Football 'facepalm'

2014-07-20 15:00

Malibongwe Tyilo survived the World Cup, but only just. As if to tempt fate, he visited a

sports bar and, for the first time ever, watched a whole soccer match live with the bros

I hate sports. All of it.

The whole damn thing. Most of my friends also hate sports.

Whenever the Games-Olympics-Cups things come around, we make sure to stay well away from the TV screens and bars that televise these events.

I am truly grateful for the internet because I no longer have to depend on broadcasters for my entertainment.

Earlier this year, when the Sochi Winter Olympics came around, I managed to completely block them out.

It was magical. I got to right some of the wrongs I experienced during my childhood, when my soapies would just be cast aside for the Olympics, sometimes without notice.

Also, bless Mark Zuckerberg for the option to hide certain people’s status updates on Facebook.

If I see even the slightest evidence that someone might start posting anything sports-related, I hide it and all their future updates, without having to deal with the awkwardness that comes with unfriending them.

But of all the sports, I find soccer particularly annoying. Before you hate on me, take a moment to sympathise with my situation.

In a country like ours, there is little tolerance for the sports-hater. Even if you hate one sport, you have to at least try to make up for it by loving another.

The idea that you love no sport is akin to some sort of high treason in the eyes of some fans.

The fans are the worst for me, screaming at the screen as though it makes a difference. All that emotional gymnastics: laughter, tears, screaming. No, thank you.

It’s just not for me.

On game days, I have strangers randomly ask me which team I’m rooting for.

Just as I start to crack a smile to what I assume is some type of flirtatious proposition, they start naming countries and the penny drops.

After I inform them I’m not into soccer, a dumbfounded look appears on their faces, like they just can’t compute, like that wheel of doom on a computer when it gets stuck. And then eventually: “Okay, but which country are you supporting in tonight’s game?” *Facepalm*

So even I was surprised when I found myself at a sports bar about to watch that fateful Germany vs Brazil match.

To be honest, I only went because I hadn’t had a drink in months, and on this particular night I really felt like drowning a sorrow or two in a draught or two (or more).

The only friend I could find to drink within close proximity is a soccer fan. (Well, he is more of a fan of the soccer players’ bodies.)

Anyway, this particular one looks like a bit of a man cave with soccer paraphernalia everywhere.

Their ladies’ toilet has an “out of order” sign stuck to it, and by it’s yellowing corners I can tell the sign’s been there for a while.

There are no women at the bar, strictly guys, and not the kinds with sporty bodies.

Even though there are only six tables in this particular cave, each has its own flat screen, in addition to the other four larger flat screens hanging above the bar.

For a second, I imagine how much more fun this would be if each of the screens played episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

One can but dream.

If you watched this game you’ll remember what a tragic soap opera it was.

I had never before watched an entire game of soccer.

Probably mostly because very few are as tragic as this one was.

Even I jumped up in parts and screamed “Noooooooooooooo!” at the screen and at no one in particular.

Emotion welled up inside me and I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or laugh.

I started posting game memes on my Twitter and Facebook accounts.

I began wondering how may people were contemplating unfriending me at that moment, but I didn’t care.

For a second, I even wanted to believe in God, that he had brought me to this game, that indeed even he was a soccer fan and he wanted to show me that this could be fun for me too.

Then, suddenly, from the table behind me a frustrated white Brazil fan screams at the TV, “Come on now! Get up, you golliwogs!”

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