Game Over

So there you have it, and I don't know why I was surprised really, as true-to-form England crash out of another tournament. Before it had began really. No doubt, back home, there will be pages and pages of analysis as to why we were not up to the mark in another game that we invented. Chances spurned and games lost.

And because of our untimely exit, I was expecting a rough ride in work on Monday. I really was. It was not so much the fact that we crashed out, but the manner of the defeat. Capitulation to lesser sides, as the press would have us believe. So there was that, and the fact that it was at the hands of the Aussies. Those two facts, or at least I thought, would condemn me to a day of misery and torment.

I assumed, wrongly, that there would be some kind of symbol laid out in jest for me when I turned the corner into my pod. Maybe a deflated rugby ball or a Kiwi flag? Nope. Nothing. Ahh, I thought, they're saving up the comments for the team meeting later this morning. Then I will really get it. I'll be like a cornered animal, unable to escape to the relative safety of the print room.

The meeting came and went without so much as a sideways glance or half-hidden snigger. Odd, I thought, but if not the meeting then when? Oh, how could I have forgotten? Of course, lunchtime! Yes, that's when it'll start. I'll just be tucking into my salad with pita bread and then it'll start. They know that with a gob full of green leaves I'll hardly be able to mount a comeback....

I had my lunch in peace and quite... well apart from the usual kitchen chatter; house prices in Auckland, the state of the dairy business, which flag is the best replacement and is a straight V8 really enough or would a V12 be better. 

It had reached mid afternoon and lunch was a distant memory but still not a word and it was making me anxious. This was getting ridiculous and it was becoming hard to concentrate on anything. Each passing minute only served to increase the tension as the moment of verbal assault was more likely to arrive. Yet nothing. Slowly tension gave way to disappointment - I'd been planning my witty responses all day. I didn't want to waste such pearls as "The referee was clearly out of his depth", "The Welsh were really lucky to stay on the park" or the particularly clever and subtle "Oh, go and stick you head up a cows..." I think you get the picture.

There was only one thing for it, I'd just have to pre-empt the onslaught. Crack the dam wall if you like. 

"Hey, I'm really surprised no one has mentioned the rugby", I offered and stood well back ready for the tirade of abuse. The response was somewhat surprising and much worse then I could ever have imagined.

"Oh, well we didn't think you would want to talk about it and didn't want to upset you", came the response. 

"What game?" came another, "Oh that? Nah it was a foregone conclusion. The Aussies were bound to win".

And that was that. Game over. End of.

I don't what I was expecting really. I don't even like rugby but some reaction would've been nice. You know a quick jibe or joke about how crap England were to put me at ease. Settle me down. But no. I had to spend the entire day waiting for the inevitable that just didn't happen. And it made me a little homesick. If there is one thing you can rely upon UK office friends for, and that is to kick you when you're down. At your lowest ebb? No problem. 'Ere take that! Thwok! A well aimed kick in the proverbials. Well, how else are they going to show that they care?