Compelling reason to stay out of the argument

Perhaps the most compelling reason – even more than an after-match braai – for South Africans to gather to watch sport, especially rugby, is that nearly everyone has an opinion and is more than eager to share at the most dramatic of decibel levels.

It generally makes for interesting, though at times raucous discussion, and if you filter this process down from the levels of parliament, could quite easily fit into the category of Saffer debate. But as in all things aligned to the human condition, there are exceptions.

One such is the Perfect Gentleman, a quiet and courteous person, and a welcome if irregular member of the usual gathering, who owed his presence to the vagaries of Eskom’s power generation to an untimely blackout shortly before the start of the Super Rugby final in Christchurch which threw the Lions in against the uncompromising Crusaders where even the overview of break-dancing coach Scott Robertson does little to lighten the side’s steely resolve.

The Gentleman has that rare ability to listen closely to the often ribald remarks of those around him with a calm equanimity without comment, merely cocking his head in recognition of an opinion there is no possible way of knowing whether he shares.

And so it was during the final as the Arithmetically-challenged Golfer began an almost ceaseless rant aimed at a Lions tsunami which time after time broke impotently against the breakwater of a rock-hard Crusaders defence.

“What are they thinking about?” he bawled, one of those emotion-driven rhetorical questions almost impossible to answer in a rational manner. The Perfect Gentleman’s response? A measured cocking of the head.

More of the same was to come from the Arithmetically-challenged One, who suddenly developed a passion for statistics which are generally ignored in the process of computing his weekly scorecard on the golf course.

“Just look at that,” he exclaimed as the mounting figure kept flashing across the screen. The Lions have the bulk of the possession by a long chalk. They have also spent so much time in the Crusaders’ territory it is almost criminal they are not paying rent.

“It goes to show that some statistics are meaningless. The only one that really counts,” stating the blindingly obvious, “is the total on the scoreboard”.

This continued to grow as the Crusaders resolutely absorbed all the pressure the visitors threw at them and continued to apply the basics – quickly and intelligently – in the face of the unremitting onslaught. And so it ended with the Kiwi side once again the champions.

The Arithmetically-challenged One had one further comment to add. “Take note,” he said that the Lions backline contributed nothing. “Both tries came from the forwards.”

The final whistle signalled – along with an improvised sideline breakdance from Robertson – the end of a third consecutive period of anguish for the frustrated Lions supporters.

The Perfect Gentleman, his inner feeling still firmly under wraps, gave a last quizzical cock of the head ... and then quietly left.