Vive le Pumas! Hello or Hola and welcome to El Sprayo as we say in Argentina.

Argentino a ganar Rugby Mundo Taza. Which translates to "Argentina to win Bill also known as the Rugby World Cup". Either that or "would you like to ring my bell, baby?"

Ever since I invested $2 in the office sweep, I’ve have a whole new interest in rugby and the World Cup in France. Last Friday I retrieved the Daily’s Cup Guide from the bin to see where my team, Argentina, stood in the state of play.

It seemed they’d belly flopped into the Pool of Death with France and some tricky Leprechauns capable of anything. I quickly rebinned my passing interest, alongside the Broncos' chances of once again deflating the egos of the Melbourne Storm.

Then last Saturday I awoke to the astounding news that the Pumas were leading the Frenchies 17-9 at half-time. That’s when I started turning Argentinean, I really think so.

I broke into a rousing chorus of "Al gran pueblo Argentino, salud! Sean eternos los laureles, que supimos cons conseguir, que supimos conseguir. Coronados de gloria vivamos...o juremos con gloria morir!"
In Ingles, my new national anthem goes something like: "We salute the great people of Argentina. May the laurels be eternal, that we knew how to win, that we knew how to win. Let us live crowned with glory or swear to die gloriously!"

My eight-year-old son, Ben, was not impressed when, after the Pumas upset win and the 33-3 thumping of rugby world power Georgia, I made Argentina adoration mandatory in our household. For some reason he loves all things German, and, along with his sister Hollie, at first refused to wear the ponchos and fetching Zorro hats.

“What’s the matter, don’t you want to look like Grouchos,” I said.

“That’s Gauchos, Dad.”

“Whatever….I mean those cool cowboys who round up cattle so people can eat all the Big Macs they want.”

Telling him Germans have never heard of rugby, made things worse. But he was interested to know that the kind Argentineans had taken in a whole bunch of German refugees after WWII. I didn’t tell him they were mostly Nazi butchers.

What swung him to the cause was offering to share the $20 winning office pool with him when the Pumas go all the way and defeat Namibia in the final.

On the early form, with Australia scraping past Japan 91-3 and the Kiwis struggling against Italy 76-14, I can’t see anyone else threatening.

My dilemma for the rest of the Cup is, which Argentinean beer to drink? Iguana or Quilmes? I’m not too fussed on “mates”, which in Argentina are not some bludgers who drain your beer fridge, but the national beverage. Which unfortunately is tea. I think I’ll be flat out like a lizard drinking Iguanas as the Pumas pummel all comers.

As for the host nation, I think team captain Raphael Ibanez and coach Bernard Laporte are French toast. The hairs on the back of their necks must be prickling as they are in for the chop in a land that invented the guillotine.
Perhaps they may be able to stow away in a rusting old U-boat headed for Buenos Aires - after their service to Argentina they’ll be national heroes there.

You may be interested to know what I’m going to do with my share of the winnings. I’ll use it for the deed poll fee when I change my son’s name to Augustin, Felipe, Patricio, Rimas, Marcos, Carlos, Juan, Omar, Mario, Gonzalo, Esteban, Lucas, Rodrigo, Alberto, Manuel, Ignacio, Nicolas, Horacio, Jose, Federico Gardiner in honour of my new footy heroes. Just don’t tell his mother until the deed is done.