
Show Notes
In 1995 rugby dropped its amateur ethos and went openly professional - but not before nearly tearing itself in two. Produced by Justin Gregory. Rugby went professional more than twenty years ago. Getting there nearly tore the game in two. "Professionalism is about more than just money, right?" One cold winter's night, Keith Quinn went to a party. It was 1979 and down at the Hutt Valley Marist club they were holding a send-off for club stalwart Bernie Fraser. He was about to leave on his first overseas tour with the All Blacks. Towards the end of the evening, an official came to Keith and asked a favour. The local businesses had held a whip-round and raised some money for Bernie. It was a gesture typical of the time, thoughtful and generous, meant to make sure Bernie didn't suffer financially while off work playing for the national team. The official wanted to know if Keith, one of the country's best known sports journalists, would present the money to Bernie. Sure, said Keith. "But I knew that I should have really been reporting this as a breach of the amateur rules." Rugby Union back then was an amateur game and had been since it was invented and codified in the mid-19th century. No one got paid to play, but not because there wasn't any money in the game. Australian journalist Peter FitzSimons played seven test matches for the Wallabies in 1989-90. He clicked to the truth early on. "I was standing at the Sydney Football Stadium, singing the national anthem. And the stadium was a cathedral." As he sang, he let his eyes wander around the stadium. "You've got 40,000 people here, Mum and Dad were paying $65...huh, there must be $2.7 million dollars flowing through the gates here and I'm on $50 a day!" But the debutant couldn't have cared less. "It wasn't about the money. It was about the honour of the jersey. And that was the glory of the game." But within a few short years, honour and glory were no longer enough for most top players. And in truth, some were already being paid. They called it shamaterurism; amateurism in name only. Lots of sports did it. In rugby's old days there was boot money; cash quietly stuffed in your boots after a game. Or generous gifts from good honest rugby fans like the business owners of Lower Hutt. By the 1980s there were large expense payments, commercial sponsors for big sporting competitions and brand logos on team jerseys. Athletes of all kinds did ads and endorsements, implicitly trading off their sports profile. Everyone winked at the hypocrisy. Occasionally someone was nicked for it and the contradictions of the system would be laid bare… Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details
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Rugby legend Sir Bryan Williams made All Blacks rugby history as the first player of Pasifika blood to play in Apartheid-era South Africa in the early 1970s. He talks to Sonia Yee about the cultural obstacles and challenges heading into the three-month tour, what it meant for Black South Africans and why he's advocating for Pasifika players today through Moana Pasifika. Today, Pasifika players are commonplace in the All Blacks, and rugby in general. But that hasn't always been the case. During Sir Bryan Williams' time there were cultural barriers. Listen to the podcast to find out what it took for Sir Bryan Williams to alter rugby history The year was 1970 when a shy, 19-year-old Bryan Williams was selected to play for The All Blacks. It was an exciting and daunting time. "I was selected alongside many of my heroes - Colin Meads, Brian Lochore, Malcolm Dick, and a whole array of top players who I'd spent the 1960s absolutely idolising, and then suddenly I was selected alongside them, so I was terrified," Williams recalls. "Coming into the All Blacks, you're always under pressure. There's the expectation that you live up to what the jersey stands for." Williams was only just getting used to the spotlight in his rookie year, when he was selected for a three-month tour to play against the Springboks in apartheid-era South Africa. While Williams was not the first Pasifika player to join the All Blacks - Walter Batty, and brothers Frank and Dave Solomon came well before him - Williams would be the first to travel there, but not without some anxiety leading up to the tour. The system of apartheid, which translates as 'apartness' in Afrikaans was built on a legislation of separatism and racial segregation under a white-led National Government. Formally coming into law in 1950, apartheid kept those of black and coloured skin completely separate from whites in the public domain. Designated areas were set up on the basis of skin colour. 'Whites Only' signs would be seen hanging in shop windows, on park benches, at entrance ways to cafes and restaurants, and even access ways to beaches. Interracial marriages were banned and all South Africans were classified into four groups - black, coloured (mixed race), white, and later, Asian (for Pakistanis and Indians). Previously, in 1960 Māori All Blacks were banned from touring to South Africa and New Zealanders were signing petitions opposing the exclusion and the tour. Ten years later, Williams and the three Māori players - Sid Going, Buff Milner and Blair Furlong - would be admitted under a special pass, giving them what was referred to as 'honorary white status.'… Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details
Not much is known of the suburban zoo that was once situated in Christchurch's North Beach. But those who visited recall eyeing up a mysterious crocodile in a small glass enclosure. In this episode of Eyewitness, Sonia Yee uncovers some myths, and finds out why it has left many with a mix of wonder and bewilderment. Roaring sounds of Suzy the lion would wake up local residents in an otherwise quiet suburb in Christchurch. The mini zoo known as North Beach Zoo was situated at 153 Beach Road. A former aquarium it was re-imagined by Bill Grey who bought it in the late 50s.
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Little is known about The Wizard of New Zealand who took centre stage in Christchurch's Cathedral Square from the 70s until the Christchurch earthquakes in 2011, which saw the city in a state of disrepair. A man who challenged political, social and cultural ideology, The Wizard posed provocative questions in this public space, much to the delight, and sometimes dismay, of passersby. But the background to why The Wizard was there in the first place has been something of a mystery... until now. Sonia Yee finds out more in this episode of Eyewitness. Anyone who visited Christchurch's Cathedral Square before the 2011 earthquakes will know of The Wizard of New Zealand - an iconic figure and mainstay of the city centre. Often dressed in a velvet kaftan and pointy black hat, the Wizard carried a wooden staff and performed on a step ladder that acted as his portable podium. Listen below to find out more about The Wizard and the mark he made on the history of Christchurch: