Sunday, September 9, 2007


Praise all the Nordic gods in the Viking Pantheon of Valhalla. At last South Africa have got something else than crooked politicians to fill their news headlines with. I’m talking about a much higher calling than politics i.e. international cricket and rugby.

Let those smug, silly, pretentious specimens called politicians be. Only they labour under the delusion that the rest of the world takes them serious.

Let us mortals escape into the realm of sport for the sake of sanity.

It reminds me of a story about a farmer who’s never being more than 20 km’s away from the “throbbing metropolis” called Pofadder in his entire life. One day he got invited by a friend to come and visit in Johannesburg and as luck would have it arrived on the very same day that an international cricket match started.

This is his story:

…I arrived in Johan se Berg early that morning after a whole night of smelling other people’s farts on a Greyhound buss.

By fuck, it was just people as far as one could see!

Hans could not meet me and send a driver with a ticket for a cricket match as he would meet me there after an important appointment. So I went with the driver who dropped me off at this gate.


If you thought it was a lot of people before you should have seen this!

I did not have a clue what this cricket kak was all about but as Hans seemed to like it, I decided to try it as well.

I joined a line and after about 45 minutes, when I got to the front, a comical bastard in a little cage laughed at me and told me that I did not have to be in the line as I had a Vee-Eye-Pee pass.

I decided Vee-Eye-Pee se moer and yours as well and as I turned away another little prick took my ticket out of my hand and tore the bloody thing in two. I nearly donnered him on the spot but decided that I’m a stranger in a strange town and after saying “fok jou, jou muildoos,” I fell back in the line and bought myself another ticket. This one I shoved in my back pocket so that this little poepol could not tear it up as well.

Inside it was wonderful. For the first time I could see how many people there really was. All of them stuck-up and rude as not one wanted to accept my hand when I tried to introduce myself.

I decided fuck them all and eventually found my seat next to an old oomie.

He had a pair of “by-knock-q-laars.” Really funny things you put in front of your eyes and when you do it pulls the people from the other side of the field right up to you. When you however, put out your hand to greet them you make an arsehole out of yourself because they are still over there.

Boy, in front of me was the nicest piece of veld I have ever seen in my life. No matter that some dumb labourer stuffed up a little rectangle in the centre by cutting the grass too short. One could always nurse that piece back to life and then it would be a beautiful stukkie land.

I was still contemplating why this stupid doos cut that piece of grass so short when two men in white coats came onto the field. I thought to myself “yup, now that labourer is in the shit because these two are inspectors and they are sure to see where he cut the grass too short.” They also headed right for the spot and I had a warm feeling inside of me like when you drink klippies and coke too fast because I knew they would find the culprit, moer and fire him on the spot.

I could not believe my eyes when one of these vulgar bastards donnered three sticks into that struggling piece of grass.

I shouted at him:

“You fucking vandal, why don’t you pick a spot where the grass is longer?”

The people around me immediately shushed me to be quiet and I thought by myself. Just like these city dwellers, no-one wants to get involved.

My moer was coming to a boiling point and was not helped when this guy bliksemed three other sticks in on the other end of the rectangle as well.

I decided to try and cool down by looking at the women around me and ignoring these bastards on the veld until Hans came.

The oomie next to me was telling me how it was the Boere against the Brits today and I then realised what this was all about. Hans brought me to an international fight to welcome me to Johan se berg.

What a friend!

Soon eleven of these English bastards came on the field, all dressed in white and I could see that they are all a bunch of limp-wristed, liberal sissies that probably voted for corporal and capitol punishment to be abolished. Swinging their arms around and trying to look all puffed up with importance. Most of them had white paint on their faces and they were throwing a red stone around. They clearly were not very clever as they only had one stone between all of them. They might have had a better chance if every one had at least five stones.


Stupid fucking Poms.

Then two Boere came out. It sounds a bit unfair being only two against eleven but these guys were all padded up and had helmets on. They were also not as stupid as the Brits as each guy had a cano paddle to bliksem the Pommies with. In the event of them not being able to sort out this scum from across the water then there was still about 50 000 of us in the stands that could help them out.

Or so I thought.

I could not understand why these two did not start from one side and just wade into the Brits. Instead they walked to the middle of the field and then split up.

Shit people, it would have been safer to stick together.

At least they were carefully looking around and one could see that they made sure they knew where each and every English bastard was standing on the field.

In the meantime one piece of white British dog-vomit was walking almost off the field with that stone in his hand.

Suddenly he turned around and started running towards the middle and I knew the shit was about to hit the fan.
He got close the middle and let fly with that stone.
Luckily he decided to throw at the Boer furthest away from him because he would have killed the guy closest to him for sure.


That Boertjie knew what he was doing. He rapped that stone out of harms way with his cano paddle. Glaring at the guilty party and one could see that he thought: “fuck you and Lord Kitchener as well.”

I then decided enough of this crap.

If no one else is going to help my countrymen I will.

When that fucking Pommie turned around for the second time and started running towards the middle I was out of my seat.

Five yards before he reached the middle I caught him from behind and slapped him so hard that the snot went right around his head.
He went nose first into that short piece of ground and his head made a three metre furrow in the pitch before he came to a stop. I have no idea what happened to the stone. He might have swallowed it as he was making noises like a nostril that’s very difficult to clear.

Everyone on the field as well as the crowd was dead silent and the police came and arrested me.

Hans bailed me out of the police cells and I’m never, ever going to Johan se Berg again.

Fuck them!

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