Kritiek Aster — At the rugby, twice nogal!
I was told that, for reasons pertaining to Johannesburg pride, I am supposed to be a Lions supporter.
Olivetti 45 — As is utterly obvious by the stories that are accompanied by my name as well as — and this is quite the list — my twitter handle, my facebook profile, my weekly Gig Guide, my desk in the newsroom, how I constantly wear earphones, my hard drives filled with music, my interviewees, my fan photos and gig photos, my general appearance and my topics in this less-than-known weekly column — sport is just not my thing. I couldn’t say that in less than 25 words [office joke].
The aforementioned will just never reflect anything even remotely related to sports and sports fandom, right? That’s what I said. Except that, for the past two weekends and against my will, I have been attending live rugby matches.
Now, please move along with your comments that rakbie and a braaivleisie is the core of every South African, man or woman, because it’s just not the truth. I’m Afrikaans, I enjoy a vegetarian diet (for the most part) and I just can’t be bothered by rugby tokse and tjoppies. I’d much rather be cutting my knees in broken glass trying to get photos of the band on stage.
However I will own up to my dalliances in the sports world. All two of them, maybe three, if you count last year’s match that I also attended with my cousins. I will also own up to the fact that I (sort of) enjoyed myself.
On all two (three) occasions I visited Ellis Park Stadium for a live match between the Lions and some other PT-shorted spannetjie. I was told that, for reasons pertaining to Johannesburg pride, I am supposed to be a Lions supporter. So the tickets were bought and parking was taken care of, and I found myself in a queue stretching from here to Pretoria to get into the stadium. Once in, I saw those rugby fans I only ever heard of in Leon Schuster songs… Man, were they something… homemade hats, painted faces, faded flags with their team’s logo on it. I paid way too much for a 500ml Coke and I either tried to make sense of the scrambling men or laughed at the rhetoric between the home and opposing team’s supporters. On Mondays, after each weekend’s match[es], I would hear fans making excuses for their favourite teams. It’s always either “they were really prepared, hey” and cheers to celebrate or “they’re having a difficult season, we’ll get you next time” comments. Through the entire experience, I pride myself on learning one golden rule about rugby: The ref[eree] is always to blame.
Now, if rugby is your thing, I told my dad (and I’m telling you, readers) I am very happy to see to it that you clear your weekend schedule for the rest of the Super Rugby games. The grass on the other side of the fence is green and oh-so-soft, but I’m retiring back to that little joint with its small stages and the broken glass on the floor.
