defence that skirted the edge of the law. This is why, after the match, Mystics coach Te Aroha Keenan and captain Temepara George complained that the umpires weren't calling a lot of the contact. I wondered how much of this was just complaining as late in the match rugby league-style shoulder hits and elbows at face height.

And there were injuries. The worst was Pulse defender (and one of the players of the game) Althea Byfield. The Jamaican defender leapt up for a block stumbled on the landing in the throng and fell back. The sound of the back of her head hitting the court was a dull thud. And I was able to hear it from the other end of the court.

After the injury break, Byfield was clearly still sore. One of the Pulse's courtside officials said later the Byfield might not make the next game. This would be a not insignificant blow to the Pulse's campaign.

I actually like the Pulse but little things annoyed me.

They lost by one point in overtime (I swear it was a coincidence I looked up the OT stats), yet they showed up to the press conference smiling and joking and seemingly pleased with their outing. I felt somewhat irked by that. Was it perhaps better to come so very close to winning (leading by two inside one min of regulation) only to lose by one point than be thumped by 20 points? I don't think so.

They also didn't pressure opposition players who seemed to be performing below standard. Pamela Cookey, who came here with the English team and sucked, was playing her usual confidence game (i.e. she sucked). In the final period and during overtime, Cookey was consistently undershooting. I wanted to see Byfield and Lichtwark pressure her.

Before I went to the game, I figured that the Pulse would be the plucky underdog, like Rudy or The Bad News Bears. And I was surprised to find out that's what they seemed to be. They all had discernable "quirks" they quickly became characters.

Centre Camilla Lees always seems to be smiling; Ngarama Milner-Olsen was a fire cracker who loves faking the opposition out with no-look passes, Jamilah Gupwell is a little goal shoot who thinks team comes first.

I'm going to follow this team and see where they go. Like the crowd, who were as loud as any crowd I've been in during the entire overtime, I want to be there when the Pulse win their first game. And I actually feel that the Pulse will win this season.

Temepara said they "emptied the tank" to win this game. If the Pulse had pushed just a little bit more, if they had to play another overtime period (which is the official rules) the Pulse may have taken it out.

… … … …

I feel I should report on what it was like being a "real" journalist for this game. Usually I wander the stands are tak with folks I know, and folks I don't, about the game. This time I had a courtside seat, official wi-fi and was surrounded by people who also had laptops but were also scribbling in note pads (I didn't have one and felt a little naked) and shooting photos with giant lenses.

But no matter what was happening on court the journalists remained professional. I, however, was trying incredibly hard to stifle "c'mon ref!" and general "woooo!"s. It took all the way to overtime before I cracked with cheers and claps for the Pulse. I'm sure frowns were aimed in my direction.

… … … …

As we walked out Temepara George stood outside visitors changing room talking on her cellphone. She leaned down to remove the padding that she has between her toes and that's when I notice, Temepara George has painted her toenails aqua. It makes me smile.

… … … …

All photos are copyright to Jed Soane

As you all know I've got this "thing" about uniforms.

In many ways a team's uniforms is the uniting factor behind fan support. We may bicker at the pub over who should be starting and why they haven't fired the coach yet, but we'll all do so in the same colours.

Anyone supporting New Zealand against Australia while wearing a yellow shirt will be seriously scrutinised. Not ostracised, but not fully trusted either. (This is not to say I follow uniform changes to make sure I "fit in").

Uniforms are also a way for a team to project an image within certain design constraints. The idea of image is why South Africa has changed the Springbok uniform.

After a long period of political wrangling this will be strip that the Springboks will wear against the B&I Lions and in the tri-nations. The old Springbok (a symbol linked closely to apartheid-era South Africa) has been moved and joined with a large protea logo, rather than the protea being a small part of the main logo.

And for those of you who are wondering, expect the actual playing jersey to have Canterbury's patented "Walla-bra" across the bust.

But New Zealand has been making changes too.

The All Blacks have a new strip that has very little to do with team image, but I'm still unconvinced that it's a completely market-driven move either (though a new jersey will only set you back $180). Management and Adidas wanted to get away from the awful silver and black strip that dogged the last World Cup.

The move to the new white strip was partly in necessity. Nike hasn't changed the French uniform from the very non-traditional navy blue.

