Only a game

At the watercooler on Monday morning…

“Hey Andrea, how was your weekend? Did you watch the rugby?”

“Ja! What a game. Actually, I have a funny story…”

“Tell me.” (He could care less.)

“Are you sure?” (I’m telling him anyway.)

…so we actually missed the game on Saturday because we were at a birthday braai for our goddaughter. Our plan was to ignore our phones – especially messages from my brother! The bants fly across the cloud when we’re not watching the rugby together and I knew he’d be the first to message at the hint of drama, good or bad. Too risky. If we didn’t know the score, then when we watched on catch-up later it would be like we hadn’t missed anything. All was going well – eating meat, talking junk – until a message slapped me right in the face (I promise, I was just checking the time!). My brother. One line: “It’s not going well.” I panicked. Choked down the FOMO. Remembered that we are World Champions and carried on chewing my steak. Fine. Good. What game? Wait. Was that the sound of… a crowd? My eyes darted like a crack addict – and there was Rob, phone in hand. Nah. Our pals are Brazilian. Brazilians don’t watch rugby, right? Ignore ignore ignore.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into mega minutes… AND THEN minutes and mega minutes later, Natalia catches my eye, “Do you guys watch rugby?”

Sound the alarm.

“No-no-no-no-no! Don’t tell me the score. I know we’re not doing so well; my brother told me.

“Mom! Have you been looking at your phone?”

“No guys, only once! Just to check the time.”

Phone confiscated.

“But wait, Natalia – do YOU guys watch rugby?”

Turns out they do – and who do they support? The Springboks. Not Argentina or Chile or… the All Blacks. South Africa. “We love the Springbok violence”, they say.

My people.

Natalia checks her phone and smiles knowingly.

FOMO FOMO FOMO.

What game?

Time to go.

We get homa and I bolt like Usain. A human torpedo launching across obstacles, the remote my Utopia. Game’s not loaded. Refresh. Refreshrefreshrefreshrefreshrefresh. Nope. No game. Curse the Gods. Go to sleep. Wake up at 6:58 the next day. Game’s loaded. Watch game. Like it’s not already happened yet. My voice is gone.

The drop goal.

Shit.

…still at the water cooler.

“Didn’t you watch the game, Max? You support Ireland, don’t you?”

Max shakes head.  

“It was brilliant – super sad for us but those guys beat up the Springboks. No one does that. There was blood everywhere, it was awesome. I also flippen hate drop goals. Johnny Wilkinson PTSD…”

…I could go on

“But how was the soccer? Sucks about England losing.” (Not.)

“Well, it’s only a game. There’s other things…”

“Huh?”

“Only a game?”

Jislaaikit.

If you have a story you’d like to share about South Africa please send it to Andrea via admin@sapeople.com; and visit Andrea’s OurFiresideStories.com