Stormers overcome the Hurricanes


A late Deon Fourie push-over try set up Western Stormers for a 19-18 win over Wellington Hurricanes in a tense Super Rugby struggle at Newlands.

Fly-half Demetri Catrakilis converted from near the touchline and the South Africans won a match they seemed likely to lose after trailing 12-6 at half-time.

Catrakilis gave another faultless goal-kicking performance, also slotting four penalties for a 14-point haul before an often subdued crowd.

New Zealand wings Julian Savea and Cory Jane scored a try each for the visitors and fly-half Beauden Barrett converted one and landed two penalties.


It was a match Stormers dared not lose after a shock defeat by fellow South Africans Golden Lions last weekend, and a tough four-match tour of Australasia starting next weekend.

Hurricanes, who began their season by failing badly against the Coastal Sharks in Durban last weekend, will be disappointed at not ending an eight-year losing streak in Cape Town.

‘‘It was better than last weekend,’’ said Stormers and Springboks captain and centre Jean de Villiers.

‘‘This has been a tough week with many harsh words after the Lions loss.

‘‘Had I been offered a one-point win before the game, the answer would have been ’yes’. Let us give credit to the Hurricanes – they are a tough, quality side.’’

All Blacks and Hurricanes centre and skipper Conrad Smith said: ‘‘Rugby can be a cruel game as we played really well only to lose at the death.

‘‘Our defence was outstanding and I am really proud of the boys. A couple of tour defeats is disappointing, but there is a long season ahead.’’

STORMERS 19 (Deon Fourie try Demetri Catrakilis con 4 pens) bt HURRICANES 18 (Cory Jane, Julian Savea tries Beauden Barrett con 2 pens) at Newlands Rugby Stadium. Referee: Steve R. Walsh.


Read more:



Blues celebrate a try

Blues celebrate a try

Blues 35
Crusaders 24

This rollercoaster of a victory over the old enemy has eased the pressure on the Blues – and broken a seven-game losing streak stretching back to May last year. It it will also cause a fair bit of soul-searching in Christchurch.

It was a bizarre game for many reasons – the way the Blues took so long to get into it, and once they did how the Crusaders imploded, barely able to string a pass together as Sir John Kirwan’s men poured on an incredible 29 unanswered points. In the middle of it all, 20-year-old first-five Simon Hickey went serenely about his work. He kicked six from seven shots at goal and looked assured.

The Blues leave for South Africa today and their two matches against the Bulls and Lions in good spirits, the Crusaders on the other hand must be wondering where to start. They are yet to earn a competition point.

Their composure deserted them entirely, they fumbled, missed tackles; frankly they looked in disarray. In their loss to the Chiefs last weekend their skills let them down in the end but they showed grit. There was determination again last night, but there was a lack of clear thinking. They are in a deep hole.

In scoring four tries for a bonus point, Blues showed just how dangerous they will be this season if they can play with confidence. They have the personnel – Frank Halai, George Moala and Charles Piutau are a handful for any defence. Returning former All Black Jerome Kaino, watching from the stand, will add to their firepower once he becomes available after their African adventure.

On this evidence, it’s hard to know what to expect of the Blues in the Republic because after 34 minutes it looked like it would only a matter of how many the Crusaders won by. Tries from hooker Corey Flynn and fullback Colin Slade helped push the score out to 17-3, the Blues offering little in response.

It was a moment of magic from Frank Halai which turned the Blues’ fortunes around. On the counter, the ball was shifted quickly to where Halai was lurking and he showed the pace and right foot step which earned him an All Blacks selection last year.

There was more to come, and quickly. From the re-start, young lock Patrick Tuipulotu got a pass away under pressure to Tevita Li, who eluded the tackles of Colin Slade, Richie McCaw and Rob Thompson to score an extraordinary try.

Coach Kirwan was out of his seat well before halftime and with the score 17-15 it was no wonder.

The Crusaders were out warming up with passing drills well before the Blues emerged from halftime but worse was to come for them. A Moala try from a Reynold Lee-Lo and Slade defensive howler was followed by a try to Willison, who dived on a Piri Weepu grubber.

In the frantic final minutes, Steven Luatua was sinbinned and Crotty, running on to an Israel Dagg break, scored to narrow the gap for the Crusaders. Appropriately, Hickey had the last say with a penalty.

My Mask

I was once sad and lonely,
Having nobody to comfort me,
So I wore a mask that always smiled;
To hide my feelings behind a lie.
Before long, I had many friends;
With my mask, I was one of them.
But deep inside, I still felt empty,
Like I was missing a part of me.
Nobody could hear my cries at night
For I designed my mask to hide the
Nobody could see the pain I was
For I designed my mask to be
Behind all the smiles were the tears
And behind all the comfort were the
Everything you think you see,
Wasn’t everything there was to me.
Day by day,
I was slowly dying.
I couldn’t go on,
There was something missing..
Until now I’m still searching
For the thing that’ll stop my crying.
For someone who’ll erase my fears,
For the person who’ll wipe my tears.
But till then I’ll keep on smiling.
Hiding behind this mask I’m
Hoping one day I can smile,
Till then, I’ll be here.. waiting.

Posted from WordPress for Android

How To Undermine A Rape Victim 101

The Belle Jar

Trigger warning for talk of rape 

Preface the victim’s open letter about the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of her father with a statement saying that he deserves the presumption of innocence. Always approach situations like this with the thought that the victim might be lying; remind yourself and others that the burden of proof is on her.

Insist on referring to the victim as the rapist’s “adopted daughter,” as if that mitigates what he has done. Using subtle language cues like this, imply that though it might be rape, it’s not really incest because the the rapist is not the victim’s biological father. Pretend that adoptive parents somehow feel differently about their children than biological parents do.

Like the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, insist on your ability to differentiate between an artist and their art. As a spokesperson for the organization said, “The…

View original post 868 more words


By Mathew Arnold
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o’er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there’s a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.

Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal’d
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal’d
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick’d in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves–and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!

But we, my love!–doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?–must we too be dumb?

Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain’d;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain’d!

Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be–
By what distractions he would be possess’d,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity–
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being’s law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.

But often, in the world’s most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us–to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves–
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress’d.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well–but ‘t#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack’d
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul’s subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only–but this is rare–
When a belov{‘e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another’s eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen’d ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress’d–
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life’s flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.

And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.