A day of Rugby

Marzeus von Hemelen By Marzeus von Hemelen, 10th Oct 2015 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/3-ws4n_k/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Sports>Rugby League

"You can't wear shirts like that. It shows your (fat) stomache too much!"

This is Petros' first words to me as I arrive at the breakfast table, all dressed up and ready for our day trip to Bloemfontein.

A day of Rugby

Geez, honestly! I can feel my face changing to a face of the annoyed.

"What are you talking about? He's looking real snazzy!", Father and Mother reacts.

"Petros, can you really not talk about anything else ever than fatness and money? It's getting soooooooo..."

I think of a word.

"Boring!", I complete that sentence. Boring wasn't quite the word, but let's not spoil the breakfast atmosphere with too strong words.

Mother jumps in, as expected to protect her little baby. Her 50 year old eldest big fat son that is:

"Stop talking nonsense! Here, come eat your souttert", she yaps at me.

While I sit down Father tries to explain that Petros for once didn't start the topic of fatness, but that it is Father and Mother who was just telling Petros he can't wear his shirt, because it's showing his stomache.

And good god, I look and am amazed that anyone in Petros' shape would dress in the olive green T-shirt that he has, let's say, outgrown, not by normal growing but by means of gluttony and food abuse. The t-shirt stretches tight over his every bodily mountain, accentuating loudly a stomache that may soon not be supported by this earth anymore and will need its own orbit around the sun.

"So? Can't you see that yourself?" I ask Petros. Apparently fat people can't see exactly how fat they are.

Petros says he just thought if his parents were going to judge the clothes he was wearing, somebody should be judging mine so he thought he'd gladly take up the task.

Whatever, his judgement was rather uncalled for, but allright, I'll drop the heavy talk for now and start being pleasant again. Mother of course has to leave our company to go and iron a baggier button-up shirt for Petros, her 50 year old baby. Or whatever age he is. I'll just round it up to 50, give or take a decade.

Once breakfast is over, I go pack in my little rugsak for our trip to the rugby.

It's not long before Caldwell, whom invited us to the private suite of MutuaFin, arrives to pick us up.

Quite a pleasant drive to Bloemfontein. Caldwell has brought us a cooler bag with drinks and snacks for the road. Before we're even out our driveway, Petros jumps right in and has already drunk two cans of Coca Cola before the first 10 minutes of the trip is up.

Then he dives into the potatoe chips and droëwors. This after we have just had a steady breakfast of souttert before we embarked on this trip.

I can't help feeling a little sorry for Petros, so gluttonous and irresponsible with his health and weight. He is so going to regret being yet a little fatter after this day. But, he knows everything I know about how to get fat and how less so, so I'm not his parent who's going to tell him to slow down there on the snacks. But I know he'll be trying to not feel alone in his fatness and try to point out flaws in me pretty soon. Hopefully not today; I want to enjoy this outing.

Throughout all the subjects being discussed, religion also pops up. It seems many people talk about religion these days, even unexpectedly. Father says as he knows it, the Bible (first part) was written by the Israelites when they were already exiled in Babylon. With their temple beaten down and being away from where they come from, they decided to pick up moral and wrote and created a national history for themselves in such a way that they are the heroes and the favorite "teacher's pet" of the creator of the universe.

Caldwell goes even further to say that there's also the aspect of tacking on the spiritual aspect to it, in order to create a symbolic temple - now they don't even need a physical temple, but throughout these religions there is now this "temple" that exists in belief only. "The Temple Corruption", he quotes it being referred to.

All this just confirms my belief that modern religion always was and still is simply applied and created on-the-fly for nothing other than political and monetary gain. There is no truth and spiritual angle to modern religion. Where in ancient times, religious centers and temples were the centers, libraries and schools of "secrets" and "magic", that is knowledge of science, medicine and the heavenly bodies, religion is now solely employed to hide the truth and delay any real revelations, alongside being used as reasons and excuses for making war and committing severe human rights violations.

In the time of the gods, it must have been unthinkable that in future, there would be debates labled "science versus god" or "science versus religion" or "science versus creationism". It would in most circumstances have been unthinkable that the temple that among housing and worshipping the resident god was the observation place of science and astronomy, would become a religious warmachine fighting scientific approach and labeling knowledge of the heavenly bodies and "secrets/magic" as "pagan" instruments of evil.

Arriving at our destination, we park some walk from the stadium. Now how do we get to our gate number? It's quite some walk through some sports facilities and the gates are locked. But Sham, a black worker at one of the gates, agrees to open the gates for us and show us how to get to the stadium.

