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It’s only 9 am, the South Stand is almost full and the noise level is bordering on the manic. The sporting of bizarre costumes is clearly the order of the day; roving packs of hairy ex-pats dressed as Borat, including dodgy moustaches and outrageous swimsuits mix with giggling gangs of St Trinians girls; here a Darth Vader, there a Dalek, there a gaggle of Happy Feet penguins. For some reason, fluffy pink wigs are popular this year, as is adopting the guise of senior clergymen. I had seen most of this lot been partying heavily in Wanchai and Lan Kwai Fong last night, so there must be some outrageous headaches under the facepaint and masks! I am also of the firm view that real clergymen should not disport themselves with the opposite sex, as several of the Bishops were doing last night! Being a detached professional observer, I know the value of an early night or at the very least, the efficiency of over-the-counter hangover remedies. The green-wigged local girls are already stalking the aisles with plaintive cries of ‘Heine-ken, Heine-ken’ competing with a din which sounds remarkably like ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’. The ‘hair of the dog’ theory is being tested to the extreme.
Yes, it’s the Finals Day of the Hong Kong Sevens weekend again! Where else?
With its origins in the mid-70′s the tournament has grown rapidly into the amazing spectacle it is today. It must be the best sporting event in the World; great rugby, great venue and a great social scene! But I’m biased, I love the game and the venue. Local and ex-pat businesses are well-represented and it is a widely-known phenomenon, that UK based company directors seem to develop a penchant for visiting their HK offices during the last weekend in March, when the Sevens usually takes place!
The game itself is a fast, highly proficient variation of the 15 a side game. Speed, fitness, flair and ball handling skills are the keys to victory and the sport itself is quickly becoming a separate entity from the original. More recently, the tournament has become one event in the International Rugby Board Sevens World Series, incorporating Sevens competitions across the World, from Adelaide, Dubai and South Africa even to the USA ( as a rough rule of thumb, wherever ex-pats play rugby, there will probably be a Sevens competition!).
The Hong Kong economy is rapidly recovering from the doldrums of the late 90’s and business is booming. I was staying as part of a package tour in the Excelsior Hotel in the Causeway Bay area, about a mile from the Hong Kong Stadium, where the event takes place. The hotel is, in fact, unofficial Hong Kong Sevens Rugby HQ and the Dickens Bar in the basement is the Command and Control Centre! It’s also a place where the dim-sum numbed and the Satay-jaded can restock on steak and kidney pie (with or without baked beans).
Causeway Bay has changed almost beyond recognition over the past ten years, from a slightly down-at-heel residential area to the buzzing shoppers paradise it is now. Food Street, next to the hotel, is exactly what it says on the tin – everything from Tremendous Thai to Magnificent Malaysian via Vigorous Vietnamese. It’s possible to eat your way around Asia without needing a taxi from the hotel or an overdraft from the bank. The nearby jewellery shops, however, can exert a mysterious suction power on the wallet matched only by that of the many designer fashion outlets on both sides of the harbour. After all, Hong Kong has always been a major trading centre and failure adequately to exercise the credit card in this town is simply Not Cricket!
The sudden arrival of 20,000 plus Rugby tourists always brings a big smile to local vendors (as well as the ‘working gals’, who, I am given to understand, frequent the many dark and dubious Wanchai bars!) Let’s face it, the $HK15 – £1 exchange rate is pretty good and provides strong motivation for some heavy-duty shopping! The first stop for the serious Rugby Sevens fan must be Stanley Market, a 20-30 minute bus ride from Admiralty bus station in the Central district. Take the front upstairs seat and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. At first the journey slowly winds through the busy Central area into Causeway Bay, past the Happy Valley racecourse and into the Aberdeen Tunnel. The fun starts as the bus starts to wind its way along the coastline on the two lane road, fringed by craggy outgrowths, leading to Repulse Bay and Stanley. Forget about the ‘Big One’ at Blackpool or ‘The Hulk Ride’ in Universal Studios! Trust me, the 260X Citibus from Central tops the lot! (Will also assist in removing the last traces of jetlag, but let us draw a discreet veil there!) The Lan Kwai Fong regulars always seem to sniff loudly about Stanley Market, calling it a tourist trap and braying loudly into their expense-account megacocktails . Take no notice of them- Stanley’s a great place these days. This is where the rugby fans of all nations dutifully go to buy their shirts for Sevens weekend casual wear. If three heavy duty cotton shirts for less than a tenner is being ripped off, then I’ve been totally butchered over the years. I’ve worn one for over five years and it’s still as good as new!
