When two fervent rugby fans meet, there’s bound to be fireworks. Especially if one is fervently for the Lions, and the other for the Stormers, and they’re watching the Big Game in a desert kingdom far away from home
My sister and nieces are away in Holland and it’s just us boys at home here in Dubai for the next 10 days, fending for ourselves, not washing the dishes and being free to leave wet towels and running shoes lying all over the place, as guys are wont to do. Well, some guys. This guy, at any rate. Turns out my brother-in-law, Joe, is even more of a neat-freak than my sister.
So, if we’re going to survive the next 10 days alone together, we better find something else to bond and spend our days together over. Freedom to be slovenly is obviously not it.
So, when Joe flipped on the telly to catch the rugger, I thought “Great! I can do rugby! I have a favourite team. I’ve live-tweeted the Rugby World Cup, and I’ve even watched my team, the Stormers, live at Newlands, from a box, nogal!”
“Who’s playing?” I asked Joe.
“My team! The boys! The Lions! The manne!” Joe said, fiercely proud. “Taking on the Stormers…” He added.
At this point I should have known this whole spending time together over rugby was a bad idea. Joe is massively passionate about his team. When they’re playing, everyone in our estate can hear Joe’s cheers, yelling, and cursing at the refs who are obviously desperately incompetent in his eyes, or perpetually looking the other way when things go wrong.
He defends his team to a man – they can do no wrong. Any other team that dares to take them on is evidently suffering from delusions of adequacy… and his team is now taking on my team.
Would my pride handle the challenge?
Thirty minutes into the first half, and things are not going well. The Stormers are down 24 – 10, when the Lions’ no. 9 player Dylan Smit executes a feint of epic proportions, opening up the lead to 31 – 10. Damn. That was a good play, but I’ll never admit that to Joe. I’d rather feign indifference and mumble “Lucky.” under my breath.
Halftime comes, and we idly chat about the player stats. Kwagga must sport the most broken nose in rugby. Combrink’s back from prolonged injury and killing it – he’s that good. Siya Kolisi is one of the nicest guys in rugby. That sort of thing. But I am not fooled. I give no quarter in this between-halves banter, I keep my cards close to my chest. This may be bonding over rugby, but it’s still rivalry. Hashtag never forget.
Three times in a row, the Lions turn the Stormers’ ball over on their try line, and twice Madosh Tambwe converts that into a try. It’s 45 – 10 and my dispirited silence is as loud as Joe’s cheers are deafening. It’s all I can do to hide my respect for the stellar rugby being played by the opposing team.
It’s unbearable. My team is losing to Joe’s. This togetherness thing is impossible. Obviously, I am going to have to move into a hotel until my sister comes home and she and Joe can do the togetherness without me, thank you very much! We may be family, but this is rugby!
Meanwhile, my team closes the gap marginally with some penalties. I’m not giving in. The differently-slim lady has not sung yet, and hope prevails that my team (who are obviously the best, always) can pull a victory out of the increasingly deep hat.
But the more I watch, the more I have to admit the rivals are playing magnificently. The passing. The sprinting. The feints and the tackles. Sublime ankle taps and unmatched speed. They really are a sight to behold. So much so I find myself cheering alongside Joe as the Lions’ Smith steals the ball right out of the Willemse’s hands and delivers a magnificent try!
“Kwagga, you beauty! What a magnificent deception! What an incredible try!”
Was that actually me? Seems it was. Maybe – just maybe – Joe’s life and rugby choices are not as questionable as I first thought. I won’t decide on that just yet. It’s only been a day and there’s still a long time to go until my sister returns from Europe. But if Joe and I can find unity in glorious and well-played rugby, maybe we can survive nine days alone together in the desert.
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