It makes for tricky stuff as far as a sports column goes - there being so little sport to write about; and the issues of importance associated with it all having so little to do with sport itself.

What to do in this void?

The editor said "just tell a story".

So here we go, an old footy story about a true sporting oddity. I'll call it, "The Day a Referee Reversed His Decision".

A far-fetched title, I know, but I swear, it did happen. I was there.

It was 1974 and I'd been selected to captain NSW Country for a three match tour of New Zealand against the Kiwi rep sides.

We'd won our first match in Christchurch and were now in Wellington for the follow-up.

They call it "Windy Wellington". They are not being clever with that. It's bloody windy, and on this day it was even windier than usual. Cold too, absolutely freezing.

In a futile attempt to keep my head warm I'd bought a balaclava which wasn't really helping and so I auctioned it on the bus for a not inconsiderable sum on the way to the game.

We were playing at Wellington's famous Basin Reserve, known predominantly for its prestigious hosting of cricket test matches. This was not cricket season.

If you put "windy" and "basin" together you'll begin to get some idea as to the conditions. It was howling through there. Plus - it was a night match. And it was wet!

I've never been so cold in my life. There were only ever two occasions in my playing career where I wore a T-shirt under my football jumper. This was one of them.

I'd discussed tactics with our coach, the great Arthur Summons, and decided that if we won the toss we'd go with the icy gale-force wind in the first half, get "comfortably" in front and then just keep them out in the second.

We won the toss, off we went and those great plans, as they do, went awry. We got to half-time barely leading 12-10. It had been tough going. The opposition were predominantly Maori - huge, strong and set to that one gear: flat-out.

But, still, we were a great side. We had my room-mate Les Drew, we had Mick Cronin, Alan McMahon, Johnny Greaves and, in the front row my fellow Maitlander Jim Morgan.

Jim Morgan, from playing in the Maitland juniors, had gone on to play for NSW eight times, to play four tests for Australia and, a little later, was a member of the last ever Country side to beat City, in 1975.

On this day in Wellington, he'd been instrumental in us, somehow, being still ahead of the Kiwis deep into the second half and with the finishing line in sight.

And so, when he came up to me, with 10 minutes to go, and said, "I'm out of here. There's no way I'm having a cold shower," I had no idea what was going on.

(I learned later that there'd been rumours, not without substance it turned out, of hot water issues in the dressing sheds and Jim wasn't going to risk it).

On the next play, without any attempt to disguise it or make it look like anything other than it was, Morgan simply punched his opposing prop, Johnny Greengrass, in the head.

"You're off!" screamed the ref.

"Fair enough," said Morgan and he headed for the sheds.

"Hang on," I said. I grabbed Jim and dragged him back to the ref who was standing with Greengrass.

"Sir," I said. "These blokes are both internationals.They're what the crowd have come to see. And look," I pointed to Jimmy Morgan's eye which had a cut underneath it.

"He's just getting square," I said. "There'll be no trouble from here."

To my complete astonishment the ref said, "righto then number seven, he can stay on, but he's in your charge".

To Jimmy Morgan he said, "Consider this a warning then thirteen."

Morgan said to me, "You bastard."

And the game continued, with everybody on the field. A refereeing reversal. I'd never seen one before and never have since. Strange days.

And for the record we held on and won.