The major attraction for the 2008 Sevens must surely be a lunch-time, post-shopping pint at the Boathouse or Pickled Pelican, two fabulous watering holes next to the market, sporting your new England shirt, while smiling politely if not smugly, at passing Australians or, indeed most of our former colonial friends (except South Africa!) After our epic performance in the Rugby World Cup, only a really stroppy Digger would begrudge us the rare opportunity to crow at our sporting prowess. After all if it had not been for our advanced 18th Century policy on loaf-rustling, there wouldn’t be any Aussies to thrash us at our once proud home-grown sports!. Actually, come to think about it, after the Aussie video referee’s fiendish decision in Paris, I think a curled lip might be the more appropriate expression than mere bandied words.
Take a tip: don’t return to Central on the bus after partaking several tinctures in Stanley! A taxi ride is preferable and cheap, as well as being more comfortable digestion-wise, health-wise and otherwise. The Hong Kong Chinese driver was a bit of a rarity; although he knew little about the game, he told me that he was a Sevens regular and was (naturally) cheering for the Hong Kong team. He seemed pleased with my attempts to explain the rules in faltering Cantonese, despite the obvious linguistic difficulties with ’rolling mauls’, ’calling for the mark’ and the ’up and under’.
Back at the ground, the teams are starting the pre-match parade and the girls are bringing out the meat-pies. As the Pimms and Heineken flow, the French team enter the fray to the customary booing and sledging. This time, however, they are armed with cardboard shields and form the Turtle, to the delight of the 40,000-strong crowd. Who says the French have no sense of humour? The roof of the stadium lifts as the Hong Kong team enters, but almost flies into orbit when the England team trot onto the pitch. Naturally the ex-pat Scots seated next to me treacherously fail to cheer, despite my loud handclapping when their team appear. What was the verse about Marshal Wade and hushing sedition in a torrent rush? My efforts to point out this traitorous act fall on deaf ears and I am advised to take my face to the toilet; but this is Rugby – not football- and we‘ll be imbibing together in Dickens Bar later. At this point, I deem it wise to visit the corporate boxes and indulge in a little diplomatic freebie-hunting, as well as catching some badly-needed air-conditioning. En route, I am accosted by a friendly but drunken Trekkie, brandishing a hot-dog and apparently hailing from the Cleckheaton side of the Klingon Empire. He is utterly convinced that I am his former schoolchum ‘Keith the Taxi’, who had an uncle in the scrap trade. He informs me that he prefers Rugby League, that Rugby Union is an effete public-school sport and that Sevens is for ‘Southern Jessies’. We separate and as he departs, he bids me farewell, secure in the knowledge that I am still a ‘good lad’ even though ‘our kid’ was a ‘bloody copper’.
It’s now mid-afternoon; up on the South Stand the Borats and Teletubbies are shedding their costumes and perspiring freely, as the humidity climbs into the high nineties. Two of the Happy Feet now decide it is time for an attempt on the South Side to North Stand dash on the field of play. Big mistake due to two factors: a) Their costumes are authentic and reach well below the knees, inducing a very real penguin-like gait and b) the stadium security is composed, it is rumoured, of off-duty Ghurkhas; a group not entirely blessed with much humour and believed to be congenitally disposed towards brutal murder. The penguins are rapidly captured and removed from the ground in a flurry of agonising wrist and arm locks.
It is now clear that the tournament favourite , Fiji, are going into the final again. England nicked the trophy from them in the dying seconds of the 2006 final ( as I write, I‘m filling up at the memory!) but this year the South Sea Islanders desperately want their name on the trophy. They are always popular with the Sevens crowd, with their fast, aggressive style and sheer power. I have a small gentleman’s wager on erun of last year’s final with a couple of ex-pat buddies.
Alas! England are shredded by the All Blacks in the quarter finals and in the final, Samoa fight off a desperate second half Fijian onslaught to hoist the trophy! The 2007 Hong Kong Sevens ends in a welter of bagpipes playing ‘Auld Lang Syne’, fireworks and tears, especially from those unfortunates who have crossed the Ghurkhas. It’s back to the Excelsior for a thorough debrief in the Dickens Bar, followed by that awful end-of-holiday suitcase packing and a fourteen hour return flight.
Doing nothing next March? See you in the Dickens Bar. By the way, does anyone know the words to Kenny Rogers’ ’The Gambler’?
Copyright © 2007 Nick Reilly
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