IT'S BEEN a good season. Not a great season but a good season. A disastrous start, then six wins in a row, then a loss to Northerns – where we could just as well have won – then last Saturday's classic against Western Province.
For the first time this season, we were firing on all cylinders. Thumping tackles, the threequarters running onto the ball at real pace, the forwards driving for all they were worth. Great stuff! We were worth three more tries at least and, but for some wayward passing, would have got them. Here is a side that has at last clicked. It's a great augury for the Currie Cup.
In the Duikers' afterwards I was reminded that I owe the fellows a bit of Cossack dancing on the bar counter, following my wager on the Canterbury game. This I will make good tonight and if we pull it off against the Jedi, I will add to the billing my celebrated rendition of that soulful Russian ballet – The Night The Awful Night That Spitzikovski Split His Tights.
The Jedi? As a service to readers I try to give sides their traditional names, not the Yankeefied nonsense devised by the marketing ponytails, but with "The Force" I'm stumped, it's like something from Star Wars – "The Force be with you!" They're based in Perth, which is hardly a stronghold of rugby. I believe the game is not even played at school, club or state level. Only at "franchise" level. Ah, me! So we can't even call them Western Australia. So the Jedi it is, the highly trained, highly disciplined, highly moral Star Wars combatants on behalf of "The Force".
I believe it's important that we know who we're playing against. A name like Western Province is much more meaningful in the real world of rugby than "Stormers." And with the Jedi at least we know they've settled in Perth from Outer Space.
I got a call this week from a fellow named Barrie – that's all he'll give – who fully supports me in this rearguard action against Yankeefication. He expresses nostalgia for the amateur days like when he and his new wife Jo-Jo, and the best man at their wedding, drove through the night in June 1960 to be at Ellis Park to watch Keith Oxlee's debut match for the Boks, against the All Blacks.
They arrived at Ellis Park at midnight, bought tickets on the black market then couldn't find anywhere to doss, Johannesburg was so crowded for the Test. Eventually the coppers at Marshall Square gave them a bunk each in the cells – but Jo-Jo had to go into the women's section.
That's what I call the true spirit of rugby – Barrie, Jo-Jo the Jailbird and their best man travelling the night to watch Oxlee, and kipping in police cells.
This is going to be another humdinger, a high note ending. Let's stick the Jedis' lightsabres where the sun don't shine! See you in the Duikers!
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