IN THE PRESENCE OF SPRINGBOK WARRIORS
Saturday saw False Bay come out on top when they beat their Southern Suburbs rivals, Villager at a massively packed Bay club. There were so many people, and so much face paint, it was hard to tell who was who in this zoo.
I arrived to find loud-mouthed Bob sporting a red, white and green painted skullcap, with bits flaking off onto his 1993 blazer - giving the impression that dandruff can indeed come in many colours.
Succumbing to the gees, Kirsten and I painted our faces with a red, white and green stripe (I had a strange sense of déjà vu that this was Italy taking on Paraguay at the World Cup, but then realised there wasn't a vuvuzela to be seen). We wandered around to the sunny side and settled onto the grassy bank as the Bay First XV ran onto the field amid cheers and expectant hopes that today would be the day.
These two Southern Suburbs teams haven't played each other at The Bay since 2001, so the game was intense, the rivalry very much apparent and the supporters kept silent and boisterous at various times throughout the 80 minutes.
Us wannabe WAGS were dividing our attention between looking at the expressions on Kevin & Ed's faces, watching the game unfold in front of us and trying to discretely manage a social life on our cell phones for later that evening. Time after time however, the crowd, some of whom leapt to their feet, green and red paint splattering all over the place, roared with uncontained delight as The Bay boys touched down try after try.
It was hardfought though: Villager came out fighting and proved their mettle, but it was the Constantia club that showed who was actually on the right side of the tracks!
During a phase of broken play at the bottom of the field, I heard a squeaky 10 year old voice go, 'Look! It's Chester Williams!' That's right, the former Springbok winger was standing, no jokes, about 2 meters behind us - the riveting club game between the Bay and Villager obviously more entertaining than the Currie Cup on TV.
He wasn't the only Springbok showing his face; Gert Smal was wandering around, a giant beast of a man, looking every bit the esteemed player and international coach he is.
When the final whistle blew, us girls picked our way through the churned up turf, congratulated our men and waited (as one does, Girlfriends) for the sing-song to be over, for the first beer to be consumed and for the stars to come out. It can take a while.
At this point my withered red, white & green flag had peeled off; not in Bob's case though - he looked like he'd had a bad altercation with a spray paint bottle - and Kirsten and I were deemed suitable enough to be ushered into the Tight Head.
A number of older, white-haired men made their rounds, each wearing a blazer or jacket of their club - some 2 years old, some twenty - and as I marveled at the amazing dedication of these men to their club and to rugby, it was revealed that a few of them were Springboks back in their day. No, I couldn't name them, and no, I didn't recognise them. But that didn't take way from the fact that they represented rugby at the highest level, and were honoured in the green and gold. (Please excuse her Messrs Dave Stewart and John Gainsford, she is young, blonde and well…a she- ed)
The Bay boys and coaches truly did themselves proud on Saturday. They beat their southern rivals RESOUNDEDLY, and did so in the presence of Springbok Warriors.
