Does it matter how you acquire medals and trophies? Is it the destination or the journey that makes these objects valuable?
The reason for asking these philosophical questions about the meaning of life and sport is that a friend and former team-mate, Rochelle Martin (aka Roach), recently posted on Facebook that someone broke into her house and stole a range of Black Ferns items she earned during her 32 tests for New Zealand.
Rochelle was a likeable character in women's rugby. Everyone loved and admired her as a player and person. She always gave 100%, and had high expectations of herself and her team, leading by example and letting her actions speak of her conviction. She continues to do the same as a firefighter and mother.
What would thieves want with half the stuff they stole, which includes one gold medal, about 30 Black Fern jerseys, a bone carving given to players to acknowledge the achievement of 10 tests, a pounamu pendant to acknowledge 20 tests and an engraved pen to recognise 30 tests in the black jersey?
Were they magpies attracted to the shiny gold-plating on the medal or did they inadvertently take it and other items in a mad rush to grab and go before getting caught by the super-fit firefighter and demon tackler?
Surely these keepsakes have no street value. If they realised the plunder had no worth, did they just dump it somewhere in Auckland without a second thought?
Which is worse, knowing that these items are circulating in the stolen goods network, or wondering if jerseys, medals and pendants are discarded in a rubbish bin somewhere, never to see the light of day?
Medals, jerseys and acknowledgements of milestones achieved in sport represent the hard slog and sacrifices we make to achieve personal and collective goals.
In and of themselves they very rarely have monetary value. It is their symbolic significance that makes them priceless and irreplaceable.
I experienced a similar feeling of emptiness that Roach must be feeling when my home got broken into a few years ago.
They took clothes, appliances, photos, electronic gadgets and, believe it or not, toiletries from the medicine cabinet. Nothing was sacred.
Most of what they took could be replaced, but not the Black Fern test jersey they had stolen and not the Maori All Blacks jersey I had traded for with Corey Flynn. These items were precious to me.
After putting the story out through the media, nothing happened for ages. But then, five months later, a nondescript plastic bag of clothing was left for me at the Manawatu Rugby Union with nothing but a note attached saying, ''Sorry Ms Palmer, this was all I could get''.
Inside were the clothing items taken from my house, among them my precious Black Ferns test jersey. I cannot remember which of the 35 test jerseys it was, but they are all meaningful to me and bring a huge sense of pride.
The small gesture of returning the Black Ferns jersey and other clothing items also gave me back some faith in humankind. Who was this good Samaritan? Were they the culprits who originally stole it from me and had an attack of the guilts, or were they a friend or family member who saw the story and convinced the thieves to do the right thing?
Unfortunately, the thieves could not be convinced to give back the Maori All Black jersey so they may have felt that had more value to them personally and was not as conspicuous to wear on the streets of Palmerston North as a women's test jersey.
Ultimately, the women's rugby jersey had no value to them but it had (and still does have) a lot of value to me.
Anyone who has had something stolen from them will agree. One person's trash is another person's treasure.
You will spot Rochelle's treasures a mile away. The jerseys will have ''Black Ferns'' embossed on them and you cannot buy them in the shops. The pendants are shaped like rugby balls with a koru design in the middle, the medal is gold plated and will have an image of a maple leaf or woman playing rugby on it, and the pen will have Rochelle's name and ''30 tests'' engraved on it.
Who knows, maybe these items will make it all the way to Otago. For Rochelle Martin's sake, perhaps there is a decent citizen out there who will return her rugby treasures to their rightful owner.
