Hooligan Juice 12.06.10

i always believe, yes i do, and i suppose the wizard of Oz just made it reality, but if you do click your heels 3 times(or your adidas boris beckers in my case) and you wish real hard,dreams do come true. and so the colourful life i lead just turned HD- i'm talking high definition.

this weekend on friday eve, i get a ring on the ol nokia hand held blower. its the berndawg offering me a ticket to Engeland vee USA for one thousand rand. im like 'no dude, its just too large'. 2 minutes later, after bernie held the okes nuts in his hands gently crushing them like soft grapes,the seller agreed to a face value R560.00. and lo and behold the red sea parted and we, that's bern dawg, bernie middle brother from middle earth and me moonwalked over to Rustenburg.

Rustenburg a wee lil town like 200 kays north of civilization harbours the Royal Bafokeng Stadium as well as a housing complex called Little Italy. the only thing rustenburg has thats italian is possibly an old worn alfa giulietta tyre from the early 60's used as a kids swing. 

anyways the story goes like this. The Bafokeng tribe purchased land having sent its troops to work on mines to earn money to make such an investment. this land near Rustenburg happened to have one of the largest deposits of platinum in the world. you could just imagine how hysterical this tribe musta been.gsus. they probably sacrificed some poor kid.

although this humble little stadium sits in a rural settlement, quite a change from a stadium in say Berlin or in Barcelona, it still bubbled like a pre teen zit waiting to explode all over the the bathroom mirror.

as we arrived, i sessioned a car bar of green heneikens, cos i knew, yes i did that mister Shwet Splatter (sepp blatter), would rape and pillage my pocket like the meat eating vikings to some unsuspecting vegetarian tribe out in the andes.

as i drank my dutch brewed excuse for beer, bus loads of mcdonalds and coke drinking americanos began to roll in. the Americans, looking lost, trying to find lions to ride, just seemed outta place in this shebeen strewn drag leading up to the stadium. theyre like cartoon characters these yanks, can you even take them seriously? as a yank screamed 'Aaaammeeriiica' , a whole pancake stack replied 'F*ck Yea" in glorious unison, alluding to that great flik, Team America. 

the poms loud and berry red, shirtless in the icey cold, decked in liquor jackets ,the red cross of saint georges pasted across their chests had arrived to make haggis out of american body parts. i wouldnt run to these okes if i needed a band aid.

while the hoardes continued to drink inside the bowels of the stadium, i felt i needed to batter my liver in fermented barley and hops just a couple more times. at R30.00 a pop my heart missed a cupla egg beats, and i nearly swallowed my nokia phone. but when the wave of euphoria washes over you, you just jump in and start swimming.and so i forked out 60 rond.sorry starving ethiopians

as i looked around me , the hum, the buzz and the euphoria of a big stage football match sent the hair on my back standing up, piercing through my 3 layers of tshirts, i simply stunned myself into disbelief.

entering a big stadium is always dramatic. you rise up the stairs looking out towards the landscape, then make a turn into the tunnel beneath the seats, the tunnel is dark but for the light at the end of it, a window, or a snap shot of whats taking place opens up to reveal artificial bright light and a heaving crowd, music over the PA and raucous excitement.its simply wow and a feeling that never dies. i sat alone, well with out any one i knew, but i found myself in and amongst the beer swilling, flag waving ginger americans. they were an animated bunch, they sang great footy songs, waved a flag i couldnt believe id be seeing in our home country, ate sweaty boerierolls and said things like 'caar' and 'yaeh'. it was an absolute gas.

i watched some of the greatest players on that green checker board field. rooney just couldnt make magic, well england on the whole were just shate.and then one blunder by one wee lad and every britisher wants to pop his eyes out with a blunt toothpick. its riveting stuff. it wasn't the greatest footy match i've ever seen. but the reality of seeing the greatest down here in the South was pretty mind blowing.

that very next morning as i walked the golf course having slammed my drive deflouring the virgin fairway, i thought to my self, 'gsus dan, thats one helluva life youve lived'.

