“Second year?” Nic asked, watching as a pass fell uncaught at a small pair of feet. They fell silent, watching the boys in front of them play. Where do you want me?” Nic could see a few of his Blues and All Black teammates, each surrounded by a little knot of starstruck boys, their parents hovering close. Claudia wasn’t rapt about my plan for the day. Nic waited until the chastened dad took himself off, then offered, “Morning, Rob.” “Get them to stay onside,” Rob was barking at the harassed-looking volunteer, intimidating the poor bloke with his trademark volcanic frown. He finally spotted the still-imposing figure of Rob, issuing impatient instructions to a hapless dad, and made his way toward the pair. He squinted around the clusters of boys playing their final matches of the Easter-week camp under the watchful eyes of volunteer coaches and a sprinkling of dads who’d been pressed into service. So here he was, trying to avoid the rest of the muck around the edge of the enormous field that made up the North Harbour Rugby Club, and preparing to do his duty. Anyway, when a legendary former All Black asked a favor, you didn’t say no. He wasn’t always too keen on the parents, though.īut Rob was a neighbor, and a mate. This wasn’t his idea of a fun way to spend a Sunday morning during a rare bye week. They’d churned up the grass good and proper this week, Nic saw with disgust as he felt the water squelch inside his shoe. The hundred or so boys gathered for the last day of Rob Euliss’s rugby camp weren’t helping a bit.
It had rained the night before, and this part of the field was still muddy. Instead, he quit watching where he was going, stepped in a puddle, and swore. Nic Wilkinson wasn’t looking to change his life. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. The Blues and the All Blacks are actual rugby teams.
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