ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Redemption for James O’Connor and none for Israel Folau.

The French Quarter is abuzz tonight with the historic Wallabies victory, the first since October of 2017.

Thousands of pairs of riding boots are click clacking along the winding footpaths, revellers are smoking too close to doors. The cops are in a good mood and haven’t turned their bodycams off to flog people senseless with those fucking telescopic batons.

“How good?” asked Darcy Pearson to nobody in particular.

The 28-year-old private wealth manager had just tripped and fallen in the gutter outside The Dickless Parrot on Rue de Branlette.

“No, don’t leave me up. Leave me!” he yelled.

On the opposite side of the street, well-dressed young men discussed the victory between tangents about their plans to build their own tech unicorn.

“It’s like AfterPay but for houses,” said the taller one.

“Do you have a lighter?” asked the other featureless figure in a black puffer vest.

Judging by the absolute bedlam that beheld the French Quarter, our reporter turned to nobody in particular and asked:

“Guess we’re going to win the world cup then?”

More to come.

