FEEL it, it is here! The World Cup is well and truly underway in South Africa. It was surely a long wait but it was worth it. If you have not caught the football bug, then you must be dead.
Alain de Botton, a newspaper columnist, put it this way, “Football phobia is a problem for which there is no public support. In fact alcoholism draws more sympathy.”
With this spectacle, as was the case with the last one in Germany, women have come to the forefront in supporting what has essentially been a male domain. I remember reading somewhere about a lady’s comments made after her husband had taken her to her first match.
When asked what the whole experience was like, she replied, “I still do not find watching 22 grown men kicking an inflated spherical for ninety minutes entertaining. In fact I sympathised with the lone player in black who ran so much throughout the game but never got to kick the ball even once. It’s was so unfair!”
Since time immemorial, the fairer sex has suffered from the excesses of the male species. They have continuously been the victims of the World Cup mania that grips the globe once every four years. But ask any man and they will tell you that such an accusation is incredulous. They say it is not their fault that women find it hard to understand the game, let alone like it.
Now who would like a game that made them endure many long and lonely nights as their mates sat transfixed in front of the television set? Worse still others have to deal with absentee husbands who would be glued to the big screens mounted at the pub, doing untold damage to the family budget. Normal family activity tends to take the back seat while resources are diverted towards financing the countless obligatory rounds for the tshomies.
There is no greater crime than not showing interest in the world’s greatest game. A full bloodied heterosexual male cannot admit hating football without suspicions being raised. Indeed confessing lack of interest is fraught with dangers. One runs the danger of being labelled an alien just landed from Mars.
Imagine this; Ronaldo dribbling through the entire opposition’s defence and capping it with a spectacular volley to the corner of the net. It’s as if the height of human happiness resided in scoring and celebrating a goal! Everyone, mostly the males, literally lose their heads, shattering decibels and the tranquillity that God originally blessed Adam with … until Eve pitched up. This is the only time when people can go bonkers without the fear of being shipped off to the funny farm.
It sounds rather odd to hear that some bosses would like to pretend to be immune to the fever pitch excitement going on all around their ears. What kind of a boss schedules a meeting to coincide with a World Cup match? Even the most sadistic of bosses will be expected to look the other way when bleary eyed subordinates stumble in hours late after a particularly engrossing night game.
It’s called World Cup Fever, a disease that will surely leave a trail of destruction in homes as football widows try to find alternative means of occupying themselves. Divorce lawyers will surely make a mint after the games as all tales of infidelity and domestic violence come to the fore.
Is there a possible solution for the millions of women who will be tearing their hair out in frustration? One solution would be to recreate the environment one might find at a bar. Here, they are advised to swallow their pride and their prejudices to encourage him to bring his noisy and obnoxious friends home. This might seem rather drastic particularly if she has to contend with a flooded loo and a few broken pieces of furniture. The bonus will be that at least he is within shouting distance.
It is also a fact that while face powder may catch a man, it’s the baking powder that keeps him. Lasso your man with the best cooking you can offer. If you can’t, these are the desperate times that your mother warned you about. They require desperate measures. Bribe your favourite aunt if you can or hire the chef from Hell’s Kitchen even! Your man will be like putty in your hands and he might as well kiss the lads at the pub bye-bye.
The women should make it clear that the 5-star service is for the duration of the World Cup and comes with non-negotiable conditions, for better or for worse. These include not moving beyond a one-metre radius of the flat screen except for nature’s call in the bedroom and bathroom, and in that order. No unscheduled visits to the local pub will be entertained; otherwise it’s back to veggies and pap, no vleis, or worse!
Moving away from domestic complications, let us not forget that apart from national pride and the spirit of competition, the World Cup is also about money. Rumour has it that one of the top players will be paid a couple of a million dollars just for wearing designer underwear. The sponsors hope that some hapless defender, after being dribbled senseless, would pull down the elusive striker’s shorts down revealing their brand for all to see. The things people do for money!
Today, every newspaper, television station and website and every conversation one joins seems filled with reference to that preposterous sporting event taking place in South Africa, writes one journalist. Zimbabwe got its moment of glory when we played Brazil. It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for the World Cup being staged in South Africa. Not that we don’t see it, it’s here, it’s all around us, it’s everywhere … we feel it!
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