Ole Les Bleus!

This morning was one of those were by waking up is effortless. As if I was not asleep in the first place, in a reflex like motion I woke up, turned, hit the power button on the remote and just like that it was game time. Gotta show love for whoever invented the remote. I didn’t even have to leave my bed.

Nevertheless, I was about 3 minutes late for the start of the game but it didn’t really matter because nothing had happened according to the score board. As I watched on there was no one team that was dominating the game. It was an even match up. France was neither better nor worse than Wales and vice versa. However, that thing they call impartiality was incredibly lacking in the commentary box today. I mean, if you were listening to that game on the radio you would have thought Wales were leading and they were not, it was 3-0 to France. It really sucks because ITV is the only network broadcasting the game, which means that there is no other alternative. And am pretty certain that not everyone watching this morning was pro Wales, you know what I mean.

With the way the commentators were hyping Wales, I figured that France were the underdog. Having been and still being an underdog in everything that have and that I do, it was automatic that I would back France in this game. But anyway back to the game, nothing much was happening in the first half. Nothing up until the great Sam Warburton showed us why he is such an amazing player to watch. But this time it was not in the delight of the ref, a dangerous tackle that would prove to be the biggest shift in the game. I mean the whole game. We rarely get to see red cards in rugby, but there couldn’t have been a more controversial one than that given to your boy Sam Warburton this morning.

So here it goes; Dimitri Yachvilli has just made the turn to start running on to the Welsh defence after catching the ball from a line out. As he adds a little more acceleration to his run,he pops the ball to the his second centre who is greeted with the shoulder and pure velocity of one Sam Warburton. Sam drives into the centre, points his victim’s upper body to the ground and then drops him on head first to the ground. Right then and there I felt a shiver down mine spine similar to the one you get when you think your hard enough to take a cold shower. The shiver was followed an increase in nois from the crowd as they saw the slowed replay on the big screen. The atmosphere was so tense that it forced the ref to react. And boy did he react. As visible as you like it, the great Sam took his cause to the bench with no contest.

be the judge, tell me what you think in the comments

I myself thought it was fair. He did drop him to the ground, accompanying that with the fact that it was a semi-final as in everyone was watching, the ref had to react and he felt that 10 minutes off the pitch wouldn’t cut it. So red card it was.  

From that point on Wales were on the back foot. France showed that wisdom that comes with experience by playing the territorial game. Playing territory only means one thing – kicking. Kick, kick and kick until the fat lady sings. The more you keep the other team outside your own half the more you are likely to get paid at the end of the week. France did it so well that even Wales were buying into it by kicking back. But fighting fire with fire was not the formula; Wales had to find a way to take the game to France physically. And in the dying minutes they did when Mike Phillips snuck through the French defence to score the only try of the game. Sadly the two point conversation was missed, making the score 8-9 to France. Close ha.

With the score that close and only a few minutes left in the game, one would have thought it common sense to prepare the Fly Half for a drop goal. And so did I and maybe a thousand few Welsh fans thought. Wales had an added advantage as well because they had two Fly Halves on the pitch; James Hook and Stephen Jones. Even France brought in their wingers from the wing positions so that whenever Wales did decide to take the drop goal, they could use their speed to try and block it.

 Back in the game, just about two minutes left in the game. Wales are in possession, slowly but surely they are moving the ball and hitting that sweet advantage line. But the French aren’t going down without a fight. Tackling with physicality is one they know how to do and they are doing it well. After about eight or nine phases, Wales find themselves deep in French territory. And there I am fully awake and out of my bed. I’m rubbing my hands together as one would do in an attempt to generate heat. Am waiting, anxiously for that game winning drop goal but somehow Mike Phillips continues to dish the ball to the forwards. And these guys are starting to look tired, instead of penetrating the French defence there are being driven back and my hands are getting called so I rub them again. I ask myself, ‘What the Hell?!’ why did they not take the drop goal when they could? While am quizzing myself for answers, Wales have been driven all the way back to the halfway line. They don’t have Francois Steyn on their team so they have no chance from there. The French defence was really making a statement and, as if they had not been rewarded enough; a blessing of a knock fell just in time to make it a fitting cherry on top of the ice and finish the game for the team known as Les Blues.

Disappointing for Wales considering how much possession they had, the score was a tantalisingly close 8-9.

All in all, Wales were more deserved of a win than France, but the circumstances were too big for Wales and missing their captain for the remainder of the second half proved to be too difficult for them.  As for France,

 Ole! Ole! Bein,Bein, jeux fantastique!!