i went onto double bogey the hole 

from a city stewing with all the excitement of a teen groupie at a Take That concert

the russian bear hunter

Gandolf's Wisdoms 26.05.09

up Until May of 2009 a haircut was the worst possible experience I would endure. the year 2009 became a torcherous odyssey,the only space it had going on was the vacuum left at the rear end of my pie hole.two gaping black holes.

these days it aint easy just giving up on one , let alone two of your gnashers. as a kid there was always money involved, it was an investment. you stuck a thread around your tooth, tied the other end to a door and got your older sibling to ram that leaf so hard, there was a possibility the brain stem attached to your spine would be ripped from the vessel that is your body. the possibilities could have been fatal, but if all went well you got your tooth, a shiny nickel, and your bro got to make you cry. it was a win win situation.

25years on and whats in me-organs, teeth, bones,appendages stays in me. so i thought. 

as a wee lad, pimply, greasy and at the heat of the late 90's, my teeth found themselves incarcerated in the alcatraz of the day,braces. once them train tracks to stardom were peeled from the skin of my teeth, the dental fraternity have wanted my teeth, my wisdom teeth. I always denied these hunters a piece of me for they gave me no hassle and i gave them no grief. until i awoke one morn on this thin rubber of a matress in down town Tokyo to find a fillet of gum loosley flapping around my mouth,swollen like a jellied donut.my life with my calcified friends was about to change.

No sooner had I dropped into joburg did I have Doc doom on the ol blower,

'dan youre a good guy, you play a good golf game-nice follow through, and you give the ball good shape, but i have no choice, its either an absess every month that'll rot your gum or the teeth,ones of yous has gotta go'.

and so i was pushed over to the Maxillo facila surgeon-sounds like a Mad Max movie starring the guy with the perm, one mel giblets gibson.

and so it came to pass, i left work at 12 and said 'ill see you at 2'. 

i tried to put on a brave face, the one Leonardo Di Caprio wore when he's about to meet his death in that final scene in the elevator of my favourite movie 'The Departed'...for the cute receptionist.but she'd seen the movie a thousand times before.

with my knees knocking a beat, i was Singapore-slung into the low lying tan leathered dentist chair, shown two zeppelin shaped gray penicillin capsules which i chugged back, rested my head unknowing of the carnage i was about to endure, had the doc then jolly jab me twices,my lower mouth a swollen jabba the hut. my lip a scoop, good for a two scoop.

 

the final scene of Braveheart had begun ,and i was in a lead role. Max begins to extend my pie hole wide open, pressing, probing, prodding with his rubberised hands. like a clay animation character he manipulates my face to begin his lumberjackin assault on teeth 17 and 32. my eyeballs shut, my heart leading the Americas' Cup, racing at knots, thumping its way down a white-horse-splattered sea. as i dared to take a peek, the blinding light shot my pupils to retract within themselves, to hide behind the white curtains of my cornea, shaking, shivering, squeezing out a tear.

the rubber hands continue pressing derobing the hugging pink gum against my tooth, the pressure of this force pulverising the gummy ness of my brain

it was a massacre with a chain saw, grinding away like a lumber jack to an old friend. the drilling couldnt have taken place off shore. my blood splattered face, a scene from Fight Club. this wasn't Hollywood, this reality tv.

The gaping jelly bowl, stiched closed,im raggedy andy. The gut tickling my tonsil, I wanted to hooch.

As I peered upon the stainless steel tray glistening in the morning light and nesteld on the obligatory blue tea cloth with all this weaponary, bloodied from this massacre,I could only imagine the pain William Walace endured. I shouted freedom, but I still longed for two faithful friends.

'Bag those chicklets,theyre coming home with me'.

My mouth dry ,lips cracked as a deserted alien planet. I sit here sucking soup though a straw, I aint no brawler. But today I went the full ten and im reeling.

I have the two in a jar, this tooth fairy is gonna pay, and I want bonds, bank bonds

I did not want to be a part of the evolutionary walk, now that my wisdoms are gone, I am.

a toothless Russian Bear Hunter will Hunt again