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
1 comment:
great scratchings my fury friend
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