SPORT OVERLOAD!

Seriously?

Someone up there needs to turn down the dial. It’s sport, day and night, 24-7. When it’s not cricket (which is never, they seem to play continuously. You would think Graeme Smith’s ass would have shrunk by the assumed amount of exercise he must be getting), then it’s rugby. Luckily, rugby only happens over weekends, but by the time it comes down to getting to the bar early to get a seat and sitting there until man-of-the-match is announced, rugby takes a significant part of a Saturday.

Redeeming factors include Mark Boucher, Abie de Villiers, Pierre Spies, Dan Carter

Then, in case you weren’t aware, there is world cup soccer on all the time. The only reason this is better this week is that there are only 2 games a day (well, 4, but simultaneous). Soccer only now affects me because I watch the world cup, but normally there is premier league and championship league and little league (or is that baseball?).

Redeeming factors include Ronaldo and Fabrigas.

The French open just finished, so it must be time for Wimbledon. And as if we don’t have our whole lives dictated by sports timetables, then there is a Wimbledon game that goes on for 3 days. 3 days! The poor guys must be dead, but can you imagine those of us who had to follow the game?!

Redeeming factors include steely-eyed Fedderer and passionate Nadal.

And Tour de France cycling starts in a week, which I plan to watch religiously. Well, not religiously. Not with prayer beads and a shawel or anything. Just with dedication.

Redeeming factors include: hot men on bikes with amazing calves.

It’s just too much.
And it’s not like cartoon network, or the movie channel that you feel guilty watching night and day, but it is rather a compulsive need to watch sport. In fact, watching sport is noble. I wish the gym showed sport, I would probably be inclined to visit it more.

You might say that instead of ranting, I could just WATCH LESS SPORT, but if you think that, then you clearly don’t understand…

World Cup Madness

Madness takes on a lot of forms, and especially in the last 100 years seems to have totally changed its meaning. ‘Mad’ used to mean insane. Then mad, like wicked, became an adjective meaning ‘very’ or ‘extremely’. Madness now is a marketing slogan, to describe anything from the local supermarket’s specials on eggs and margarine to national patriotic pride. (Of course, we also define madness a little differently these days, and there are conditions for every single type of madness you can get. Mrs Rochester would have been diagnosed with clinical depression, being a bipolar or with yuppie flu and ‘locking her in the attic’ would more likely involve expensive rehab.)


So what is in fact ‘mad’ about this world cup?

# 1: It’s Soccer:

I don’t want to be the person to rain on anybody’s parade (I’m trying to be prophetic – I have to watch a game in Cape Town today and I’m pleading with the rain gods), but soccer is an INCREDIBLY boring game. I’m sure the semis and the finals will be really exciting, but watching each of these round 16 games puts me to sleep quicker than a cup of warm milk. Of course, there are the odd amazing games like Germany’s catastrophic defeat of Australia, but otherwise these games end in 0-0 draws. I totally refuse to sit in a bar and watch my friends play foosball since it’s completely anti-social, so I don’t see why watching a game where no-one does anything is any less so. And when the comparison is the Springboks using power and skill to dominate the French 42-17, soccer falls far short.

# 2: Soccer used to be the sport of defiance:

Mad perhaps is not the best word here, and perhaps ironic fits better. Soccer was the game of defiance that was played during Apartheid. They played soccer in the townships and the homelands because they DIDN’T want to play rugby, and they were defying the traditional Afrikaans/White sport. But now that we are a unified nation, soccer is uniting people and bringing them together in townships, in Ellis Park and in areas where black and white don’t tend to mix.

# 3: You have to pick sides (to which you don’t belong):

It’s a world cup, and I realise that’s what is to be done. I support Bafana Bafana, but I also know that African soccer has a lot to learn from the sexy bedroom soccer of the Argentineans and the elegant upright soccer of the Europeans. So now we pick. I have chosen to support England and France, because I speak English and I like France. But it’s not much in the way of national allegiance, and everyone is randomly picking a team to support in the event that Bafana are out in this round. It doesn’t say much for a sense of national pride.

# 4: This ‘unity’ is shallow:

This may sound totally pessimistic, but unfortunately it is a reality. There may be some nation building going on during this month, and a bout of infrastructure, development and job creation was spawned. But somehow everyone seems to have forgotten how racial tension was flaring up to fever pitch just before all the vuzus brought us together as one. The AWB leader was still murdered in his bed, Malema still got an E for woodwork and sings about Killing the Boer, Shaik still defies the Justice system and Zille still fights tirelessly to win more votes from the apparently-useless ANC government. Our only hope is that the wave of goodwill flowing over this country continues to colour the future of the country, and that when it comes to real issues we can still blow our vuzus together as we stand side by side.

Waka Waka Ayoba!

Tired of being cynical, I have finally given over to Ayoba-ness. It’s a lot more of a welcoming world than the dark muttered curses of the unpatriotic. I have had a bad attitude towards the World Cup since its announcement almost 5 years ago, and have not been looking forward to it at all. But I’ll admit getting teary eyed during Vuzu hour on Wednesday, and since then have thrown myself into the spirit.


Because the fact of the matter is that we just can’t help ourselves. Patriotism and Nationalism (in the most positive sense) seem to be lurking somewhere underneath the surface of all of us and it takes something like the World Cup to bring it to the boil. Even though FIFA is running the show under the guidance of a despotic Mafia boss, South Africa still has to show the world our mettle.

Uit die blou van onse hemel, uit die diepte van ons see…
Suddenly these words don’t symbolise the pain of the past, but make our hearts swell with pride when Americans gasp “Oh my God, Oh my God” at the sight of Table Mountain, or when gorgeous Italians take to the beaches of Camps Bay to freeze their bollocks off.

Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika…
we are filled with national pride and the general feeling of well-being seems to be filling the air. God Bless ALL of Africa, not just our neighbours to the left and right. Soweto, which 5 months ago no Joburg koguls would visit, was last night chock-a-block fill with all of Joburg lucky enough to get a ticket. Fans all over Cape Town stand shoulder to shoulder, no longer black and white and coloured and Indian, but Red-White-and-Blue, Blue-Green-and-White and of course, Yellow-Black-Green-Blue-Red-and-White.

Today I am proudly wearing all the colours of our national flag, my ‘i heart SA soccer’ underwear and a big ol' PROUDLY SOUTH AFRICAN smile on my face.

Go Bafana Bafana!

Viva South Africa!

and for everyone else, Waka Waka and Wave Your Flag!