Purely from a socialising perspective, the Hong Kong Rugby Sevens weekend is THE weekend in Hong Kong. Full stop. In this town of habitual excess, there is still simply no comparable weekend for complete and utter letting your hair down. Lasting Friday afternoon through to Sunday evening, the territory recently hosted the 30th annual Hong Kong Sevens tournament, the largest and most prestigious rugby seven-a-side tournament in the world. Although many of the top players no longer grace the occasion, rugby lovers from everywhere descend on what is still a great festival of rugby. And although the crowd had a fairly heavy Western hue to it, teams and fan bases from Hong Kong, China, Singapore, Japan, Korea and Chinese Taipei (aka Taiwan for those less politically sensitive) showed that it is very much a regional affair. (In fact, one of the encouraging points was how many of the Hong Kong and Singaporean squads were of Chinese extraction rather than solely expat).
This year I went into the weekend as a one-year veteran hoping to make sure that I ironed out some of the schoolboy errors of my first visit: 1) a jug of Carlsberg and bucket of KFC are not designed for 9.30am on a Saturday morning; 2) Just because someone has a jug of Pimms in front of them it doesn't mean they will drink the contents - apparently you are allowed to throw it over the crowd; 3) Take Monday off.
Although hundreds, probably thousands, made the journey from Europe to champion their teams, you were as likely to meet British, French and Australian expats flying in from Dubai, Taiwan, Bangkok, Singapore and Shanghai - clearly a big weekend away for those based elsewhere in the region and a social fulcrum for expat Asia which exaggerates the "it's a small world" scenario. Last year I bumped into a girl I used to work with in London now living in Singapore; this year I ran into old acquaintances now based in Taipei, Shanghai and Singapore.
From work on the Friday we headed to the infamous South Stand at Hong Kong stadium, the only stand in which you are allowed to drink and with a party-central reputation; where the more outrageous behaviour is expected and encouraged, usually on Saturday and Sunday. Friday traditionally is the night for rugby connoisseurs, where the sparse crowd goes to watch the rugby and drink leisurely. This year Friday's South Stand was already heaving and in party mood when we arrived, a huge surprise. Maybe there's some truth to the theory a mate of mine had about why the stadium was so packed on that first night. In the last 10 years Hong Kong has gone through some pretty difficult times, everything from SARS and economic slowdown to property price meltdown and a post-colonial identity crisis. Now, Hong Kong, and Asia in general, is buzzing. The explosive growth happening in China has huge ramifications for Hong Kong and the region. Everyone is possibly a little happier with a bit more money in their pocket than a few years back. Who knows, maybe the South Stand can prove to be a better gauge for economists looking at trends than hemlines or hair length.
Anyway, this year I paced my Friday night far better than last year so that Saturday morning 9am I was ready to rumble. One quirk in the Hong Kong party personality is the town's fascination with fancy dress. I've never known so many occasions and events that have warranted diving into the nearest second-hand shop to buy clothes that had been discarded for a very good reason. After last year's well-received effort as Baron Samedi from `Live and Let Die', I kept it fairly simple this time. Pimp. Well, it was an easy card to play but still worked. The shades, the hat, the matching coat, the bling, the mock snake skin trousers, the strut, an audience to play to. And if I do say so myself I looked, well, too realistic...The South Stand was already in party mood on arrival. Jugs of Heineken and Pimms were already being downed, as the punks, penguins, polar bears, Pink Ladies and Top Gun pilots, in a sea of colour, jostled for attention on the big screens as the TV cameras panned around for the best costumes and blonde girls. I found myself with a few photo opportunities - me and the little Chinese kid, me with two fellas from Surrey, me with Captain America. And as you slowly drank through the day, eating meat pies and such, you'd drift round looking for your friends, but really wanting to show your costume off to the crowd: "Hey Shaft" (No, Shaft didn't wear this much gold, wear a big purple hat and he always wore a black leather jacket. But you've got the era, genre and colour right so it's somewhere on the same page). "Hey, where are your bitches?" (Well, I suppose I asked for that but none of my female friends wanted to walk around with me - can't think why."). The whole dressing up bit is all slightly odd but can be very entertaining, in a self-serving exhibitionist way.
And of course there was rugby going on as well, though at times the collective South Stand was a sea of bodies standing, dancing, singing away and doing the Mexican wave, and forgetting rugby was on the menu. But when the hoard did focus on the rugby they did so with the sense of whom to cheer and whom to boo. Everyone loves the minnows - Kenya, Madagascar and Sri Lanka were warmly received. And of course everyone must cheer Hong Kong. But it must be quite disconcerting when you run onto the pitch for the very first time as an American player or, even worse, as an Australian to be ritualistically booed by everyone (well, everyone who isn't American or Australian). And on a number of occasions a chorus would request that we "Stand up if you hate the French." Naturally, there was also the anti-English banter to match, and a group of Australians in orange prisoner jumpsuits stood up and turned their backs on any match that England was playing in - `Anyone But England' was the adage. But it's not often in sport that you can throw together fans in the same stand with such a concoction of national rivalries, alcohol and burning sun without playful banter turning into a fisty cuffs.
After a day's hard singing, drinking, chatting and a bit of rugby watching as well, Saturday night was more full-on partying all around town while still in costume, meeting all sorts of characters from all sorts of places. Because of this, Sunday saw a more leisurely and later journey into the stadium. On the way I saw people around town oblivious to the nonsense, couched in the real world. Unfortunately, at times it's easy to forget where you are. I finally arrived about three in the afternoon, out of costume and geared up for the final matches of the tournament but with a South Stand already sozzled - a whole weekend of excess just coming to the boil in the bubble environment. But I was there for the rugby and the final between England and Fiji, the top two seeds, didn't disappoint the 50,000 capacity crowd. Fiji pegged back England to lead with seconds to go. But as in all good fairy tales England scored a last second converted try to steal it 26-24. An incredible match to cap an incredible weekend of partying.
And whilst the collective Australian groan was audible, it wasn't totally over yet. It was time for England fans to celebrate. Fuelled by a weekend of overindulgence, several of the more daring thought the victory deserved a pitch invasion, and one by one climbed over the barrier to run on, fists pumping the air and knees pumping even harder as security guards converged to tackle them. However, when one particular invader was caught, a portion of the crowd didn't warm to the manner of his capture and started what a first was a trickle and then a shower of empty jugs being thrown down onto the police and security at the front. It was all a bit silly and a little out of control. But to be honest it wasn't as if seat covers were being torn up, or coins or fireworks being thrown. Even the hooligan element had a degree of civility. And then came the streaker - 40-50 something-year old, probably manages millions of pounds worth of investors' money and sends his kids to an expensive school somewhere in the world. But there he was outrunning the security guards naked - almost acceptable in this surreal environment (aside from the fact that it's not especially acceptable in any environment). In a way it was like everyone forgot themselves and where we are - not only in Asia but in essence China. It was like being back in market town middle England, only in sunshine, with smiling faces and without the rough edges. Roll on next year.