I Still Love My Springboks

So I woke up real early today, I mean real early like 5.30am right... So am awake and am feeling good and excited. Am still dozing off from time to time but it’s all good because the game is about to start (SouthAfricavsAustralia) and am certain that we (SouthAfrica) are going to win. Why wouldn't we? We have the most experienced team in international rugby. In other words: our team is composed of largely a bunch of old guys. But these aren't your regular old guys though, they are good old guys. Really good. And, we are the defending champions. We have been there before, so we know what needs to be done. So the game starts and boy are we dominating. All the stats suggest that we're killing it; possession, territory, everything. Our guys are tearing up the advantage line, running hard and making solid tackles. I mean this is what the Springboks (SouthAfrica) are known for: that extremely physical brand of rugby. So we’re killing everything, everything but one thing, the points on the score board. The one big thing that really counts is the last thing I‘m thinking about. I mean am aware of it but am kinda ignoring it because am confident in my team, we can pull through.

Apart from the 9 points Australia scored in the first half, they really haven't been in the game. Except for one guy, one guy who can absolutely ruin the speed at which we play our game is having a field day. This one guy is none other than David Pocock. I'm on the couch cussing the air, 'How can one guy control our game?! We are dominating the possession but have only scored one try. So this guy has single handily made us scratch our heads. He is legally slowing our game down and it seems like there is nothing that we can do about it. We have no answer for David Pocock.

With the try and penalty we scored in the first half we are down by 1 point. So it’s time for formalities right, my main man Morne Steyn is a kicking machine and he goes right ahead and hits that drop goal that gives us the lead. We're back! We're back in it and we are like 10 minutes to taking our cause to the semi finals, standard Procedure. Then out of the blue, Australia is awarded a penalty inside our half. Penalty converted and all of a sudden it’s looking bleak. The Boks are trailing by 2 points; all we need is a good drop goal or a penalty to win this game.

So there we are, going hard in Australia's half going hard, pushing the needle, moving the ball. I can feel the tension in the stadium coming through and reaching me on the couch. I am as nervous and anxious as the guy who travelled all over the world, didn't pay his bills for a whole year just to save up for some a quarter final match tickets, quarter finals! You have to feel sorry for that guy. Anyway guys are running hard, they cross the halfway line. We are making progress. The game clock has already expired which means the next stoppage of play is either a penalty to us or the end of the game. Like 4 daggers to the heart, preeeee, I hear the whistle, 'knock on by green game over' and there you have, it was game over. Aaarrrh!! I hit the pillow as a sign of anger and disappointment. I could have thrown the remote through the TV but that is way outside my parent's budget.

It hit me hard man, Couldn't believe we were out of the tournament. And there I was thinking and reliving the different situations trying to understand how exactly we lost this game right. Most fans go through this stage after an epic loss. We tend to blame the ref, the weather, opposing fans, our own coach. Trust me the truth we know but admitting it is a whole different ball game. We picture it in our minds, the, 'Oh we told you so from the smart asses', the sarcastic good sportsmanship handshakes after the game, the, 'Oh buy them a beer they went through a lot financially to get some tickets, as of now they are actually homeless due to the misfortunes of the put your money where your mouth is game for rich people'. You understand how horrible that is? Exactly, this is why our defence mechanism immediately kicks in; we enter what is known as self induced denial. We refuse to accept the fact the other team is better than us even though they have just beaten us in our sport's most prestigious tournament.

In my case this morning the game was lost before it even started. I mean picture this: Australia, David Pocock, a young team and that speed that really kills vs South Africa, John Smit starting, Bismarck Du Plessis on the bench, A bunch of old guys, the lack of speed and an indecisive coach. We never had a chance in the first place! When have you ever had of a bunch of old and slow dudes winning a rugby match against some fast young cats? Never is the unfortunate but sad truth. And now I'm knees deep in the blues, reminiscing about 2007 when we won it all. A bottle of Budweiser would have been ideal but the finances aren't obliging. So there I am with my glass filled with some ice cold Vimto thinking to myself, 'How can I be so pissed about a ball game! I chuckle, take a sip and I remember that such is the life of a sports fan. Cheers

For those of you who understand the concept of this song, those of you who are deep in sorrow. Don't be scared, don't be shy, go right ahead and tell us how it feels in the comments section below. howww dooesss ittt feeeeeellll aaahh!!