We'd missed the national anthem, and both teams now huddled up on the field. The men were all muscular with strong legs. I was surprised to see that no one wore protective gear. The field was a converted football field, but it was bigger than what I was used to.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Andre and Valentina take their seats behind us. They were one row back and more on Henry's side than mine. Henry seemed intent on ignoring them.
The All Blacks were easy to spot in their black uniforms. The Irish wore Green tops with white shorts. The stands were filled with either black or green and everyone seemed happy to cheer. I was amazed at the number of people filling the stands.
The All Blacks took the center of the field and faced their opponents. The crowd quieted as the team began to chant. I didn't understand the language, but the intent was clear. Intimidation. They hit their elbows and stomped their feet in unison. Goosebumps popped out on my arms.
"What are they doing?" I whispered to Henry.
"It's called Haka," he explained. "Many of the players on the team are of Maori descent. Haka is a traditional war dance. The whole team does it before a match. It's something they're famous for."
"I like it," I said, watching the fierce faces and aggressive body language. "I wouldn't want to mess with them."
The crowd roared their approval. The stands shook and the excitement for the start of the match filled the air like a living thing. And then the game began.
The Irish kicked the ball toward the team in black. Both teams quickly formed a wall of bodies around the ball, each man fighting for position. It was aggressive and intense.
"What are the rules?" I asked, leaning my head close to Henry. The crowd was loud and I didn't want everyone knowing that I didn't understand the game.
"There are fifteen players for each team," Henry explained. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, but his eyes were on the field. He watched the players running and throwing the ball with keen interest.
"The objective of the game is to score more points than the other team. You can do that two main ways: a try or a drop goal," he continued. One of the All Black players started to run down the field with the ball, sending up screams from the stands.
"Okay," I nodded. The All Black player was blocked by the team in green. The crowd died down, but the energy was still there as the man threw the ball to a teammate behind him.
"A try is worth five points and you get it by putting the ball in the opponent's try-zone," Henry said. He frowned and threw up his hand. "Come on, Ref!"
"So a try is like a touchdown in American football," I said, brightening as I figured out part of the game.
Henry thought for a moment. "Yes, it is. And a drop kick would be the equivalent of a field goal," he said, nodding. "And it's even worth three points as well."
"Okay," I watched the game for a moment, noticing that no one threw the ball or kicked the ball in the direction they were trying to go. "Why not just throw the ball in?"
"The ball can only be thrown backward or sideways," Henry explained. "You can kick a ball forward, but the next person who touches it has to have been behind you. The only way to move forward is to run. If you get stuck, you have to throw it to your team behind you."
The crowd let out a loud "ooh" sound and I looked around to see one of the Irish tackling an All Black. It looked brutal, but the player just got back up and kept going like he hadn't just been slammed into the grass.
Suddenly, an All Black player took off down the field. He was unstoppable. I rose to my feet, cheering with the crowd as the player sprinted to his try-zone. Now that I knew that he was going to score, I screamed along with everyone else.
"Touchdown!" I shouted as the player touched the ball to the ground, scoring his point. I jumped into the air, excited. Henry paused, and shook his head. Two men in All Black gear sitting in font of us both turned and looked at me.
"Oy, mate," one of them said to Henry, his black face-paint making his expression hard to read. I was sure he was going to complain or tell me to shove off. I felt like a fool. Henry wrapped his arm around me a little tighter, making sure he was closer to the man than I was. Instead the man grinned. "I think she's almost got it."
I grinned as the man gave me a thumbs up and went back to watching the game. I was getting it. I could see the appeal. The game was rough and violent. Men threw each other down and tackled hard, but without the benefit of pads. I wondered just how many bruises they went home with.
Henry continued to explain the game in bits and pieces as it happened. Now that I knew the basic rules and scoring, the rest came easily enough. Before the end of the half, I was pretty confident in my ability to understand the game.
The two teams ended the first forty minutes to cheers. We sat down in our seats and I realized we'd been standing the entire time. I'd been so enthralled in the game that I hadn't noticed. A group of dancers came out to the field as the half-time entertainment.
"Do you want anything to drink?" Henry asked. He pointed to a beer vendor walking the steps on my side of the aisle. A beer sounded good. My throat was a little hoarse from screaming.
"Sure," I said. I called out to the beer vendor. "Two, please!"
Before Henry had a chance, I slipped the vendor the money. I grinned at Henry's frustrated expression.
"You bought lunch and the tickets," I informed him, handing him his beer. "I should at least buy you a beer."
He rolled his eyes, but sipped good-naturedly at his drink. I took a sip of mine. It was cheap beer at stadium prices, but it felt good on my throat.
"So what position do you play?" I asked Henry, taking another sip.
"I play Number Eight," he said, taking a long sip of his beer. I thought about what we'd seen of the game so far.
"You play number eight or you wear number eight?" I asked.
"Both. The position wears number eight and that's the name of it. Sometimes they call me the eighthman," Henry explained.
"Creative," I teased him. Now that we were sitting again, he had his knee pressed against mine. I liked the way it felt. "What other positions are there?"
"Prop, hooker, lock, flanker, scrum half, fly, wing, and full back," he listed off. With his accent they sounded like a list of silly made up words and I couldn't help but laugh.
"Hooker?" I repeated.
"Yeah." He frowned. "What's wrong with that? It's an important position."
"In America, it's a slang word for ‘prostitute'," I informed him, snickering into my drink.
Henry's cheeks flushed. "Well, I just learned an new American word," he said. He took a long sip of his drink.
"Don't worry, I'd still date you if you were the hooker," I teased him. He glanced over at me, his blue eyes bright with a smile.
"Yeah?"
My heart fluttered when he looked at me like that. The crowd disappeared and everything melted away. He leaned over and kissed me.
"Didn't want to wait again?" I asked, breathless when he pulled back.
"No," he shook his head and grinned. "Just felt like kissing you."
I grinned back at him and then sipped my beer. I was happy. Happier than I'd felt in a long time. For the first time all week, I wasn't worried about my job or my stepmother. I wasn't thinking of documents or worrying about bus schedules.
I was having fun. I was with a handsome man at a fun event drinking a beer and getting kissed. There was no where else in the world I wanted to be than right here with Henry. Except maybe curled up in my bed with Henry.
That made my cheeks heat a little. I knew he'd look good naked. He was a rugby player with the body to match. The idea of him smiling at me, those blue eyes twinkling over naked muscles had me taking a bigger sip of my drink just to cool down.
I glanced over at him to see him smile at me.
"You're thinking something," he said, raising his eyebrows.
I had to come up with something quick. There was no way I was going to tell him that I was imagining him naked in my bed.
"I, uh..." I took a sip of my drink and luckily the players chose that moment to come back out onto the field. I was saved. "Oh, look. They're back."
Henry watched me for a moment, the sparkle in his blue eyes telling me that he had an idea of what I was thinking about. The idea that he might have the same idea made my core heat.
Henry continued to teach me about the game. His enthusiasm was infectious. He loved the sport and he loved explaining it to me. His arm stayed wrapped around me, heating me with his touch. I asked him question after question, each time making him smile.
The crowd chanted as the match came to the end. The score was close, but the All Blacks managed to score one last try before time ran out. Henry and I screamed encouragement with the crowd as the final points lit up the score board.