Tonight amongst the masses, I'm sit watching history define a path.
The All Blacks and France are playing the Rugby World Cup final and four or five minutes ago Craig Joubert called half time.
Knowing close to 500 million people are watching this very match, I'm privileged to be sitting amongst the masses at Eden Park as they bay for an All Black victory.
I can smell the hotdogs. I can press through the queues. I can read tension and anxiety stretched across the faces of colleagues and strangers alike.
Everyone here watches every moment of play.
There are no Mexican waves, no bands blasting through the stands, no queues for takeaways or beer.
The policemen on duty along the winding concrete concourse gaze unashamedly from their perch, wincing and perking as play dictates.
Every few minutes, that chant "All Blacks, duh duh duh" is slapped and stamped by thousands upon the plastic back seats.
People arrived here early. Much earlier than in previous weeks, thousands were at the gates before they'd opened.
It was a watched-pot-never-boils situation. They milled and cheered and gorged, vainly staving anxiety and restlessness. Of course everyone is supporting someone.
And everyone is loud.
There are Wallabies jerseys, Springbok jerseys, English jerseys and ubiquitous black. The French though are by far the most organised supporters they sing together and create far catchier chants.
Before the game even started I saw a little girl sitting by halfway, maybe four or five years old, with black facepaint and an All Blacks jersey.
She held her dad's hand, all the while gently mouthing the words "Allez les Bleu, Allez les Bleu".
There's a minute of halftime left. People are rushing, scattering back to their seats. No-one is smiling, it is too close for that yet.
Here's hoping.
