The 33 have been named.  

Last night in Upper Hutt the athletes charged with winning the World Cup were announced.   

33 wāhine from across our fine motu were named as the Black Ferns to carry on New Zealand’s outstanding record at the Women’s Rugby World Cup.  

There were disappointments, notably the omission of one of the stars of the last tournament, the irrepressible Ruby Tui. I’m told Ruby was celebrating the loudest, cheering on the women picked, not sulking over her non selection. This says a lot to me about the sisterhood, the whanau, the strong bond between these women.   

And they’ll need it. Back in the halcyon days, the Ferns were the gold standard. They dominated the game, winning six titles. The first two world tournaments, won by the USA and England, didn’t have official recognition from the IRB (now World Rugby), but they have since been retrospectively given official status.  

In 1998 the Ferns became champions of the world. 

They have only been beaten once in the comp since then, and that was at the hands of England in 2014.  

Last time out they shook up the world at home, riding their luck past France in the semi then beating the English in a pulsating final at a chocka Eden Park.  

Joanah Ngan Woo was the hero that day, swiping a line out ball on her own line to stop the English surge in its tracks.  

An astonishing end to a spectacular tournament. The energy in the stadium was like nothing I have experienced in a big international rugby fixture. The testosterone that dominates All Black matches, the collective fear of defeat, the barely contained masculine rage didn’t exist. It was pure joy. It was a rugby crowd as it should be.   

Let's hope that continues in England as New Zealand strut their stuff and win again.   

Not defend their title, win it all over again.