Real men don’t watch sport

My God, is it just me or is this crushing, pervasive near-religious rugby fervour downright depressing?

I know, it’s just me.

I don’t get sport. I mean, I get why people play it. Out there on the field in the sun. Breathe in some fresh air, kick a ball around, whack one with a racquet or a club. Live a few years longer. No problem there.

But sport does not, in fact, offer the same benefits when simply observed from a plastic stadium seat or the comfort of your Coricraft lounge suite. Coupled with excessive intake of cheap lager, carcinogens from braaied meat and large quantities of Trim mayonnaise, it is, in fact, detrimental to your health.

I’m struggling to grasp this in much the same way that an alien from, say, Andromeda-9 would struggle. With wide-eyed fascination I notice my bleary-eyed co-workers who have forced themselves to stay awake long after their bedtimes the previous night to watch a bunch of unappealing thugs grunt and grimace their way to a meaningless sporting victory.

I’m told, reliably, that rugby is a game of skill. Of this I have no doubt, but in the same way that keeping, feeding and farming pigs is a skill. Regardless, it’s an ugly and gruesome spectacle, appealing to the baser instincts of the human race, among them being blood, snot, mud and anger.

To say nothing of patriotism.

Patriotism, I hear you say, is surely not a base instinct. But look at it for a moment, will you? The blind, sheep mentality that leads to the economy closing down at 3pm because of an email about a tornado in Johannesburg. This is what drives patriotism of all but the most considered sort. And sport spectatorship has all the characteristics. Vehement support for a “team” (often not even based on nation state boundaries), aggression toward other team supporters and fanatical — and frankly embarrassing — behaviour dressed up as support.

Support for anything for no good reason needs to be questioned.

Of course, sport plays two important social roles. Important, that is, if it is in your interest. First, it’s a pacifier. It gives the “have-nots” something to focus their energy on so that they have less of it to focus on getting their share from society. And secondly it’s a false unifier. It gives people common cause across race, class and ethnic boundaries. The fact that the cause is completely manufactured and essentially a fiction is easily ignored by the crowds of enthusiastic supporters.

I suppose the simplest counter-argument here is to say: sport is entertainment. There is no difference, really, between rugby and Survivor. Both are real games. Both compete for a prize. Both take skill and determination. Both are entertaining to watch.

Tell me then, you green-painted, shitty Springbok-jerseyed, flag-waving naartjie tossers, are you comfortable with rugby seen in this light? Fear factor, rugby, Survivor, Iron Chef? Does it fit there?

Because if it does, why do I have to hear “news” about what happened in sports games with every news bulletin on the radio? This shit is not “news”. It’s not Bush has invaded Iraq. It’s not Zuma is going to be the next president. It’s not even Manto is an alcoholic. It’s a bunch of guys got a ball more times across a field than another bunch of guys. That’s all it is.

This weekend, as Matthew Buckland writes in his post, a potential death-knell was struck for press freedom in South Africa. It’s a scary event, one that could, as Matthew writes, change the country forever. Are people talking about this today?

Sure, some are. Many whom I’ve come across aren’t. They are talking, in fact, about the great victory that the Bokke had over the English. Watch the little birdy now … see the birdy … just watch it and let us take your attention away from the stuff you should be worrying about. There you go. You drink your nice beer and shout for your team.

That’s a good little puppet.