The upcoming Rugby World Cup final between the All Blacks and Wallabies provides a perfect opportunity to reflect on the close bond New Zealand and Australia have always shared away from the sporting field, writes former Wallabies lock Peter FitzSimons.

OPINION: Thirty years ago, when my French club team of Brive would play Racing Club de Paris – in what were always the most ferocious battles – I would always observe a quick ritual with the fellow who is now running World Rugby, Brett Gosper.

Just as the ref was walking towards his mark to start the match – even as the crow was baying for blood, and the two forward packs were exchanging pleasantries on opposite sides of the 50-metre line – Brett, who was the Racing winger, and I, would momentarily leave behind our eyeballs-rolling French compadres, trot over and shake hands.

It was an acknowledgement that whatever else was going on, whatever was about to happen, there was a bond between us – two Australians far from home – not shared by the others, and that was not going to change, whatever the result.

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Dunno. We liked it.

Which brings me to the World Cup final. A reader, Leigh Ryan, suggests that a different kind of ritual, a far more sombre one, should be observed before the World Cup final. In this, the Centenary of the Great War, the very time when the Anzacs came to the fore, they should play the Last Post.

When I floated Ryan's idea on Twitter, most liked it, with one notable dissension.

"Don't make it out to be something it's not," one of the twitterati wrote.

I take that point, too. Sporting events can wander into strange territory when it comes to military symbolism, and a few years back, pre-match entertainment at NRL grand finals, particularly, looked to be almost recruitment drives for the Army, up to and including having the trophy delivered by a Blackhawk helicopter.

But this would not be that.

It would be a simple reminder as Ryan noted, "The men going toe to toe at the#RWCFinal would have been side by side 100 years ago."

Exactly.

While this contest is between the finest physical specimens our two nations can throw at each other in a battle without bodies, a war without hate, at Gallipoli exactly the same kind of men really were brothers in arms.

On the morning of the landing, April 25 1915, the Australians landed at dawn, with the Kiwis – magnificent troops, more highly trained than our blokes – following in close behind.

As the first Kiwi boat approached the shore, one of the steamboats that had dropped the Australians was chugging the other way. The captain of the steamboat called to the Kiwis the news: "The Australians have got ashore and are chasing the Turks to Hell!"

A resounding cheer from the New Zealanders went up.

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Of course, many of those men ashore, and in that boat, were about to face Hell themselves – as the valiant Turks, magnificently led by General Kemal Ataturk, resisted against all odds – but the Anzacs would always look after each other.

On that first morning, the Kiwis were no sooner ashore than they were charging forward and quickly climbing to support the Australians, arriving just as the battle was at its most fierce. Mid-morning, high up on the Second Ridge, when a New Zealander suddenly had his entire foot blown away by a piece of shrapnel, he was seen hopping forward, calling out, "'For God's sake, don't leave me!"

On the instant a young Australian jumped up and said, "Come on mate, get on my back," and the two were soon heading back down the hill, Anzacs truly together at last.

Too many others, of course, could not be saved, and at battle's end, 9000 Australians and 3000 Kiwis were left for eternity in their Turkish graves.

("Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives," the now Turkish President, Kemal Ataturk would famously say in 1935, "You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears, your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.")

The valour of the Anzacs of course, made both countries very proud, and it is a pride that endures to this day.

A century later, their descendants share the international stage once more. Playing the Last Post, would be a nod to each other: our mobs go back a long way. We like each other, and nothing will change, whatever the result.

And it would be an acknowledgement of the good fortune of us all, to have the liberty to being playing and watching mere games, at a time of substantial peace.

Lest we forget.