Today I officially become a rugby widow. My husband, like the rest of SA is rugby ‘befok. Nauseatingly so. He already has a timetable up on the fridge of when he’ll be otherwise engaged.

I hate rugby. Always have. Always will. Even going to an all girls school did not save me from the grunting, groaning and the grabbing in strange places. Every weekend without fail we had to attend our brothers school rugby games and enthusiastically cheer them on from the side lines. As I’ve already mentioned this was the bane of my existence. For a few reasons.

Firstly I had to wear my school uniform on a weekend. Blazer, hat and stockings, which was a real killjoy. I had to catch two buses to get there and two buses home. On a bad day I was often mistaken for the prop (being rather overweight and unattractive *read*), on a good day, the ball itself. Why would that be a good day, you ask? Well, at least the ball had some shape!

I didn’t understand the rules of the game then, and I don’t get them now, even though I am told by rugby aficionados that they are complex and it takes highly skilled players to perform like that. May I just say I’ve seen buffalo stampeding in formation, does that make them highly skilled too?

I find rugby supporters slightly hypocritical too. If grown men were bending over each other like that and clutching at crotches anywhere else but on a sports field most heterosexual men would be flinging abuse at them, with a few homophobic slurs to boot (bad pun, couldn’t resist). Most people’s ‘gaydars’ would be going off with the the way they slap each other on the bum and high five one another. Just imagine a group of men at the Baron & Beaver, chugging back beers and tossing peanuts down their gullets, only stopping to smack one of their mates on the bum as he goes off to the toilet. No, it wouldn’t happen. And it would seem only rugby players and Richard Simmons can get away with wearing those teeny tiny shorts and not be ridiculed. I dare any man to wear short shorts like that while he runs his errands on a Saturday. Can anyone say drop-kick?

But there are some positives to the RWC. Shopping centres and roads will be dead quite when games are on the go. Single ladies, NOW is the time to trawl through malls and shopping districts in search of the ideal man. If he’s not glued to a couch or a bar stool then he’s a keeper. Unless he’s wearing short shorts. Then I would suggest you stay away…oh and if he has his hand attached to another girl, leave him alone too.

We might not have to attend church on Sunday because it might be closed, due to rugby. The pastor is not only a God nut, he’s a rugby nut too.

Another advantage to the RWC is for ladies wanting to go to bars and pubs without the usual leers, jeers and unwanted attention from men. A girl’s night out will be uninterrupted due to the fact that the men there will be too busy high fiving and butt-smacking their counterparts. Of course if you do want to get noticed I would suggest dressing up as a rugby ball or placing one firmly between your thighs. You could also use pick up lines like “Care to scrum?” or “I don’t normally come on this strong, but do you want to ruck?” An oldie but a goodie that will definitely work is “touch, pause, engage!” and if you’re the corny type you could always try “You’re a naughty boy and need to spend ten minutes in my sin bin”.

During this time I won’t even have to pretend I’m listening and paying attention to people’s conversations. When they discuss ‘tries’, ‘tackles’, ‘rucks’, ‘looseheads’ and ‘hookers’ I will know they’re not talking about their date the night before, so I can wander off and do something more fun, like have a gynae do an internal with a rusty spatula…

Having said all this, there are still some women out there that will use the RWC to score points with their better halves by watching the games and feigning interest, so just in case, courtesy of the Mail & Guardian, here’s a link to a quick and easy guide for understanding rugby –


4 thoughts on “RWC Fever? I’d rather have Typhoid Fever!

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