But how will we get back tonight? Father pays Sham a little something and makes an agreement that he come open the gates for us again at 7, when the game is over. However, as we approach the stadium, we find much better parking spaces much nearer, so Caldwell goes back to get the car to park it here.

Finally we arrive at our private suite. Very beautiful; Percy from the company is our barman and takes care of us providing us with drinks in this beautifully, recently redone suite. They put in a curved bar instead of the straight one that was here, with beautiful wood finishings.

Percy shows us the flat screen TV on the wall is a new one too, because the ANC had a function here just the other day, and apparently they were in the suites too and stole the TV off the wall. Unbelievable! Who would have done it, seeing as it would take a while to unscrew it and will have to be carried out of this stadium complex without anyone noticing? Could only have been one of the organizers. Some people are scum.

A few other invited guests join us and after having a few drinks and snacks, some of us go sit outside on the seats blocked off as part of this box. Father told us that today, we will be rooting for the Cheetahs.

Father is also surprized that there are no opening matches anymore, starting with the kids and then the high schoolers etc. Seems that custom has gone the way of the dodo.

Most of us will be rooting for the Cheetahs today, but among the guests there is one policeman who is wearing his Bulls T-shirt. And he's not shy to say, everytime the Bulls score, to Father: "Dis lekker om 'n Bloubul te is!" (a slightly grammatically corrupted way of saying "It's lekker to be a Blue Bull!")

So he continues, jokingly rubbing it in Father's face that the Bulls are winning and the Cheetahs haven't got a prayer. As the match continues and Father and him talks, it appears Father may have found himself another tennis buddy to play with. Father used to be a huge tennis player, but for the past year or so, our tennis court at Tower Hills is crumbling away with no enthusiasm from Father's side to have it maintained, as Father's tennis career has been taking a rest too. But, now he's been wanting to take it up again, just needing more people to practise with, and it seems this policeman may join the list, as he lives not more than half an hour from Tower Hills.

By half time, it's obvious the Cheetahs are the big losers of the day. We go into the suite to get us some plates and hot food. Pity the food warmer hasn't been on long enough and the delicious ribs, fish cubes, cheese sausages and chicken drumsticks aren't hot enough yet, but they're delicious none the less. The sandwhiches are great too.

I'm just again sorry for Petros. I know it's his own fault, but good heavens, throughout the mere two hours we're here, he keeps asking the barman for more Coke and more Coke and then some fanta and then more Coke, not stopping there but I'm not going to keep on keeping track of his drinks, all the while eating from the snackboards of potatoe chips and biltong and sandwhiches. I mean how are we ever going to get this brother of ours back to a healthy self image and mental health, if he just keeps throwing sugary drinks and snacks down his hatch?

Well, that's a problem for another day. Not for our day out enjoying rugby.

The second half isn't any better for the Cheetahs. Caldwell says it's because these idiots set up their gameplan beforehand and then stick with that. Obviously follows that if that game plan isn't working but still they stick to it, then the team is doomed for the entirety of the match. What they should be doing is to be flexible in their strategy and change it during the game until something starts working, but alas. Father believes it won't be long before their coach is fired.

I look to my left, at Petros sitting two seats from me. He's been rather quiet. I wonder if my outburst this morning scalding him for never talking about anything but overweightness and money, along with our parents' advisory about his being too fat for his clothes and our mother having to prepare a shirt for him, caused him to think. He's not said much aside from how he loves the pom-pom chicks (cheerleaders) when they were up, and some remark about how it's better for them to have many small little speakers up all alongside the pavillion and along the ceilings of the private suites' pavillion seating, as they have, instead of one or two big speakers for the entire stadium.

Maybe Petros is feeling alone, even when with us. I know Mother has told me some time in the past that Petros said he feels like none of us other children like him. Yeah, he has been rather difficult company to keep, whatwith always being extremely critical when he's in no position to be so. That and the atmosphere of depression that clouds around him many times. And his never wanting to budge an inch from nonsensical positions he takes, always making it feel like he's playing power games.

But I suppose if he's realized that his ways are isolating him, maybe some change can come from within him. I hope it works out for the best for him.

About ten minutes before the match ends, people start streaming out of the stadium. I suppose it's to try and miss the rush of people that will commence once the match ends, but it seems there are so many with this thinking of leaving early to avoid the rush, that it's defeating the purpose by simply now causing the rush to start earlier.

When the game is over, we say goodbye to all our guests, and walk to the car. Since Father and Caldwell are knackered, Petros, who never drinks any alcohol but is obviously addicted to cooldrink, will be the designated driver. I'm not drunk, though I did have a glass of wine. I don't drink often but do take a drink from time to time when it feels right.

Driving home, Petros sets the temperature in the car to freezing, as he says he'll fall asleep if it's too warm.

