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Green blood, red faces

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Green blood, red faces

by Esther Lewis
24 Oct 2007
Peoples Post
Peoples Post

Firstly, let it be known that I am no rugby fan. I don't see the point in watching men run around after one ball.


But that said, even I jumped onto the Bok powered bandwagon on Saturday - well, for the last ten minutes anyway.

I simply had to be there to see the end of almost two months worth of messed up TV programming. I wanted to bid farewell to months of street vendors trying to sell me fake flags, fake Springbok jerseys and kitsch rugby boots to be hung on my rear view mirror. And also, I had to catch a few minutes so that I could join in on the conversation bound to be heard around every braai until the afterglow has worn off.

As the final whistle blew, the Boks jumped each other with joy. The stadium erupted - as did each and every venue where the game was being watched. And, of course, our dear Thabo, who flew all the way to France, stood all by himself, looking a bit lost, not knowing what to do.

I'm sure he must have tried to reach his advisor but, like the rest of the country, nobody was going to answer their phones at that moment.

I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as he stood there like a deer caught in the headlights. Well, if there were thought and speech bubbles, I'm pretty sure this is how it would have gone: "Hmmm, I wonder how appropriate it would be for me to jump up and down with joy. Perhaps I should hug someone," he thinks. He scans the vicinity and decides against it. "Soooo, everyone's happy. We've just won. I wonder how this will affect our economy," he thinks just before he realises he needs to go be with the boys on the field.

This is when the most embarrassing thing in that entire tournament happens: Thabo gets snubbed by the snooty English.

The Lions went up to the stage to collect their losers' medals. The French president, English prime minister and Thabo stood in a row to congratulate them.

Team Loser shook the hands of the first two, but blatantly ignored Thabo. I was sure they would know him, seeing as how he spends half the year abroad. But this was not the case.

Granted, Thabo did swap his suave suit for that ghastly green rain jacket (I'm sorry Thabo, what was that all about?). But surely that couldn't have been the reason they reacted that way. Most of them walked past him, so he had to practically tackle them from the side to get a handshake. It was very demeaning.

But then our guys came up. At least they all acknowledged him. In fact, it was funny to see how some of them (the sizes of double storey buildings) hugged him, with Thabo not to sure how to react.

Final thought bubble: "Note to self: Never let sweaty rugby players three times my size come near me again. It's so awkward. I feel a bit scared."

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