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Salient: Victoria University Students' Paper. Vol. 29, No. 8. 1966.

Thurbage A Column Of Freelance Comment

page 10

Thurbage A Column Of Freelance Comment

"The Lions are staggering under a load of misfortune," said the Evening Post. Their visit has provided the opportunity to show "that provincial might can leap down the throats of bewildered giants."

This bizarre image began the second leader on the Lions match in Wellington, and appeared on Monday. June 27. The leader unmistakably bears the footprint of the Evening Post's rugby correspondent, G. R. David.

The match, "a sporting occasion that kindles the greatest goodwill, and allows the exercise of healthy physical endeavour,' ended in a victory that "sparkled with points."

For the Lions there is a heartening note, however. "Death has not seized them and closed their careers."

"Their shield may have been battered and dented, but they are bearing it courageously, and they have the great public with them in their hard fight against narrow fortune."

"Narrow fortune" is, of course, the opposite of "wide fortune." The style might be described as blotchy, neo-Neville Cardus.

The editorial continues: "And perhaps next time they will be able to enjoy with hearty appetite the roast beef of Old England. It is a long lane with no turning."

What is "a long lane with no turning?" One has to assume it is the tour. Or perhaps the throat down which the Wellington players have leapt and the roast beef is to follow.

The description continues with the delicate assonance of "danced danger down."

"The players rushed upon their opponents and felled them, not with a sling and stone, but with an athletic and boisterous genius. They advanced through the breaches with banners flying, as at a jolly revel. They cut their capers, fiddled, and the Lions danced to their tune."

Although Wellington has not used "sling and stone." they advance "through the breaches." an awkward physical feat to perform while jumping down the Lions' throat at the same time.

The match is "a jolly revel" in one paragraph but it is "the battle over" in the last sentence.

The Lions are apparently measured in "cubits" despite the fact they were not felled by "sling and stone," and were attending a "jolly revel," presumably something to do with "Old England" (where the roast beef came from).

And so the final picture is of the Lions, staggering under a load of misfortune, throat clogged with provincial players, shield battered and dented, with the Wellington players advancing through the breaches with banners flying, as at a jolly revel. Oh, yes, they are also cutting capers, fiddling, while the Lions dance to their tune.

"Probably no one knows the pain they are enduring." muses the editorial. Understandable with all those players down their throats. Probably no one understands the pain of the "great public" when they read this curious piece, marking a milestone, or possibly a millstone, in Evening Post journalism.

G. R. David felled this editorial not with a sling and stone, but with a boisterous excess. He advanced through the breaches, with Ivanhoe waving, as at a jolly revel. He cut a caper, fiddled, and the metaphors danced to his tune. And the angel Gabriel cometh.