How do you describe something that has more commitment than than Cheslin Kolbe flying through the air to catch an up and under? Is it possible to be more dedicated than Damian de Allende crashing into the opposition defence again and again (and again and again and again)?
No, you fools. Obviously you cannot. Cheslin Kolbe is a winged magician and de Allende is a wrecking ball (and the dynamism of one too).
One can however try, as we all do when we sit down on a Saturday afternoon to watch the next game, honour these living gods of protein shake and luminescent physio tape by supporting them with all of one's heart. Be that by making sure you have the proper bok kit - the one made of proper fabric, not that stretchy nonsense; smashing beers and flesh during any game regardless of if it's a 12am kickoff in Beunos Aires, or a 9am start on a Sunday; or booking a boardroom for a pretend meeting during the world cup, so you can make sure you watch the game off the HD projector (we are not savages).
Supporting the glorious bokke though becomes innumerably more difficult when travelling to places where rugby is (unknowingly) not celebrated like a religion by shirtless men with guts touching their knees. Moreover, to make things more difficult, not only did I find myself in lands of maul and lineout ignorance, but often in places where simply finding a TV was a challenge in itself.
It was with a heavy heart and a deep sadness that I had therefore resigned myself in all likelihood to missing the Springboks challenge for glory in the world cup. It was an unintended consequence of taking a year to unselfishly give of myself, volunteer, just make the world a better place, and a choice I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
My spirits though were lifted when I walked past a bar in Pokara, Nepal, and the chalked signboard said that they were playing all the rugby games live (they also had a good special on fresh fish, but that is neither here, nor there). What? Really? Rugby, and in Nepal? Could I really be so lucky? I went up to inquire with the owner of the establishment, and lo and behold it was true.
First 3 pool games in Pokhara: SA vs New Zealand; SA vs Namibia; SA vs Italy
I had missed the New Zealand opening game (because of trekking in the mountains - forgive me), but I was a few days out of the SA vs Namibia game, and was definitely not missing this one. I got to the pub early for the Japan vs Ireland game, and that doozie set up what was a routine smashing of our neighbours, and the first W for the world cup.
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| SA vs Namibia Hows's that tache? Pokhara, Nepal |
Watching rugby in Pokhara was easy, so watching SA turn over Italy was a piece of cake. By this time I had found a few places playing the game, so I was spoiled for choice, so watched the game while daring to eat a pizza. Both me, as well as the boks, made it through unscathed.
4th pool game in Kathmandu
Einstein was so correct when he remarked that "The only thing more dangerous than ignorance is arrogance" (though he probably changed that quote after some of his later inventions), and I was given a kick off my high horse down to reality when I missed the Canada game. I had foolishly thought I would be able to watch the game - being in the capital of Nepal. In truth, I didn't try that hard, because it was after all only Canada, but still, not good enough Ryan, and I swore I would not make the same mistake again.
QF in Goa: Japan vs SA
We were in the quarters, and Japan had the support of a passionate country behind them - which had already helped them claim unexpected victories over Ireland and Scotland. You never want to play the home team of a world cup, let alone when in the last world cup they had smacked you.
Learning from my past mistakes, I made sure that my hostel was screening the game, and watched the boys grind Japan down with Mapimpi smashing his Japanese opposite winger on his way to a double.
SF in Hampi: SA vs Wales
A week later I found myself in Hampi. Hampi has many things going for it: beautiful landscapes, a relaxing atmosphere that moves as gently as the cool breeze that flows through the rice paddies, thousands of ruins, monuments, and temples (although inexplicably none to Siya "our son" Kolisi, or the Beast); but for a land that clearly digs worshiping things, surprisingly it had no place to worship the bokke?
As a largely 'dry' city, meaning that alcohol is generally frowned upon, and hard to come by, together with an inexplicable total unawareness of rugby, I feared that I would be doomed to watching highlights of the game on Youtube, or reading the post match analysis of the game.
I was however inspired by an Englishman (of all people), who had said that the rugby could be streamed via a VPN or some technie, nerd, IT IT, something. If I could find a place with decent wifi - the city where he watched was an hour's bus away - I could watch the game.
I was staying in Sanapur, a small village across the river from Hampi, and about an hour's drive to the closest main city which had hotels (and therefore decent, stable wifi). So, while contemplating how to get to the city for the game the next day, I saw that our backpackers had a TV. Inspired, but doubtful, I asked Rambo (Yes, I know), the owner of the hostel if he could play the game, and he assured me that it was possible. I was staying in the middle of a tiny village, but luckily enough he had a TV, and satellite to boot. India, you beaut.
Hold your horses everyone. India giveth, and India takes away. As things turned out, the satellite in the backpackers did not work. Rambo though, true to his name, was not easily defeated, and offered for me to watch in his home.
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| That's how you make a plan to catch the boks Sanapur, India |
So I do not know where you watched the game, but I did from a village called Sanapur, in the middle of India, on the floor of the house of the owner of the local backpackers.
Final in Kerala: SA vs England
After a hard fought victory, and the glory of Pollard's right boot (how glorious you may ask -
http://www.thebounce.co.za/articles/sports/handre-pollard-insures-his-right-foot-for-r2-million/4173), we had made it to the finals. I had made it to the southern state of Kerala, specifically Kochi - its capital.
Unfortunately, and like previous capitals in this story, Kochi had lots of hotels, but none showing rugby. My hostel this time had no television, but it did have decent wifi, so I decided to try streaming by using a VPN to trick the internet into thinking I was not in India, but a more rugby-loving nation where those channels would let me watch the glorious springboks take on the poopy-headed English (sorry, but I am that passionate).
You may be able to trick a fool, maybe even trick a camel, but you cannot fool the internet (well at least I cannot). With time running out, I began to despair. Though, like Rassie says, rugby is about the full squad, I needed the help of a buddy - no a hero - and only the greatest of friends would video call you and point their phone at their TV at home for 80 minutes (plus trophy ceremony and speeches).
So, I managed to watch South Africa give England as absolute hiding. Yes, it was through a phone screen, watching another screen, but no less sweet. Winning the world cup is one thing, but any South African sports fan will tell you that beating the English (media), who were so confident after beating New Zealand, is sooooo much more sweet.
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| It takes a village to help Ryan watch the world cup. Kochi, India |
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| The biggest shout out to an absolute legend. Thanks bae :) |
So what is the moral of the story? I am not sure. Probably, that the boks are amazing. Follow your dreams. Never give up. And always make sure you dress your best, you never know who you will meet.
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| Covering that glorious mop with a hat is probably the biggest mistake he made in the world cup |
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