16:00 – The shame has been with me since 2002. Every time I pull out my passport, a tear of guilt forms in my eye. A Kiwi who claims to be an avid sports fan who’s never watched a rugby game in his entire 19 years of existence on this planet? Stop it. Those creatures don’t exist. But alas, I was indeed one of those pitiful beings, trapped in a whirlpool of self-loathing and indignation when it came to rugby.

But no more. As I sit on the comfy sofa in the Regent’s Park college bar, left hand nervously gripping a pint of questionable lager, I draw on all the national pride I have and brace myself for the Rugby World Cup semi-finals match between the mighty All Blacks and the Springboks. Rugby had never appealed to me before – I didn’t know any of the players or any of the rules. But the hiding had to stop and what better way to do it then to support the country that I unconvincingly call ‘home’ through its pursuit of glory? Of course, the chance to drink beer, watch sports and document my experience in the name of Cherwell made the venture a bit more appealing.

16:05 – I’m feeling comfortable, happily nursing my pint and still clueless as ever, when New Zealand concedes its first penalty of the day before I could even sip my beer. The kick is successfully taken by a man who can only be described as a Tony Kroos lookalike who’s been living in the gym since birth. Meanwhile, a bitter English fresher states that he lost interest in the tournament ever since England was disgracefully knocked out of the group stages, whilst the JCR president make an attempt at rugby related chat. No one is surprised or amused.

16:08 – Kaino scores a try for the All Blacks, sporting a very stylish headband. Unenthusiastic murmurs of “Oh hey, he scored” fill the bar. A bunch of big men start hugging on TV. Life is good, apparently.

16:24 – Slow motion replay of a tackle made on NZ’s no. 2 makes me glad that I never picked up the sport in primary school. God bless my childhood chubbiness. Conversation switches to the Premier League, which obviously means a standard check of football scores and fantasy team. Chelsea selling dreams. Vardy scores again. None of this is relevant.

16:28 – The guy with the Go-Pro next to the scrum must not have had any regard for his well-being when deciding on an occupation.

16:39 – Aforementioned reckless individual confirmed to be the ref. In other news, it has room ignores him.

16:42 – Commentator says exactly the opposite of what I said three minutes ago. I’m going to go with what I’m seeing. Screw that guy.

17:07 – Wrongly thinking that halftime is 15 minutes, I miss Carter scoring a drop goal to make it 12-10. Another indication that I know absolutely nothing about this game.

17:14 – Try for the All Blacks as super-sub Barrett dives towards the corner. Despite the fact that I haven’t been back to New Zealand since 2013 and I don’t actually remember the national anthem, patriotic pride is starting to sink in. My jubilation is shared with the ecstatic kiwi crowd on the screen, but not with the slightly confused people around me.

17:28 – All Blacks continue to pile pressure on South Africa. The thought of pressure triggers the sudden realization that I have an essay on twentieth-century American unionization due dangerously soon. Oh well. I love rugby.

17:48 – Five minutes left and it’s actually getting tense. All the players look exhausted, but the All Blacks look like they’ve got more to give than their SA counterparts, playing relentlessly as if they’re the team that’s behind. Commentator suggests that New Zealand’s experience gives them the edge, which would have made sense if the other team has never been to the semi-finals before. But from what I hear, South Africa is a powerhouse. Questionable commentating apparently is universal after all.

17:53 – New Zealand wins the match 20-18. I celebrate with a fist-pump, met with a chorus of “You don’t know anything about rugby.” As if that really matters.

After 113 minutes of confusion and exhilaration, my first experience of rugby concluded. Although my understanding of the game was not enhanced by much, it was nonetheless evident that this match was an immaculate showcase of skill and will. Needless to say, I can’t wait for the second part of my rugby education next week, when the All Blacks hopefully win it all. 

October is not traditionally thought of as a time for the seaside. This October, however, the Oxford University Yacht Club travelled to Le Pouliguen, France to compete in the annual Student Yachting World Cup. Now in its 35th year, this competition is organised by the students of École Polytechnique and features the best teams from teams all around the world. Oxford joined Southampton and Cambridge to represent England against a collection of teams from Europe, America, Asia and Australia.

The first day of racing began in perfect style, bright sunshine and a brisk ten-knot wind welcoming the competitors to the first race. The first set of races made the most of the picturesque bays and inlets which characterise this section of the French coast, with the Swiss team from École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne racing to an early lead.

The Oxford crew featured veteran Oliver Glanville at the helm, Josh Bell on trim, Lulu Wallis on bow and Eric Topham on main and navigation. However, fate conspired against the Dark Blues as technical issues prevented them from racing on the fi rst day whilst Southampton and Cambridge solidified their positions at the head of the pack.

The second day saw even more the good weather, with the wind picking up with gusts up to 17 knots. The Swiss and Southampton crews maintained momentum to take second and third place, while the shock of the day was Cambridge cracking under pressure and finishing second to last. The Canadian team from Dalhousie University also surprised, finishing fourth successively and challenging consistently to break the Swiss/ Southampton hegemony. The final inshore race of the day was fiercely contested, with only four minutes separating first and late place.

The final costal race of the day saw Oxford race into a big lead after a fantastic start, but technical problems once again ate away at the advantage and the crew fell from third place at the half-way stage to a disappointing eighth position by the end.

The weather and the high standards of competition had set up the final day of the competition to be tantalisingly close, with the Southampton and Swiss teams leading the way. With strong winds preventing the usage of larger spinnakers, Canada won the first race after dominating from beginning to end. Southampton and the Swiss continued their competition even till the final stretch of the final race, regularly swapping between first and second. Though Southampton would clinch the race, the consistent excellence of the Swiss saw them gain the world title.

