A game where no-one wins

Near the end of 2001 there were some most terrible tragedies which are still mourned 6 years on.

For many, these events would be those which happened on September 11. I can still remember how that day went for me. The astonishing loss of life in such a horrible way sends shivers down my back, yet I was in New Zealand at the time. The distance involved meant that it's had very little impact on me personally. It's hard to explain how I feel about it really, I do grieve for those who were impacted by it, it's a terrible loss. It's a loss to humanity in the most global sense. But it's not a personal loss to me, I'm distanced from it.

So why bring this up? Because there was an event in late 2001 which impacted me so strongly, I'd claim it's close to how one would feel about 9/11, only that is a vast overstatement. It's not.

I doubt many people would know what befell on December 6, 2001. I can't blame them, the world was still reeling from the terrorist attacks in the US. Yet on that day, Sir Peter Blake was killed in the Amazon.

Sir Peter was the man who lead New Zealand to win the America's Cup in 1995, and then followed it up in 2000 when it was first successfully defended by a non-US team. Given that the first race for this cup was in 1851, that's no small detail. Australia had been the only non US team to win it in 1983, which they then lost in 1987 during an unsuccessful defense.

So not only had Peter Blake lead New Zealand to the history books, but he was also quite an accomplished sailor in his own right, having won the Whitford Round The World race, and also the Jules Verne trophy by circumnavigating the world in the fastest ever time.

After the 2000 defense of the America's Cup, he resigned from the team and set out on a cause. He founded Blake Expeditions and sailed to Antarctica, taking environmental notes which could be used to help understand the impact of global warming, and to give a better insight into this mostly unknown continent.

Following that, he went to the Amazon Basin, doing likewise as he had in Antarctica. Once completed, they headed back to civilization and had to wait for customs clearance. While waiting, the ship was boarded by local pirates, Sir Peter rushed out of his cabin with a firearm, and was shot. He died instantly. The pirates made their escape, taking booty comprising of a few watches and an outboard motor. They were later arrested and sentenced to an average of 32 years in prison.

People who knew Peter Blake, whether personally, or through media, were shocked at his sudden death. This was a betrayal of humanity. For such a small booty, these pirates cost the world a great, caring and loving man. It is a loss to the world.

It's not the same scale as 9/11, nor does it have quite the same impact, yet both were betrayals of humanity, to the loss of humanity.

I feel this would probably do better being left until the 6th anniversary of his death, but after the first post, I've been unable to shake his memory from my thoughts. It had to be said.

To Sir Peter Blake, and all the victims of September 11:

R.I.P

Loss of virginity

Well, I did manage to get to the baseball game as I hoped, and must say I'm very pleased I did.

I've been following baseball for a short time, maybe a month or two... something like that. Of course I'm not an expert or anything, but I've found it really easy to get into. This game has just helped cement my love for it.

Granted, the game itself wasn't exactly important or anything, but it was fun to sit there and watch. The local team did well, scoring far heavier than the away team. Of course, at this level there's far too many walks given, and a few runs were scored off them. Shortly after I got to the game (I was a few minutes late), the away team hit a massive home run over the right field fence. This was soon to be countered by a stunning catch. Left field running towards center and having to jump to his left to catch the ball low, maybe a metre or less above the ground. Straight after making the catch, he threw to second base to get the runner out in a double play. The spectators (there was maybe 20 people watching max, so not calling it a crowd) went wild. Simply awesome stuff to see unfold before your eyes.

It seems there's some more home games next weekend (night game on Friday and a day game on Sunday), so thinking I might go to those if I can as well. Really enjoyable stuff.

And thus it begins

So being somewhat inspired by Rebecca's blogging success, I decided just a few minutes ago to try my hand at something similar.

My intent for this blog is to chronicle my thoughts, feelings and experiences regarding sport. I don't deem myself to have held many of any in my life, so it's something rather new to me, and hopefully I'll be developing more in time. Perhaps this blog will even push me further into things than I would normally go. Time can only tell.


So I guess to really kick off I should probably provide some background to myself, but that feels kinda like ripping right off how Rebecca started. Sadly I can't think of anything better, so sorry dear, but here I go.

I'm 22 years old and living in Brisbane, Australia. But I am a kiwi (New Zealander for those unaware). Born in Wellington and after spending the first 10 years of my life darting around the South Pacific a little, my family settled into the lovely city of Tauranga where I lived quite happily until early march this year.

Being a kiwi, it's a given that I grew up around rugby. Rugby after all is New Zealand's unofficial religion. But my earliest sporting memory comes from 1995, when I was 10. Scratch that, my two earliest sporting memories are from then.

In 1995, the proud little South Pacific island nation I called (and still do) home created a bit of a stir. Not in rugby, no... sailing. Team New Zealand, lead by Peter Blake, sailed NZL32 (also known as Black Magic) to win the America's Cup 5-0 over Dennis Conner's Stars and Stripes at San Diego, California. It was only the second time in history that a non-American team had won the America's Cup, the first being in 1983 by Young Australia.

During NZ's victory, we had just moved to Tauranga and were living in a motel while we were looking for a house to rent. I remember rather clearly spending autumn walking around the nearby park, and watching the sailing when it was on. I had little knowledge of what was actually happening, but when Black Magic sailed across the line in the 5th race, the atmosphere was electric. Everywhere people were celebrating. A very fond memory of mine, for reasons which will need explaining in another entry perhaps.

Not long after this, it was the Rugby World Cup. South Africa was competing for the first ever time, and had also been given the honour of hosting the event. Now, at this time I still had little interest in sports, but who didn't know the All Blacks? Who wouldn't cheer them on? Not me at least. I didn't take much notice of the tournament, but when the final rolled around, it was New Zealand facing off against South Africa, and it was something I quite simply had to watch.

By this time we had found a house to rent and were all moved in. It was winter, and damn it was cold. The final was to take place at midnight, so rather than staying cuddled up in our warm beds, me and my sister got sleeping bags out into the living room so that dad could wake us up and we could watch without catching our death. Could I describe the game? The stand out moments, the thrills and excitement of a world cup final? No, I can't even remember the game, just the events surrounding it. As it turned out, South Africa won 15-12 in overtime by a drop goal. I can't even recall the now iconic picture of Nelson Mandela handing the cup over to Francois Pienaar, the white South African captain.

So what do I recall then? Making my way back to bed, wondering just how it was that New Zealand could lose at rugby. The idea of a kiwi loss was totally foreign and incomprehensible. It just didn't make sense. I knew next to nothing of rugby, and probably cared less. But this loss confounded me. New Zealand was meant to win, that they didn't just wasn't right.


Over the next 4 years I had few sporting experiences or memories that have stuck. But in 1999 there was both the Rugby World Cup and the America's Cup again, and it would seem that from then my interest has grown.

So that was then, what of now? I love rugby. I enjoy cricket. I follow the NHL as I can. I've recently gotten into baseball. I will watch motorsport if I feel like it, and I was on my school's rock climbing team for a couple of years.

And on Sunday I hope to attend my first game of baseball. Here's to it being a good one.