The Champion Crusaders
A particularly vicious and merciless bunch. Keith Quinn still has nightmares about the time he walked across the hallowed turf at Jade Stadium and was called nasty names by everyone who spotted him. If you were to later ask one of them whether they were sorry, they'd probably respond by saying something like: "well it was his own fault for being a useless fat North Island git". Crusaders supporters know their rugby and expect their beloved team to win. Poor performances, errors and Aucklanders are not tolerated. Crusaders fans know they are exceptionally hard in their abuse of opposition teams and supporters, and they are completely unrepentent. "It is better to give than to receive" is the unspoken motto of the ever generous Crusaders fans.
The Otago Scarfies
These boys (and girls) aren't quite as one-eyed as the Crusaders lot, but only by a coat of beer. More fun loving, the Otagoites will occasionally burn down a stand at Carisbrook for a bit of a laugh. Slashing the tyres on the visiting teams bus is another cheerful prank these friendly fans might play. In the deep South a win for the boys is almost as important as a bloody good piss up afterwards. And after the piss up... who won again? You have to admire the dedication of the scarfies - at an important away game they have been known to outnumber the Dorklanders at Eden Park, and as a special favour, systematically dismantle the city centre afterwards.
The Wellington Canes
No fan in New Zealand is as dedicated as these guys and no other Super12 team has the support levels the Canes enjoy. They have consistently disappointed and the fans have been consistently enthusiastic. Only a Canes fan could get excited at a sixth place finish. For years they religiously attended games at Athletic Park, a stadium just slightly more hospitable than Cape Horn. Half the people in attendance were in fact frozen to their seats at the last game and hadn't actually left. Players visiting Athletic Park used to dread the changing rooms more than playing the locals.
A good percentage of the Canes fans are in fact from Taranaki. This subset of the fans love the team too. Mostly because there are only a few Taranaki farmboys in the squad and they all either know them personally or are related. Good staunch boys, they add some steel to the Canes fan club.
The Waikato Chefs
A confused bunch. Half of them used to be in the Dorkland Blues catchment area. The other half can't work out why the team doesn't win more often, but will still support them till the cows come home... literally. Yes, if the game goes a bit late the fans start to drift back to their utes and head off to their respective milking sheds. Think cowbells when you think Waikato supporters. The fans are "of few words" but they make up for it by battering the oppostion into submission with cowbells. If you don't believe they can, you probably haven't been at a Chiefs game for 90 minutes of cowbells. Dong dong dong dong dong...... DONG! The Chiefs always have a better second half... It's at that point the Chinese torture of the relentless bells starts to take it's toll on the opposition. By the time the poor bastards hit the changing rooms they are near-insane gibbering wrecks.
The Dorkland Blues
There are a few staunch Dorkland fans, and even fewer true supporters. Most of Auckland were less excited about the Blues winning the Super12 (I hate saying that!) for the second time than the Canes supporters were about another bollocks mid table finish. To dispel any confusion, the roar of the fans at Eden Park is in fact the sound of 15,000 guys in navy blue suits shouting loud enough to be heard on their mobile phones. The smell of takeaway latte coffee permeates Eden Park. For these supporters a creche is what happens when your Mercedes collides with another vehicle.
So what the hell is wrong with these guys? Well, the Dorkland camp is split between North Harbour and Auckland, mortal enemies from way back separated by "the bridge". Maybe this division explains the apparent apathy of the fans. Or maybe it doesn't.