The white jersey will only be worn, as required, when the All Blacks are playing outside of New Zealand, in line with the IRB's revised policy of the away team needing to change jerseys in the event of a clash. It will be worn for the first time against France in Marseille this November during the All Blacks' end of year tour.

And we don't want that game to look like this. And also it's tradition:

The 2009 all-white jersey also continues the tradition of famous white All Blacks jerseys of the past, with the All Blacks first donning an all-white jersey in 1930 for the domestic Test series against the touring British Isles team.

Yeah, I am quoting the Adidas press release. Did you know the new jerseys only weigh 195gms!? It's like they're wearing nothing at all.

But, and I realise that you all must think I'm an Adidas shill by now, I really like the white jerseys. They are plain and simple, there are no stupid side panels with different colours, there is no collar sweep to the shoulder and most importantly there is no advertising (well, other than the Adidas logo).

I really like the idea of the All Blacks being a monochromatic team. What that says from an image point of view I don't know, but I love the design aesthetic.

And the boys weren't the only ones getting new duds. The Silver Ferns have returned to the adidas stable and have new merino-polyester unis to show for it.

Again I like the simple, all black, design. Can't say I'm completely sold on the metallic numbers and lettering (though I did like the Aussie cricket team's dark green with metallic gold). The best thing that could be invented for netball uniforms is an absolutely no-fail system to keep the letters on. Velcro ain't doin' it.

Also, why didn't Adidas make the Silver Ferns some shoes too?

While we talk about the death of rugby here in New Zealand, while we run about keeping up the various spinning plates that is the Super 14 ("maybe 15 plates would make it better?"), the Northern Hemisphere has, to use a sporting metaphor, taken the ball and run with it.

Every now and again I catch a Heineken Cup match on TV (via ESPN). Seven years ago they were awful, slow, crappy matches with northern hemisphere players I had only vaguely heard of and retirement age southern hemisphere players. And we in the home of fast-paced expansive rugby, scoffed at the pitiful attempts.

Now, the Heineken Cup is an exciting, Champion's League-style rugby competition. The teams have vast sums of money, southern hemisphere players in their prime (see Nick Evans et al) and increasing attendance numbers (including a packed Croke Park for this weekend's semifinal).

You might say that this weekend's games were incredibly exciting, especially considering that the Lions squad has already been picked and the B&I players didn't have anything to prove. First up was second seed Munster versus sixth seed Leinster.

Two Irish teams playing in Croke Park, well that was always going to sell out (82,208 was the official attendance figure). But the fact the 11 of the players on the field were B&I Lions (including Brian O'Driscoll and Paul O'Connell), well this was going to a right ballyhoo. And it was, for Leinster.

Three tries to Leinster none to Munster and we had an "upset" (I don't consider any victory in the post-season to be an upset). BO'D's breakaway try was superb; the old guy still has gas in the tank.

Then there was the Cardiff- Leicester game. Jeeeeeesus.

At the end of regulation the scores were tied 26-26. At the end of extra time the scores were tied 26-26. So what happens? A penalty shoot out! (please note that all the New Zealanders made their kicks).

So now we have the perhaps the greatest name versus name rugby match ever as Leinster takes on Leicester. Or as I like to call both of them "Lester".

I believe this is what SANZAR has to do to revitalise top-tier rugby. Make the Super 14 (or whatever it will be called) a proper Pacific nations version of the Heineken Cup. The top three teams from New Zealand, South Africa and Australia, plus the top Japanese side (all decided by internal competitions) and somehow some Argentineans in a knock-out style tournament.

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The great white hope, Ricky Hatton was knocked out in two rounds. And it would've been one round if he hadn't been saved by the bell. Hatton has been fairly hyped up I feel.

All of the press and PR about Hatton has that kind of "from the streets" feel about it. "He's like you, he's a scrawny white guy who loves England, and a pint, and talks like David Beckham on helium."

But plucky will never, at least not in the real world, beat good. When Manny Pacquiao knocked him down for the third time with a huge punch to the jaw/throat that was the end of Hatton, and possibly the end of the brawler.

It's been a long time since a boxer rose through the ranks with a solid jaw and a willingness to just beat the living snot out of the other guy. Sheer brutality doesn't work in boxing anymore. In the heavier weight divisions there may be traces left, but you don't see boxers like George Foreman anymore, just relying on massive punches to win, it's all tactics.

