Lions tamed by Maori welcome

AS the man who assembled the largest rugby touring party in history, Clive Woodward knows a lot about delegation.

The Lions head coach used the tactic to full advantage when his 75-strong outfit flew into the hot sulphur springs town of Rotorua yesterday for a traditional Maori welcoming party.

He stood smirking in the background as he watched Bill Beaumont and Brian O’Driscoll being forced to accept the terrifying challenge laid down by a shrieking, stick-wielding, tongue-waggling Maori.

Egged on by the hisses of his ferocious looking tribesmen, the warrior advanced with a hop, a skip and a yelp to deliver the traditional call to battle by laying down a spearhead at the feet of the Lions tour manager and captain who, like the hapless volunteers of a Dad’s Army patrol, had found themselves out in front of their back-shuffling so-called comrades.

Beaumont was first to get a going over the likes of which he probably hadn’t experienced since David Coleman posed him a particularly tricky mystery sports star film clip on A Question Of Sport. The Maori swung his stick with dexterity to within centimetres of Beaumont’s chin as the former England captain stared straight ahead, seemingly paralysed with fear. When the Maori retreated he scooped down and collected the spearhead before beating a hasty retreat.

O’Driscoll’s appearance was a strange mix of bemusement, amusement and, understandably, just a little fear but both performances were warmly received by the hundreds of Maori residents of the town.

This, after all, was a welcoming party. As the rain began to fall the Lions party was ushered inside the tribal meeting house for the rest of the ceremony, known as a powhiri (pronounced ‘po-fi-ri) and kick-started by the opening remarks of Bishop Pihopa Kingi, who found the time to tell O’Driscoll a yarn about how the 19th century missionaries to the area allocated their religions, Anglican and Catholic, to the native peoples by dividing the crowd down the middle, with the result that families were at one fell swoop of mixed religion.

This, he informed the Dubliner, was a surefire way to achieve peace in Northern Ireland. And if the Lions skipper was just a trifle bemused beforehand, the job was finished there and then.

It was all very friendly, of course, and nerves were further soothed by the wonderful voices of a Maori choir singing songs of their history and culture.

Not to be outdone, Beaumont instructed his party to return the favour, and as the players rose to their feet the unlikely figure of England prop Matt Stevens stepped forward and led the singing of the decidedly Welsh hymn ‘Bread of Heaven’, accompanied by 44 rather sheepish backing singers.

It was one of those days.