Father on the other hand is feeling cold. He tells Petros to turn the temperature up.


Petros won't. He insists that he'll fall asleep if he's not feeling cool and refreshed.

Father is getting very annoyed. He tells me to turn it up.

"I'm not going to be inbetween the two of you", I respond. "I'll do it just this once."

I turn the temperature up slightly, about inbetween what Petros wants it to be and what Father wants it to be.

Petros then turns the fan up full blast.

Father is in a state.

Petros turns the fan down but turns the temperature way down too.

"Stop your kak!!!!" Father screams at him.

Meanwhile Caldwell and I are roaring with laughter at these two and their dramatics.

Petros orders Father to put on Petros' jersey (jumper/sweater) that he had left on the back seat when we came.

"I'm not going to put on your stink jersey!", Father replies. "I have my pride!"

Caldwell and I would roll on the floor laughing, if there was more space on the floors of this vehicle.

Well, so it continues. Father says the cold air is hitting him on the head. Petros turns the vents away from Father and asks if it's better. Father says it is, but the temperature in the car is still freezing. So, their fight continues.

I look back at Father and can't help smiling - Father wouldn't put Petros' jersey on, but he did lay it out on himself out of desperation.

Yep, Petros sure isn't easy to get along with. He wants what he wants and doesn't give a rat's dropping about the comfort of the fellow passengers in the car.

Oh well, luckily in this case, I kind of like the cooler temperature. I'm wearing a white t-shirt under a blue button up shirt, which this morning Mother said I was going to be much too hot in, but now it seems being dressed slightly warmer is saving me from getting involved in this fight :)

We arrive safely home to a very happy Mother.

When saying goodnight to her, she asks Petros and I if we'll be going to church with them tomorrow. Seriously, silly woman, I'm not even a member of the church anymore, and I haven't been going in five years, aside from the times I go to see Father and Mother's Christmas concerts that they had organized, in case she hasn't noticed! Why is she still asking? Har har. Ohhhhhh religious people are silly!

Petros also protests, mumbling some excuses, of course not really having any. He says it will just cause him to have to say hello to all the old familiars who might know him. So he's now people-shy too? Makes sense, probably fearing to answer the question "So what work do you do now?" and if even probable, "You're looking well rounded these days! What's going on?" It's obvious his situation and his feelings of being a loser is causing him to become more and more isolated from society.

I go to the kitchen, very thirsty. I drink a glass of milk, and finding some strawberry cooldrink syrup in the refrigerator, I add just a drop of that to give the milk a nice flavor. Just then Mother comes in and asks me what I'm drinking, only to give me an uncalled for lecture about how fattening that is and the whole unwelcome speech. What has gone so seriously wrong with people in this house? Why do they say such stupid things?

Speaking of fattening things, I tell Mother to come with me to my room where in my rugsak, there is a chocolate slab Father had bought for her on our way back from the rugby. But, before I give it to her, I break myself off some blocks and eat them. Then hand it to her. Now we're both munching away on something "fattening". I say I'm helping her by sharing the load of "fattening" things so she doesn't get to the point where she doesn't have to wear tops with puffy shoulders, because her upper arms will be puffy enough from all the fat.

Yeah, how we enjoy the chocolate slab... feeding Mother something fattening has shut her up from giving lectures about eating fattening things. It's so darn delicious. Yum yum. Mother goes to Petros' room to give him chocolate too. If that woman only knew what a ton of fattening things that boy just simply loaded away into himself today... but of course her eldest "baby" won't get a lecture. She feels too sorry for him. I'm the only one who gets held up to male model standards. I suppose instead of getting angry and feeling it's unfair, I should be proud that top male model standards are what people associate me with.

Then, we go back to the West Wing where Mother also gives Father some of the chocolates. I sit down in the seating area and Mother sits down on her bed, munching away. We have a jolly conversation about the day. The funniest part is probably the trip back when Father and Petros were screaming and fighting over the car being so SouthPolish. Oh those two and their incompatible personalities... a ticking time bomb, baby!

Well, a great day indeed! But now it's time for sleep.

More on MarzeusVonHemelen.Com


Blue Bulls, Cheetahs, Family, Feud, Kings Park, Petros, Rugby, Rugby Jersey, Rugby Team, South African Rugby, Sports, Springbok Rugby, Springboks, Super Sevens, Superugby

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author avatar Marzeus von Hemelen
I like eggs for breakfast. I live on top of a hill inside a beautiful but old dwelling complex. I like to take life in through my senses and then give feedback through my writing.

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author avatar Fern Mc Costigan
11th Oct 2015 (#)

Interesting post!

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