They looked like they were having fun.
Now I know that sounds like a strange thing to notice at a rugby game, but hear me out.
Normally, when the television cameras pan across an All Blacks crowd, everyone looks like they’re being held against their will at a compulsory workplace team-building day.
You know the sort of thing.
HR has promised it’ll be “fun”, but deep down, everyone knows they’re only there because attendance was strongly encouraged in the office-wide email.
There are polite smiles and awkward applause. And if the designated radio station rolls out one of its “Come on, everyone!” moments, every Kiwi immediately adopts the same strategy.
Don’t make eye contact. Not with the MC, not with the camera, and certainly not with the person you came to the game with.
Suddenly, it’s the perfect time to top up the beer tray or see if the toilet queue has shortened.
Then the kiss cam appears on the big screen.
Like Halloween, it’s an American tradition we’ve somehow embraced despite nobody being entirely sure why. Thankfully, Coldplay may have finally retired that particular tradition.
And please don’t get me started on the Mexican wave.
But Wellington felt different.
There was singing.
There was cheering.
People were actually having fun.
There was even what could only be described as mild enthusiasm for the halftime entertainment, which is about as rare at a rugby test as finding a car park within walking distance of the stadium.
Mind you, choosing halftime entertainment is a bit like organising a potluck dinner.
Everyone reckons they know what people want, but no matter what you serve, someone will complain.
For me, halftime entertainment peaked back in the Athletic Park days, when Wellington crowds enjoyed kite-flying.
I never saw it myself, but Newstalk ZB sports commentator Ross Bond tells the stories with such enthusiasm you start wondering why we’ve spent the past 40 years trying to improve on perfection.
And to me, there’s nothing wrong with a marching troupe.
Twenty people walking in perfect formation while someone enthusiastically twirls a baton.
It’s wholesome, it’s impressive, and nobody has to kiss a complete stranger or your HR manager on the big screen.
But if we really want to compete with the Americans, let’s stop mucking around altogether and go full Super Bowl.
Fireworks. Drones. A fighter jet flyover. Lorde descending from the stadium roof singing Slice of Heaven while Richie McCaw arrives by jet boat … only to suffer a very unfortunate Adidas wardrobe malfunction.
Think There’s Something About Mary.
But the half-time show wasn’t what got the crowd going.
That honour belonged to the oldest trick in the stadium entertainment handbook.
Sweet Caroline.
“So good …”
“So good …”
“So good …”
Thirty-five thousand people instantly became the world’s least rehearsed choir.
And that’s what made me smile.
Usually, the only crowd I associate with that sort of atmosphere and enthusiasm is Warriors supporters.
They could turn a queue at the supermarket into the sort of party the Beastie Boys fought for the right to attend.
Up the Wahs.
Which got me thinking.
One day, Sweet Caroline is going to become not so sweet anymore.
So we need a succession plan, and New Zealand needs to find its own sporting anthem.
Other countries have already nailed it.
Ireland has Zombie.
Scotland has Flower of Scotland.
And the Welsh … well, I’m convinced you could hand them the ingredients list from a packet of vegan sausages and by the second verse 40,000 people would be in tears.
Now, before anyone from the Alternative Commentary Collective emails me, yes, I know the obvious choice for New Zealand’s unofficial official national anthem is Sandstorm.
To be fair, it ticks a lot of boxes.
The lyrics are achievable.
“Doo doo doo doo …”
But I think we can do better.
If New Zealand is going to have its own sporting singalong, it needs to be a proper ding-dong.
For those unfamiliar with the official sporting scale, that sits comfortably above a humdinger and well clear of a doozy.
Which is where the argument begins.
Let’s start with the obvious.
Dave Dobbyn’s Loyal would be a strong contender, although for many of us it still carries the emotional baggage of the 2013 America’s Cup campaign.
As a nation, we flew Sir Dave to San Francisco to sing Loyal as Dean Barker looked set to lift the Cup … only for Jimmy to spit on our parade.
Poi E would be difficult to argue against.
It has been bringing New Zealanders together for decades, regardless of age, background or whether you have ever successfully used a poi.
The only concern is the risk of widespread poi entanglement among the less co-ordinated members of the crowd. I put my hand up here.
Then there is Bliss.
An outstanding song and a proven Kiwi singalong, but perhaps not the easiest choice in the current climate.
Before kickoff, the stadium announcer would need to deliver a responsible drinking message, a health warning and possibly confirm that nobody was legally required to follow the instructions in the chorus.
Finally, there’s Why Does Love Do This To Me?
Brilliant song, although asking 40,000 rugby supporters to publicly discuss their feelings feels optimistic.
And maybe that’s what struck me most about Wellington, they watched the game with feeling. Showing their feelings.
Because that’s what live sport should be.
Not 80 minutes of sitting quietly analysing the breakdown.
It’s supposed to be noisy. It’s supposed to be fun.
It’s supposed to leave you with a sore throat because you spent the night cheering.
Whether Neil Diamond remains our adopted sporting anthem or somebody eventually writes a Kiwi singalong of our own doesn’t really matter.
What Wellington showed us is that it is okay to enjoy sport.
Although if someone could organise the return of halftime kite flying, I wouldn’t complain.
So good.
So good.
So good.