Warfare: All Blacks and Angels on High

I'm not a sportsman or sports fan by any definition. Never have been and probably never will be. I'm too skinny, too slow to play myself, and I get bored too easily to be a spectator. But lately I've been taking an interest in the symbolic and ritualistic element of sports – which is to say the religious element. I'm often told that the Old Testament is a depiction of man's struggles – with himself, with nature, with hostile tribes and most importantly, with God. After all, Israel does translate to "He who wrestles with God". And perhaps then sport, when played honestly and nobly, is another manifestation of these long-probed divine struggles of Man.

I'll leave those musings for a later date. At the moment, I want to talk about something very specific: yesterday's quarter final Rugby World Cup match between Ireland and New Zealand. Not even the match itself, but the opening ceremony. Even to someone as disinterested in sport itself as myself, there was something in it profoundly moving. Something sacred and holy. A spectacle of far greater symbolic significance than mere pre-game theatrics. First, have a watch:

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yt8rltSbKlk

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The haka is a traditional ceremonial dance performed by the indigenous Maori tribes of New Zealand. This particular variety is a war dance. I trust you don't need any further elaboration on that. Watch it, really watch it. It is brutal, murderous, devouring. As it should be. Watch their faces contort and strain, watch their tongues stick out and the whites of their eyes show. Watch them as they as summon those rough beasts to be born. And watch them as they labor those rough beasts to be born inside. Watch the birthing pangs sear across their faces. Hear the howls and screeches ripping through them and escaping. Watch them become one monstrous unit of raw, unearthly, cannibalistic power.

Are you disturbed? Good, you should be disturbed. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth...

It's enrapturing to the degree it's the absolute annihilation of beauty, of humanity. It's a dance indeed, but a dance of murder, of death, of destruction.

And there's little the opposing team can do to defend themselves in the face of the psycho-spiritual assault. They can only stare it down, head on, hoping not to tremble. But in a game like this, where I'm told inches matter, such an assault can very likely tip the scales against them. No matter, they must take this pre-game pummeling with dignity, knowing they've no incantations as monstrous or murderous in their own cultural catalog to drawn upon.

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But perhaps they needn't fight fire with fire? Listen to voices descending from above in the stadium, singing as one. Those are the voice of the Irish supporters, the thousands of them, casting a protective incantation of their own, the Irish ballad and un-official anthem, The Fields of Athenry. Does it not sound like a Catholic Church choir? Does it not song like a legion of guardian angels manifesting their stewardship in heavenly harmony? Does it not sound beautiful and good and holy? Does the Irish team really need to counter the gruesome scenes unfolding in front of them with something equally as grotesque when the angels they have heard on high are arrayed behind their backs? Whereas the All Black's dance is a brutal defilement and voiding of humanity, the melodies emanating from Ireland's supporters seem to me an absolute exaltation of humanity (more so if you know the story behind the song's heart wrenching lyrics). Are we not then witnessing an archetypal confrontation between the forces of darkness (the New Zealand team is called 'The All Blacks', might I remind you) arrayed against the forces of light? Is this perhaps why I found this so moving?

(Please do not infer that I'm calling teams good and evil here. All sport teams everywhere at every time are amoral, obviously. I'm merely looking at archetypes and symbols at work in the modern performances of our modern world.) ****

Suffice to say, Ireland was indeed murdered by the end of the match, 46-14. I'll leave the interpretation of that up to the professional barstool shite talkers and sports analysts.