Silencing the lambs
by
2007-10-18 09:43
Brandon Faber, News24 User
There are many-many turncoats in this world. Thousands, millions of sad souls whose only real talent in life is balancing on the fence and then - when coattails are ready to be ridden - they are there in all their glory, pretending to have backed their horse from the start.
You find these turncoats everywhere, none more so than in politics and sport. Sometimes the lines between the two are rather blurred - especially here - but we are, by no stretch of the imagination, alone in this bed-hopping exercise.
On Saturday night, South Africa's number one sporting brand, The Springboks, take on the men from the old country or, as Uncle Bob would have us believe, "The source of all evil".
It wasn't too long ago that the English press, notoriously unstable in their support (and reasoning), were at the throats of their "grumpy old men" in white. "Too slow, too old, too pedantic, unimaginative, uninventive and disjointed" they shouted, warm lagers in hand, whilst their guys tried their very best to match the pace, power and skill of that rugby giant, the USA.
Things got even worse after the drubbing by The Springboks (our number one sporting brand - repeated here only for the benefit of the slow among us).
Anyway, their press went a-bashing and nothing was good at all. Sulky, nasty, terribly judgmental, the British press let loose with every condescending adjective in the Queen's language.
A change
Then things started to change - and kudos to the Poms for playing more committed rugby. Australia played the wrong game and were muscled off the rucks, starving them of ball for their backs. The French, also, played the wrong game and, instead of running at a team with very limited abilities out wide, chose to kick as much as possible...
You do not "out kick" England.
All of a sudden the last four years of struggle is long gone and English rugby is simply the best thing since the dole. All of a sudden, those same soldiers who were once too slow, old, pedantic, unimaginative, uninventive and disjointed are what rugby is all about.
As one overly-excited Tony Roche writes in that bastion of sensible journalism, The Sun: "When England were thrashed 36-0 by South Africa in Paris on September 14 they were a team without a game. When they return to Stade de France for Saturday's World Cup Final they do so as a team who have become the game."
Pardon me while I choke on my fish and chips.
Viva
Roche, obviously on a steady diet of Johnny Walker and Prozac, continues: "For all those prancing, posturing prats with their Hakas, for all the talk of French flair, Gaelic style and Wallaby recycling, it is battling, bottle and balls that wins rugby union matches."
The only thing in this world with more conviction of its own greatness is a certain South African politician who, for fear of being sued, shall remain nameless.
For all the guts and effort the English rugby team has showed (and should get credit for), they are by no means a balanced side, world beaters and gods of the oval ball - as is made to believe.
This Saturday, the humble men in Green and Gold take the field of glory once again. They will be fighting for the survival of The Springbok, they will be striving for the revival of our national pride, they will be aiming towards achieving their ultimate goal and rugby's top honour.
Hopefully, in the process, they can offer the world a few moments' respite, a few seconds of glorious silence - a precious gift of restraint from what it commonly - very commonly (in fact) - referred to as, "The Bleating British Press."
Viva!
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