Last night Bazza and I watched New Zealand's World Cup qualifier with Bahrain. We saw it at Takapuna's Sin Bin; Bazza made sure we got there hours early to get the best seats. It was a good game between two evenly-matched teams. Obviously, with the exception of the Bahrainian (?) bloke who grabbed the third-best seat in the bar, we were pretty happy with the outcome. It wasn't until this week that Kiwis finally grasped the importance of the match. I'm hoping the national side can build on this. They should join the Asian confederation (surely next time FIFA won't let them get away with playing two matches each against New Caledonia, Fiji, Vanuatu and Bahrain) and play meaningful matches against quality opposition on a regular basis. With the popularity of rugby in New Zealand seemingly at a low ebb, suddenly football has some real potential.
Tomorrow I've got a meeting with my boss about some work I'm doing, but I plan to hijack the meeting by informing him of my imminent move. I've spoken to Mum and Dad about this (they were supportive of my decision and the shock factor wasn't exactly of seismic proportions). We all agree that I should make my exit as amicable as possible, and besides, I have no feelings specifically against my company, or any of the people in it, anyway.
Mum and Dad are flying up on Wednesday, the same day that I'll be meeting up with my psychologist to talk about my "identity crisis". It was in 1998, when I started university, that I realised I was a bit lacking in that department. All around me people were putting up posters of Che Guevara, Cartman, George Best or Denise van Outen while my walls remained bare. I remember being confused. Why are you so desperate to tell everybody what you're "in to", how did all those posters suddenly spring up out of nowhere, and where did you get them from in the first place? I've only just scratched the surface of my lack of identity here; our meeting is sure to be an interesting one.