Longitude
and latitude
in rugby
OH DEAR, in the end the Sharks blew it in the dying minutes of what would otherwise have been an undefeated tour of the Antipodes.
They were playing the Chiefs at Hamilton, on the North Island of the Land of the Long White Underpants, which is marginally closer to Durban than Christchurch, where they drew with the Crusaders.
Does this bolster the case of those in the Sharks boardroom who are urging that King's Park be relocated to Antarctica, on the premise that the further the team are from Durban, the better they perform?
Perhaps. But the basis of that is challenged by none other than investment analyst Dr James Greener who says in his latest grumpy newsletter that Australia and New Zealand are further away from Durban than Antarctica.
I put this to one of the Antarctica lobbyists who said: "The effect on the Sharks' performance is latitude, not longitude. As your friend Greener says, you cross a lot of lines of longitude getting to Australia and New Zealand, and that is distance, but it's latitude southward that is decisive in the Sharks' performance. We've been studying it closely."
He shows me an architect's sketch of the projected new stadium which, he says, will be situated at the South Pole and will be covered. It looks like a massive igloo.
"Don't worry, it'll be centrally heated," he says.
"But then won't it melt?"
"We're working on that."
The Sharks need to put such complications out of their mind and concentrate on the rare feat of winning a home game against the Lions this weekend.
I WAS not able to watch the Chiefs match, being at Maritzburg College for the annual Kehlas Lunch – veterans who left the school 50 or more years ago.
My, what a bunch of grizzled old geezers they are . But these days theorganisers also invite the wives – the gals have generally weathered very much better than the guys.
It has its complications though. I sit down at table and find an item of confectionery before me, wishing me "Happy Mother's Day".
A blonde lady of my acquaintance is dismissive and scornful of such gatherings. "You live in the past," she says. "You must get into the present. Now is now. You must get with it, not hang around with fogeys"
Sigh! I fear she will never understand male camaraderie. The pleasure of renewing old acquaintanceship. Of reliving old memories. And some fascinating conversation.
Why, I find myself chatting to no less a personage than the inventor and manufacturer of the "Punga-luthu" (No-pong) toilet, which requires no water and is hugely useful in the deep rural areas.
Also the long-distance runner who entered for the Comrades Marathon when a third-form boarder at College, aged about 12. The Comrades organisers turned him down as being too young, he counter-arguing that they advertise the race as "no age limits"; they saying it meant no age limits upwards. Very unfair.
He eventually did run, winning the Novices Medal on his first outing then a clutch of golds and silvers thereafter. He still runs 5km every day.
You just don't get into such chatter in day-to-day life in the present.
Tailpiece
"Do you love me?"
"I love you with all my butt."
"What do you mean?"
"My butt's much bigger than my heart."
Last word
Rules are just helpful guidelines for stupid people who can't make up their own minds.
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