The Rugga Zone
We’ve got two serious rugby supporters in our office: Kerry and Katrine. They enthusiastically follow every game and then discuss it in detail on Monday mornings. This is usually when the BossLady and I excuse ourselves from the conversation. Don’t get me wrong – we love it when our team (which is any South African team, for that matter) wins, we are just not interested in the details. We’d rather have some tea.
And what happened this weekend?
In spite of myself, I tuned into SABC2 at 16:30 and watched the Bokke VS Lions game. All by lonesome as my husband was watching it elsewhere (an early Father’s Day treat. Nice of me, hey? I’m good that way. Okay, back to the rugby).
I frantically tried to keep the kids entertained with anything I could lay my hands on, as long as I could follow the game. I was sitting on the edge of my seat, biting my nails; especially towards the end. And yes, I experienced the unfamiliar urge to jump and shout in an unruly manner.
I was into it, wasn’t I?
Having only watched a few big games in my life, I don’t know that much about rugby. But in my very humble opinion I think the Lions played a good game and that the Bokke will have to give it their all in the next game. It was just a bit too close for comfort.
Point is, the Bokke won and that is all that matters. Now go out there and kick some lily white butt!
Well done, Im proud of you for watching the rugby, now you understand mine and Katrina’s excitement!
Don’t push it now. I won’t say that I “understand” it. I have experienced it, yes. But I can’t imagine getting myself that worked up over a friendly provincial game.
Neh. me neither