Today is the first day of the NFL season. 

Not that I care. I could dedicate pages of text to the reasons why I have no respect for the game and why the elevated status of this sport above the Parthenon of varsity sports causes me pain. 

But listening to NPR this morning reminded me of one of my minor charges against the sport: no dancing is allowed. These days, players who decide to engage in a end-zone dance (or "happy dance" as the NPR host described it) can result in fine of $10,000 to $15,000 against an exuberant cabbage patch, butterfly, robot, or funky chicken royale.

You can just hear the old guard now: "Dammit! Dancing is for scantily-clad cheerleaders - not real men."

These folks should watch a game of rugby in which the New Zealand All Blacks play. Before each game, the two teams face each other on the field. The member of the All-Blacks then leads his team in the Haka, a tradition Maori war-dance. 

Ringa pakia
Uma tiraha
Turi whatia
Hope whai ake
Waewae takahia kia kino

Ka Mate! Ka Mate!
Ka Ora! Ka Ora!
Tenei te ta ngata puhuru huru
Nana nei i tiki mai
Whakawhiti te ra
A upane ka upane!
A upane kaupane whiti te ra!
Hi!!

It's a very aggressive dance. There is much puffing of chests, stomping of feet and shouting, and the lyrics... well, they translate to this:

Slap the hands against the thighs
Puff out the chest
Bend the knees
Let the hip follow
Stamp the feet as hard as you can.

It is death! It is death!
It is life! It is life!
This is the hairy person
Who caused the sun to shine
Keep abreast! Keep abreast
The rank! Hold fast!
Into the sun that shines!

It's one of the reasons I prefer rugby to football.