I went to my first "footy" last night (football in New Zealand is rugby — soccer is called soccer). I was going to watch the "Friday night footy on the tellie", but fellow scribbler Steve McMorran got me a media pass.

We were in the press box for a while, then went to the VIP lounge for a nice buffet and some of the best seats in the house. It was a Tri-Series Rugby League test match between New Zealand and Great Britain, the winner advancing to the final against Australia on Friday, 5 Nov. (Not to be confused with the Rugby World Cup the All Blacks just bombed out of.)

There was a women's match between New Zealand and Australia preceeding the men's game. Those gals were rough, rougher than the men. One of the rugby writers said, "All the beer in the world wouldn't get me on that field."

I did almost cause an international incident, however. As Steve and I were waiting for the elevator to take us up to the press box, an older gent walked up with some guests and spoke with the security guard. He explained that even though the handwriting on the VIP guest passes looked suspect, it was his and genuine. He just had poor handwriting. I figured he was a PR type or the father of one of the players.

We all climbed on the elevator and rode up together. I was standing next to this older gent and, just trying to be friendly, said, "I reckon you'll be working on your handwriting, eh?" He looked at me and half-smiled and replied, "Yeah, I reckon I will."

Steve just looked at me without saying anything — until we were off the elevator and alone. "That was Selwyn Pearson, the chairman of the ARL (Auckland Rugby League), you just spoke to."

"The one I just insulted by suggesting that he work on his handwriting?"

"Yep," Steve replied with a wicked grin.

That took the wind out of me. What an idiot! I'm in a foreign country, making sarcastic remarks to a complete stranger in an elevator. What was I thinking? And I hadn't even had one beer yet. Nor was I about to get any, since I also quickly learned that Selwyn controlled access to the VIP area where the buffet and bar were located.

I truly felt the fool. I worried about it while watching the women's match. I figured I'd better go apologize before he not only deprived me of the buffet and beer, but pulled my pass and booted this ugly American from the stadium.

So, Steve and I left the press box and went to the VIP area. Selwyn was seated with several of his guests, and lots of people were saying hello to him and shaking his hand. He was obviously a VERY IMPORTANT PERSON.

I went up to him and said, "Hi, remember me? The dumb American who made the snide remark to you about your handwriting in the elevator? I'm really sorry if offended you. It was rude of me."

He just laughed, shook my hand, and said, "No worries, mate. I wasn't offended. In fact, you're right. I do need to work on my handwriting." He then explained that he was born left-handed — so we at least had that in common — but in school he had had his knuckles rapped and was forced to write with his right hand.

"I can write equally well with either hand now — both are equally bad," he joked. It was obviously a story he delighted in telling and actually took some pride in. "But now that this American bloke has come along and chastised me, I think I will practice my handwriting."

So, we had a good laugh, had our picture taken together, and were on a first-name basis. He let me keep my pass — and have that complimentary beer.

Steve and I also went to the press conference after the game, but I didn't understand half of what was said — English spoken in a variety of accents, from Kiwi to Aussie to northern England. I did, however, recognize that the big, burly, bearded bloke was from northern England, thanks to watching the British mystery movies. That kept me from making an even more heinous international faux pas — asking him what part of Australia he was from.