Alex Casey dons a hard hat and high vis to snoop around the biggest and most controversial new building in Ōtautahi.
I know I’m not the only one who feels absurdly moved by the spectacle of One NZ stadium at Te Kaha. Drive anywhere in the Christchurch CBD and you’ll see its white skeleton peeking around every corner. Head up the Port Hills and it’s plonked on the flat landscape like a giant roomba. Walk directly under it and be humbled by the scale, the optimism, the strength and resilience and all those other sappy buzzwords that I’m sure locals are really sick of hearing by now.
Replacing the quake-damaged Lancaster Park, the $683 million stadium has been under construction in central Christchurch for the last three years. Boasting a fully covered roof, 32 food and drink vendors and a maximum capacity of 37,300, the stadium is a monumental part of the city’s revitalisation. It is also not without controversy, with a budget increase of $150 million and a litany of locals decrying the “ridiculous” CBD location on every social media post.
Yesterday, media were invited inside the stadium to mark one year out from opening day. Donning high vis and hard hats (“no high heels” we were told in our safety briefing), we were ushered past pie-eating tradies and 500ml cans of V, through the Rainbows End turnstiles and onto a construction site that would make Peter Wolfkamp proud. It was crunch time on The Block NZ, and there were stacks of Gib and giant K’Nex pieces as far as the eye could see.
We walked up a flight of stairs and stood in the concourse area where construction director Brian Hayes gave us an update over a cacophony of sawing metal, trucks beeping in reverse and nearby sirens. The roof construction is set to be finished in the next few weeks, as is the cladding around the entire building to make the whole structure watertight. The turf is currently being grown offsite near the airport, and landscaping will also start in the next few weeks.
It sounds like thirsty work, soon acknowledged by mayor Phil Mauger who pretended to order a glass of pinot from a nearby empty bar. Speaking of drinks, one of the unique features of the stadium is that the concourse provides unobstructed sightlines to the field of play, even from Phil Mauger’s pinot stand. “It’s a real drawcard because in a lot of places you will be busting for the toilet but you don’t want to miss the action,” project director Kent Summerfield later tells me.
We move to another spot to see the players’ tunnel and the 23 corporate boxes. Staring out across the enormous dirt floor, Mauger will not be drawn on his dream musical act. “Whatever it is or whoever it is, it will be good for the city because we haven’t had any of it for the last 13 years.” Sport will be “in the mix”, but there’s plenty of room for everyone. “I’ve heard about E-sports bringing in 20,000 people for a week – that’s every bit as good for the city as rugby.”
While he won’t get into specific artists, Mauger says concerts will form a huge part of the stadium’s function, also helped by the covered roof and a giant curtain that can be drawn across the 22 metre line for a more intimate set-up. “Up north, Adele sang in the pissing rain,” he says, peering up the nearly-finished clear plastic ceiling. “We won’t have that problem here.”
One NZ stadium can host up to 15 concerts “at a louder level” every year, Summerfield soon tells me. “Of those, six can be at the higher thresholds – your Metallicas, your ACDCs – and nine at a medium-high threshold. Below that, we can have as many events as we like.” There will be 25,000 permanent seats with an extra 5000 that can be added, and standing room on the field taking the maximum capacity of the stadium to 37,300 people.
But given that it’s going to cost the Christchurch ratepayer $144 dollars for the first two years, decreasing over an estimated three decades, can locals expect a freebie ticket anytime soon? “That’s up to Venues Ōtautahi, and I’m sure they will be thinking about how to make Christchurch people as happy as possible,” says Mauger. “First of all, we have to see if it generates money. If it breaks even, I’m happy. If it generates money, I’m more than happy.”
There’s also the question of transport. Given the CBD’s stop-starty grid layout and complicated one-way system, it’s hard not to shake visions of 30,000 furious Cantabrians honking all the way from Moorhouse Ave to Ashburton. “Like with Sail GP, I just want one free bus after another coming in and dropping people off from everywhere,” says Mauger. “People can also walk from the Terrace and catch the tram down, so it’s just going to make the whole city electric.”
And where are drivers going to park? “I have no idea,” says Mauger. “There are carparks down the road, but what we really want is that contingent of free buses coming in from, say, Hornby or the Palms.” Mauger recently attended the Formula One in Melbourne, and says he was taking notes. “Man, do they know how to move people – we’ve got to follow what they are doing and learn from them.” He failed to mention Melbourne’s comprehensive tram and train network.
The mayor was soon rushed away to his next engagement and the media was left milling about, shooting B-roll and picking up last minute questions. I stood as close to the stands as I could get and watched as a suspended white steel beam spun slowly from a crane in the middle of the stadium. Through a gap in the north stand, the cardboard cathedral stood tall. I blinked back a pinprick of tears and vowed not to get too sappy about strength and resilience etc.
Thankfully, the poignant moment was immediately disrupted by the giant arm of lime green forklift, which appeared to be headed straight for us. “I’ve got to unload right where you fellas are standing,” a bemused tradie yelled from the ground.
With that, we exited through the gift shop / past the huge empty merchandise stand. Pausing at the maintenance entrance to look up at the giant roof one more time, a nearby piece of tape told a compelling one-sentence tale: “this door frame got ran over on level 1”. Strength! Resilience! Don’t get sappy! I handed in my hardhat and high vis and walked to my car past a prophetic mural that got the pinpricks going again: “something beautiful is bound to happen.”
This time next year, I guess we will know for sure.
