When it was proposed that the Jindabyne and Clermont Bushpigs clash in a “Bushpig Origin”, all agreed it was a bloody great idea. HIS IS HOW they should sort out wars. Israelis and Palestinians, for example, should gather on a pitch on the Gaza Strip and play a game of rugby. Their supporters should sit among each other and drink beer (the non-alcoholic local brew Taybeh Golden Draught would seem a logical choice), cheer on their players, applaud the other mob and heckle the referee. Then they should head back to the clubhouse and thank each other for the game, knock over a few more Taybehs (not mentioning the beer’s slogan “Drink Palestinian — taste the revolution”) and swap mementos and yarns and tears without tear gas. Then some of them could, if it is their wont, hug and perhaps even kiss. And there you go: peace in the Middle East.

Geoff Hurrey isn’t thinking of war or peace or (the horror) non-alcoholic beer as he sits upon his tractor outside Clermont (population 2500), a central Queensland town three hours west of Mackay and as far from Gaza as Earth is to the Imperial Death Star. Hurrey, a wiry 54-year-old (who, decked out in monk robes, wouldn’t be laughed out of an Obi Wan Kenobi competition), is interrupted in his endeavours by a call from a man he doesn’t know.

“You don’t know me,” says the man before going on to speak of snow and rugby and helicopters and bushpigs. Like our rugby-driven Middle East peace process, it sounds fanciful, yet Hurrey is intrigued. A rugby player since he pulled on a boot in 1968, Hurrey is the tighthead prop for the Clermont Bushpigs rugby club. The more the man on the other end of the line speaks, the more Hurrey nods along. By the end the pair agrees: it’s a bloody great idea. They resolve to speak of this important matter again.

A few weeks previously in the Snowy Mountains, the man on the phone, Jindabyne Bushpigs coach Peter Abbott, is propping up the bar with pals in the Lake Jindabyne Hotel when he broaches the idea of the local rugby team taking on the Bushpigs of Queensland. In the way of these things, the more the beer flows and the more they kick it about, the more they too agree – it is a bloody great idea.

They’re further delighted to discover that the Bushpigs of Clermont are 25 years old; the Bushpigs of Jindabyne are 25 years old. Clermont won the premiership in 2008; Jindabyne won the premiership in 2008. Both clubs regularly travel four hours for games. And both clubs share players with local rugby league sides called Bears. This just has to be. And thus is born “Bushpig Origin”. New South Wales vs Queensland. Pig vs Pig. They don’t call it the Boar War, but they should.

Fast forward several months and Inside Sport is on the sideline of Jindabyne Oval, the highest rugby ground in the land. The Clermont players and supporters emerge from their mini-bus dressed in bush-rugby chic: caps and ties, Blundstone boots, RM Williams pants. The girls have ribbons in their hair, upturned collars and sleeveless jackets. The locals are an eclectic mix of racoon-tanned ski folk and farm types, some wildhaired and nipple-ringed, others in battered bush hats and fl annelette shirts. Kids and dogs do what they like as mums drink thermos tea or wine from plastic. Beer sales are healthy – and the lads behind the jump are their own biggest customers.

The Jindabyne women’s team, the Miss Piggies (who opted for partying over playing their own game), are in similarly ebullient mood and decked out in fauxcheerleader gear with bobbysocks and pompoms – as far from your American college girls as Kasey Chambers is to Miss Minneapolis.

1 | 2 | Next  >>