Came across this story from Rob Dylan, and following my Christmas offerings, thought I would post it, as I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Enjoy – By the way, I’ve put sunglasses on the young lad to protect his identity!
Rob Dylan – Sharksworld
Rugby is a serious sport, played by serious athletes and supported by a bunch of seriously uptight and emotional hot – headed clowns. Ask me – I know……
I used to think that the other “Plebs” just didn’t understand and quite frankly didn’t know what they were looking at. I used to hate watching rugby with someone who did not know the game. It used to frustrate me to the point of wanting to set my hair on fire and punching myself in the face, when they’d ask stupid questions at the most inappropriate time. They would get all excited about something that really was not such a big deal and then wonder why I would have a little hysterectomy on the living room floor over an incident that they in all honesty didn’t even notice.
Then, they would have the audacity to tell me to calm the **** down!
How in the name of Sweet Baby James can “They” tell “Me” to calm down when:- 1) They didn’t even see the incident; 2) they have absolutely no concept of the emotional attachment that I have with my rugby team and the history of supporting them; 3) They cannot comprehend the importance of what just happened and 4) It’s rugby FFS!!!
I am no longer allowed to watch rugby at my in laws house because of one little episode that I had way back in 2009. It did happen to involve referee Marius Jonker (who I still have not forgiven to this day) and those savage servants of the devil, who hail from the New South Wales region – the team whose captain has a very big forehead (no more clues). The details are irrelevant, but let’s just say that my mother in law did not appreciate my use of the human anatomy to describe the events that unfolded that ill-fated Friday evening. She also doesn’t seem to believe that her furniture was always damaged in that spot where I was sitting.
There should actually be a law that governs rugby and drinking with severe penalties for anyone caught transgressing the RUTI Act* especially during Super Rugby when there are like 5 matches in 1 day. By the time the last game is screened at 7pm, I have usually consumed about 200 beers and speaking fluent Swahili. With all that booze inside my belly and unchecked testosterone, I am feeling like the USS Enterprise steaming along the Coral Sea – there is no ways in hell, that I am going to “Calm the **** down.”
I have however grown a bit older, had some kids since then and am therefore a bit more responsible. I am a lot more philosophical about rugby and what happens to it on and off the field and whilst I still have my views and opinions on these matters, I am a lot more diplomatic in expressing these. You could say that I have calmed… down…
I don’t care what anyone says, I know for a fact that Rugby is not just a game, it isn’t a culture either (maybe in Sonny Bill William’s country it is), but in SA it is more like something that underlies and supports our culture, you can kind of compare the rugby sub – culture to a bra strap and it’s not because some team’s supporters are bigger tits than others.
Rugby is the thread that binds but yet is the cloth that differentiates us. It is the saber that we rattle in each other’s faces but is also the regiment whose ranks we fill, shoulder to shoulder we stand, brothers in arms and comrades in rivalry.
Despite all of our differences and utter hatred we might have for our opponent’s team, the great game of Rugby is bigger than all of that. It bonds us together and spins us round in a massive kaleidoscope of noise and heat and fury.
But it is the most beautiful rainbow melting pot to be in, where each of us is an integral ingredient to a flavor that tastes of everything and nothing at the same time. Food is at its best when the textures and depth of the ingredients clash and contrast with each other. Long may the stoves that stoke the fire burn.
*”Rugby Under The Influence” Act 92 of 2011. Promulgated into law in an effort to stop rugby supporters from making fools out of themselves. Beverages such as brandy (a.k.a. karate juice) and Platinum Label Schnapps are completely banned on match Day.
Just for kicks an excellent article bud.
Just a few notes, I hate that Waugh with the big forehead too, he reminds me of what goes wrong with Shreks children if the
DNA pool is tampered with.
As far as rugby goes, it is not a culture as you rightly expressed, it is a genetic strand that entered our genetic pool just about the same time as Wolraad Woltemade saved those people from the storm.
It is not something that can be removed. Well not from the male gene pool anyway.
Females are lucky they do not have the X chromosome, therefor they do not have this genetic link to a sport I lovingly refer to as modern warfare.
Problem with rugby is the Australians and New Zealanders have not yet realised that they are bastardising our sport by wanting to run the ball like a bunch of pansies in a field of daisies. Rugby is supposed to be a hard and tough warlike physical battle between opponents. Even though they may score some scintillating tries by not wanting to make contact with the enemy, it is simply just not the type of rugby our genetic pool craves for.
And that is why we break furniture and want to break those half men who doesn’t have the chromosome R in their genetic make up.
We simply do not comprehend how it is possible that a man can do a flower arrangement rather than watch rugby.
Rugby is the ultimate reality show. It has no equal. Why so you think it is played in heaven, even The Big Man upstairs knows we need an outlet for our genetic mutations, even when in the calm and serene surroundings of heaven.
Women do not have the capacity to experience hightened emotions regarding this warfare, except for the fortunate few. They are supposedly the emotional sex, hah. More to do with feeling sorry for themselves because they have nothing meaningful in their lives except washing, ironing, f…ng etc. Oh yeah, and perhaps their children.
I can’t imagine having a life without the need to satisfy my genetic flaws.
Sorry to all the ladies out there, but I got swept up with the emotion of the article.
The nice thing about rugby, is that you can be raging enemies during the game, but best of pals afterwards.
Biltong, I agree that rugby is in the genes. If I even contemplate moving overseas, my first thought is not of where I will stay or work, but of which rugby team I would support, and which team’s colours would best match my own team.
Rugby is more than culture and genes. It is both of these and has that undefineable strand that binds people together.
I cannot imagine sacrificing watching a game of rugby for a another sporting code. Even the best soccer game doesn’t come close to even the worst rugby game for passion, individual brilliance and team work, or even the testosterone released during a game. Rugby is modern man’s way of releasing excess testosterone, and ridding us of our warlike tendecies. Like the ancient armies sending out their champion warriors to fight on behalf of their respective armies, so are rugby players like those champions of old.
Excellent article Rob Dylan.
I have summarised it previously as the game that I do not want to approach with logic but with passion. I cannot understand how people cannot find it some of the most wonderful live theatre never to be repeated. I sit and watch the Heineken Cup and English Premiership games….because I get a chance to watch our Saffer boys perform…..and it is amazing how well they perform and how often the announcers talk about them. It is in our psyche and in our blood and I have been an ardent follower and supporter of the Green and Gold since that first time when my Dad woke me up and we listened to the rugby on the radio when I was 5 years old. I aspired to wear the Green and Gold my entire life and it was the pinnacle of my life when I finally achieved it (unfortunately not for rugby). It gives me great pleasure when I wear my windbreaker with the badge on and people look….and know….I am a South African….and bloody proud of it because we have the best rugby players in the world. Viva Bokke, Viva the ghost of Oom Danie Viva Viva Viva.
I just would like to state categorically that there is a certain breed of the female species that act exactly the way you do JFK and Rob Dylan, I, unfortunately and to the detriment of my entire family, am one of those!!!!
It seems to fill my family with shock, angst and I cannot comprehend as to why they do not feel the way I do!!!!!
@ Tripples:You’d be welcomed with open arms into the rugby mad part of our family. There no discrimination of sexes when it comes to rugby. It’s just such a shame the rugby mad part of our family consists of me, and thats it.
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