Oxford finished in eighth place, a slightly disappointing result, but entirely respectable given the high standards of the international competition. Battling against the best yachtsmen and women from around the world, as well as technical issues and inclement weather, fairer winds await OUYC. 

It’s happening again. It’s the 89th minute, and Paul Caddis has just slotted home what will likely be the winning goal. The whole ground erupts, and my dad runs towards the nearest Nottingham Forest fans. He leaps down three flights of stairs to celebrate in front of them, leaking f-bombs and lager before he’s dragged back to his seat by a team of hi-vis jackets. Not that I was embarrassed. No, I was shouting him on, virtually baying for blood. Those same away fans had had the audacity to turn around and celebrate when their team equalized just five minutes before, and this felt like justice.

You see, my family is infected, and has been for over a century. We are doomed to have our happiness decided by the fortunes of Birmingham City Football Club. My day is made significantly better, or significantly worse, by how they get on. There’s no reason for it, and I know as well as anyone how insane it is. I’ve tried to rationalize it before, to tell myself that it’s just a sport that should have no ramifications for how my life goes as a whole. But it’s no good; I have the bug. When I see we’ve lost, the bottom comes out from my stomach and despair trails me for the day. If the game is a big one, I sometimes feel it for days, like a persistent hangover or chesty cough that digs in and makes routine tasks a little harder.

In everyday life, my dad is an upstanding member of the community. He pays his taxes, waves to the postman and has never been in any serious trouble with the law. He’s a respected professional who’s reflective, rational and politically engaged. Yet here he was virtually attacking a stranger because his football team had scored a goal. It wouldn’t be the first, or indeed the last time. Just a year before, he’d celebrated Nikola Žigic’s winner literally in the face of a giant Villa fan, and would have had ten years knocked off him were it not the timely intervention of a few bystanders.

My uncle too, once had to write an apology note to former British tennis No. 2 Greg Rudeski, after he calling him a “traitorous cunt” in a pub in London when he celebrated a goal against England. He’s a retired civil servant, and now teaches guitar to children. I wonder if all the friends I made in my first weeks at uni would have still talked to me if they knew that in just ten months time I’d be sitting outside the JCR crying into my Beckham shirt as Luis Suarez sent England out of the World Cup. They certainly wouldn’t have guessed that someone who is usually introspective and left wing would get caught up in something so close to nationalist fervour.

For the layman, such passion about football can be perplexing. Among enlightened circles it is often seen as vulgar and crass. It is true that people in the frenzy of football have committed terrible crimes. Where such strong passions swirl, the wrong people easily harness them. For me now, it’s inescapable. I watch not because I find it interesting or enjoyable, but because I have a deep emotional investment. When I see a player on my team get sent off for the wrong reason, I’m not just annoyed because it goes against the rules of the game. I feel a genuine, intense sense of injustice. It’s the kind of feeling that makes my dad launch himself down the terraces at complete strangers, and my uncle verbally assault a tennis player. It’s never rational and often embarrassing.

Given the choice however, I could never sink back into the ranks of the casual spectator. There are some people that watch football for the spectacle, enjoying the wonder goals and great players. They can talk at length about who they think will win the league, or whether Messi is better than Ronaldo. But they’ll never feel real, seething anger at either. They’ll never be nine years old fi ghting back tears as Ronaldo gives his famous wink to the touchline, and for that reason they’ll always be missing something

Whether it is on-field success or strong social showings, Oxford football has consistently proven itself to be one of the university’s premier sports clubs. This year, more than ever, the Women’s Blues and Furies are at the heart of its success. Competing in the BUCS league and cup, the women’s teams boast burgeoning memberships, impressive results and exciting longterm prospects. Whilst this year’s campaign is in its infancy, an impressive 6-0 triumph away at the University of Derby has only served to heighten the Blues’ early season excitement. Braces from Colleen Lopez and captain Caroline Ward confirmed an emphatic response to a season-opening defeat to Nottingham Trent the previous week. Helen Bridgman and Christina Gough were also on the score sheet to ensure Trent’s last-minute winner was all but forgotten.

The women’s second team, the Furies, took on Staffordshire University (Stoke) on Wednesday 21st October. It was a physical encounter in which the Furies emerged triumphant, strikers Mary Hintze and Habiba Daggash peppering the Stoke goal line throughout the game. Hintze took the first goal, receiving a pinpoint-accurate cross from Lucy Balasz. The right winger Balasz followed up with another strike, with a third and fourth soon following for the Furies. A second half come back from Stoke, left the final score at 4-1 to the Dark Blues.

With rapidly improving team chemistry and a string of talented individuals, a repeat of the 2013/14 promotion winning season is certainly high on the agenda. Emulating last season’s three- and five-goal thrashings of the club’s Light Blue contemporaries is an equally important aspiration. For the Furies, last term’s victories over Brookes and BCU are this year’s benchmark for success.

At college level, the women’s football set-up is equally impressive; a four-division collegiate league system and a fiercely fought out Cuppers competition is testament to that. Whilst the campaign proper has yet to begin, last year’s champions Worcester will be hoping to mount another serious title challenge.

Mili Malde, this year’s incoming captain for Wadham/Green Templeton Women’s, knows the strains and stresses of a new season better than most. Wadham/Green Templeton had a tough season last year, finishing second last in the Women’s 2nd Division with three points. Though losing captain and goalkeeping inspiration Diana Greenwald to an American PhD programme, Malde is hopeful that the surge in interest at the college freshers fair will translate into a crop of eager new players. “I’ve seen so many talented new players its difficult to know where to start, but fresher Louise Nolan, and a second year, Lea Kambskarð-Bennett have particularly caught the eye.”

The influx of new players and rise in participation in women’s football as a whole, ensures this season will be the most exciting yet.