Pacquiao knew that:

"He punches his hands before he throws a punch," Pacquiao said later. "He's a sucker for a right hook. I knew he'd be looking for my left. It was nothing personal. I was just doing my job."

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Lastly: dumbest idea ever. Take something quintessentially American and instead play it in England. The players don't like it, sports pundits don't like, I don't like it and I can't see how American TV viewers will like it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

American sports love the draft. The draft is a time when the teams who didn't do so can grab the best and brightest college players and try and help their struggling fortunes. Some teams draft very well, snaring players well down the list who turn out to be legendary (Tom Brady) some teams pick poorly and grab expensive top-end players who end up sucking (a list too long to pick just one). Occasionally a pick with mountains of hype behind them, turns out to actually be pretty good (Lebron James).

But the most fun with the draft comes from thinking: What would I do?

This weekend the National Football League held their draft in New York (and televised nationally). My Jets were picking 17th and I predicted (correctly) that they were going to trade up (swap picks with) another team to get a flashy quarterback from California. But this is why it's fun.

Instantly message boards that follow football were swamped with Jets fans discussing the ins-and-outs of the trade (three players and two other draft picks for one pick), was it worth it, how much will it help the team, and most importantly what would they have done.

So it becomes a time of imagination, when fans and commentators get to pretend to take over a team and decide what they would do with their picks. Yes, it's basically a role-playing game. In fact the whole thing is only 2xD20 away from being called a "quest".

But the most fun to be had with the draft (in any sport) is the question: if every current player was available and you had the first pick, who would you take?

My picks:

• Basketball – Lebron James, that was easy

• Rugby – ummmm, a flanker, someone like Richie McCaw before he became Mr Injury… or a decent midfielder…um, oh fuck it, Richie McCaw
• Football – Christiano Ronaldo, he's good and will bring in fans
• Cricket – oh, like I know… one of those Indian openers would be pretty good I suppose, not a bowler
• American Football – this is one of those things where I almost know too much to decide, also it doesn't help that in American Football you are essentially picking two teams… I would take Michael Turner

So now it's your turn, you know that you can't help yourself.

Earlier in the week, Legbreak sent me this article from Sportsfreak about the Fake IPL Cricketer's blog. See the trick with the fake cricketer is that he is actually (or at least claims to be) a real cricketer who feeds information about his team (with names cleverly changed) to his brother. The brother then types it all up on blogspot for the world to see.

But unlike the usually interesting but far from racy writing of Ian O'Brien, the fake IPL player says things like:

…did you know that the commentary team has a few rounds of bets going on. One of the bets is on which commentator will end up bedding the Sandy Baddy babe. Several of the commentators are part of this betting syndicate. They have all pooled in $200 each, and the one who ends up bedding her gets all the money. If nobody beds her, they spend it all in one night of partying in Jo'burg.

2 commentators - our Kishen Kanhaiyya and the one who crossed over the border for this tournament - have a score card going of how much of the fairer sex company each will enjoy during this 36 day extravaganza. And there's money in this bet too.

Of course there was never any way that this blog would have been allowed to continue. As fun as it is for us to hear about the sordid, behind-the-scenes stories of players (and their entourages) playing in a foreign country (in an Any Given Sunday "OMG do you think they really do that?!" kind of way), the tournament's organisers and sponsors can't be seen to be endorsing such actions (nor should they). And so the hunt began:

The team management is tracking this blog carefully. They have identified 12 members of playing/non-playing staff who are beyond suspicion. Every body else is a suspect until the real one is caught. Someone even mentioned that there's a reward on for anyone who catches the me red handed. May be they should install CCTV cameras in the bathrooms... Hmmmm... I am sure Dildo will enjoy that!

Suddenly the fake IPL cricketer isn't a kiss-and-tell cad airing his team's dirty laundry and reveling in the retelling of sleaze, now he's a Robin Hood, stealing stories of sportsmen's excess and giving them to the public while the evil corporate sheriffs chase him down.

Then I saw this tweet today (via @BeigeBrigade):

Flash: the fakeipl blogger's name will be outed by tomorrow morning, tops. Officials know. Criminal case in offing

I imagine the case (if one does eventuate) will be mainly around breach of contract etc. This is actually pretty sad. Because even though his blog revelled in dishing dirt and was cheeky to the point of precocious, the fake IPL cricketer was interesting.

The official IPL blogs in contrast require a login to even view them, which I didn't bother signing up for.