The Australian Haka

For a couple of Saturdays over the last few weeks, Sheena has been decamping at Scallywags Pub at Yonge & St. Clair to watch Tri-Nations Rugby. Last game of the series is next Saturday (Australian Wallabies v. South Africa's Springboks). Sheena's team is the New Zealand All Blacks. Not just because she's an urban hip chick who looks good in dark colours, but because she had about 16 hours to kill in the Auckland Airport couple of years ago and had nothing to do but shop and drink.

Now, Sheena's more sports-savvy readers may say, "Hey Sheena! Don't be a fuckwit, the Australians don't do the Haka, only New Zealand does". She knows this. For those readers who don't know what I'm talking about, click on the below clip to see the NZ national Rugby team perform the ancient Maori dance of victory and intimidation:

In Brisbane a couple of years ago for a 2 week stint (pre-Sheenavision, but widely reported on the innerdnets as "The Bane of My Existence"). Out for lunch one day with a client and a southern hemispheric colleague. The client insists that it's his turn to treat me. As the foreigner. As a key resource. As the girl he wants to impress.

Buddy picks the restaurant...the bottle of wine...insists that I have the Pavlova for dessert.

And then the check comes. The client goes for the wallet. Hmm.. Checks his pants pocket. Then the other pocket. Turns a little moist on the brow. Goes for the jacket pockets. Pats himself into a frenzy. "Oh, well.. dear. Must have let the wallet back at my desk".

My Aussie colleague (who was a New Zealander.. funny how my favourite Aussies always turn out to be Kiwis) turns to Sheena and whispered.... "See that? See that Sheena? You've just witnessed the Australian haka"....