I'm more nervous than a catholic schoolboy on the first day of alter-boy practise. Or that crazy lady who mutters 'big scary dogs' every time I pass her on our morning walk, whether the dogs are with me or not. Or the whole of New Zealand at the very minute Stephen Donald runs on to the field...
Actually, if he has to run on then we're gone already. Please stay on the bench, Stephen Donald.
In these nervous times I take solace in the fact the Graham Henry will no doubt use his experience in the dressing room to shut the hell up and let Richie do the talking. And I'd like to think Richie will channel that famous motivator, the fake Rex Ryan, coach of the New York Jets, and give a speech along these lines...
Richie: This is the moment that we’re gonna look back on. When we’re sitting on top of the fucking world, we’re gonna point to this moment right here and say THIS is when our balls dropped. When we became the anger. When we became the red blood fog that consumed cities whole. WHEN WE BECAME FUCKING DEATH. ARE YOU READY TO BECOME DEATH?!
Everyone: YES!
Richie: ARE YOU READY TO REST YOUR BALLS ON THE CHIN OF VICTORY??!!!
Everyone: YES!
Richie: ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO MUTILATE AND DISMEMBER??????
Everyone: YES!
Richie: FUCKING HANDS IN!
(hands in)
Richie: FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!
Everyone: WIN!
Knowing Richie though, it may be more like this:
Richie: Everyone sweet?
Everyone: Chuh bro.
Everyone: CHUH BRO!!
Whatever works boys. Just find a way...
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