This week’s word is in honour of my favourite sports team, and the favourite of so many of my compatriots. I’m talking of course about the All Blacks, New Zealand’s national rugby team, who have just played their first game of the 2023 Rugby World Cup, the less said about which, the better.
Black has its origins in the PIE bhleg, “to burn, gleam, shine or flash”. That word led to the Latin flagrare, “to blaze, glow or burn”, which gives us the modern flagrant, as in a flagrant forward pass that Mr Magoo could have spotted through an Antarctic blizzard, but the ref and his two assistants didn’t, thereby robbing the All Blacks of a quarter final win at the 2007 Rugby World Cup, not that I’m still bitter or anything sixteen long years and two Rugby World Cup titles later.
You might think it odd that black should have its source in a word that contains so much reference to light. But what you and I think of as black today may be different to what our ancestors had in mind. For example, when the Greek philosopher Xenophanes (c. 570 – c. 475 BC) described Ethiopians as “flat nosed and black”, he was referring to people from a land whose name translates as “land of the burnt face people”. That could mean anything from red to brown to black and it could also suggest a face that had glowing quality to it.
Likewise, the Oxford English Dictionary reckons it is often hard to be sure whether the Middle English blac and its variants meant ‘dark’ or ‘pale’ (as in colourless).
If that sounds wishy-washy to you, consider that we play fast and loose with skin colour today. Witness this exchange from Cry Freedom, the 1987 biopic of South African activist Steve Biko:
Judge: Why do you people call yourselves black? You look more brown than black.
Biko: Why do you call yourselves white? You look more pink than white.
The first black coffee (actually more brown than black) was poured – or at least written about being poured – in 1796, and accountants began talking about “being in the black” in 1922. “In the red” didn’t follow for another four years, though one imagines its use took off after the Wall Street Crash of 1929 which preceded the Great Depression. Ironically, an alternative name for that event was Black Tuesday.
But back to the All Blacks. One of my early memories is of watching grainy black and white delayed footage of their games during the 1967 tour of Britain and being filled with righteous indignation at the unwarranted sending off of the greatest hero of them all – Colin Earl Meads – during the match against Scotland.
Meads was your alpha New Zealand male of the time. Beetle browed, taciturn, never one to take a step back, and able to play on with a broken arm, he embodied all that was good about New Zealand - and, sadly, much of what wasn’t. Turns out that being taciturn isn’t such a great quality for blokes after all, though it took our country a decade or two after Meads’ heyday to wake up to this. After his playing days were over, Meads began giving back. He became chairman of his provincial rugby union and gave generously to causes relating to intellectual disabilities. He also took a rebel rugby team to South Africa in 1986, tarnishing both his own reputation and his country’s in the process. My adult view of the man is that while his judgement may have been flawed, he was still worthy of admiration. Boyhood heroes die hard, I guess.
Three years after the 1967 tour, I was up with my Dad at 3am on four cold winter mornings, listening over the radio to the All Blacks getting beaten in South Africa, a tour in which the thuggish Frik du Preez knocked out New Zealand halfback Chris Laidlaw with a brutal punch, before karma visited one test match later when New Zealand fullback Fergie McCormick knocked out a few of Springbok Syd Nomis’s teeth in what was obviously a freak accident.
Those were different times, that’s for sure. Neither du Preez nor McCormick received any punishment for actions that today would see them handed lengthy bans. When Nomis was felled, the referee - who also happened to be a dentist - straightened out his teeth on the spot. In the following test match, the Springboks targeted McCormick by having Nomis put up a high kick in his direction, whereupon three of the South African forwards hit him simultaneously. Later in the game, McCormick and Nomis came to blows, with Nomis getting the better of it before the referee stopped them. After the game, the referee asked Nomis, “did I give you enough time?” This was before neutral referees were appointed for test matches; back then, the host nation would supply the referees, which often led to accusations of bias, if not blatant favouritism.
Fifty-odd years on, I’m still in love with the wild mix of brutality, athleticism, speed, grace and cunning embodied in rugby. And if Ian Foster and the boys don’t mind me asking, can we please have a bit more of those things in your six (yes, six) remaining games of this World Cup?
Next week's word: one-eyed.
Bits and specious
If today’s newsletter seems familiar, you’re right. It’s an updated version of one published in 2018.
The evisceration of storytelling.
Things you never knew about the typewriter.
Quote of the week
I don’t know how he can tackle like that and still call himself a Christian.
Reputedly said by South African rugby captain of All Black flanker Michael Jones.