18th June 2013

Roy and I have just come back from an invitation to join the Springbok rugby team for their game against the visiting crossdressers in their kilts all the way from Scotland.

The kilted crossdressers

We booked into our hotel in this very Afrikaans speaking city, Nellies'spread, and went to join the anachronistic prayer meeting on the eve of the game at the Church of the Skaap Boeres. On game day, the team coach Heineken Miller stirred up old Skaap passions as he implored his impressively sized team to play for their country & the President in particular. Watching the game and game plan or lack of it, one has to wonder if coach 'Two Beers' is getting it right. The two props, Jannie Twoplusthree and Just Hadafeast Intotherearer, had been given another chance to prove they deserved to remain as the Bokke incumbents. Again their performance was lower than the Bagdhad skyline, and Two Beers and the SARFU organ grinders need to possibly look elsewhere to solve the problem."



Ï'm heeeere...

Spear Please, the vice captain and number eight, who probably has the best body in the sport, is a shadow of his former selfs and should possibly look at another sport like jousting on Lesotho ponies or BMX acrobatic cycling on the Durban beachfront.

In the first half of the Test, the Boere played with their traditional laager mentality of bygone Bulls sides and were put to the sword by an aggressive attacking display by the Scottish Fifteen. Two Beers must have been pulling his hair out watching this one dimensional Skaap team stumble into half time on the wrong end of the score line. The team talk, no doubt delivered in various Afrikaans expletives intermingled with the occasional line in Zulu to satisfy BEE requirements, seemed to lift the torpor that had engulfed the squad in the first half and took effect immediately the second half started.


What did ya say?!

For once, the first instance of indiscipline did not emanate from the protein stacked & overly pumped Bokke, but from the irate Scottish second rower, a certain Mr Hamilton, who pushed Iam Elizabeth in the proverbial chops with the predictable handbag throwing match ensuing.
After Hamilton's subsequent dismissal, the outnumbered Scots were unable to hold off a steadily improving local side, and the inclusion of the younger brigade helped flatter a largely over-rated Springbok team. Heineken Miller has had some easy touches to the start of his tenure after taking over last year from the wildly gesticulative & utterly illiterate, Peter Devilears.

The untutored

Devilears, who often sounds like a whimpering, untutored imbecile, did at least come away with a mildly consistent and competent team (mostly coached by the senior players admittedly), and, but for some howling decisions by some Kiwi pygmy official, Twice Torrence, could have added another World Cup to the country's coffers. 

"Tha mi a'fuireach ann on Eirinn" = I live in Ireland

Anyway, the post match speeches after this most recent test were quite unusual, requiring an interpreter & subtitles to understand Scottish captain, Roy Laidlow. Then man of the match, Si Killeasy, treated viewers to a new dialect of Newlands slang emanating from Pollsmor prison in the Cape that would flummox most seasoned coloureds. Baas Boota then took the slaughtering of the English language to a new level that an uneducated thug from Manchester would fail to duplicate as he tripped over the most basic grammar with pronunciation a mating chimpanzee could better.