Kings Park and no but­ter­flies

The Mercury - - GOOD LIFE -

WHAT a Cur­rie Cup sea­son it’s been. What a plea­sure to see this young Sharks side build into such a for­mi­da­ble com­bi­na­tion, do­ing all the right things. So much more fun than watch­ing the Boks.

Yet a strange lack of the but­ter­flies as we go into to­mor­row’s fi­nal match of the round robin, a rare 3 o’clock game against West­ern Prov­ince. We’ve al­ready got a home semi – that’s what hap­pens when you win 11 out of 12 matches, with bonus points here and there, and you’re sit­ting at the top of the log.

So what we’re ex­pect­ing is a feast of rugby. Not silly bug­gers rugby, throw­ing all cau­tion to the winds, but lots of ball-in-hand stuff, a proper run-up to the semi.

It would be nice to see a de­cent crowd turn-out for this last match of the round robin, a show of appreciation for the lads who have done so bril­liantly. But the weather could be against us. The fundis say there’ll be an­other cold front mov­ing through – they don’t say if it will be ac­com­pa­nied by wind, the way we had ear­lier in the week.

Our last two matches at Kings Park have been played in a down­pour. Maybe it’ll be snow and sleet to­mor­row. But who cares, we have the home semi.

See you in the Duik­ers for Cos­sack danc­ing. I do hope the gals be­have at the Street Shelter for the Over-For­ties. I’m told they’ve in­vested in new knicker elas­tic – the old had be­come some­what stretched over the Cur­rie Cup sea­son – in an­tic­i­pa­tion of the semi-fi­nal where the elas­tic is used to fash­ion cat­a­pults for the tra­di­tional cel­e­bra­tory feu de joie, in which the street­lights are shot out. Things so eas­ily get out of hand.

’Erewego, ’erewego, ’erewego!

Cops and rob­bers

SO­CIAL me­dia is in­fil­trat­ing every cor­ner of life. In the US it’s even part of cops and rob­bers, the cops and crim­i­nals chal­leng­ing and rub­bish­ing each other on Face­book.

The po­lice at Red­ford, near Detroit, are look­ing for a fel­low who calls him­self Cham­pagne Torino and is on Face­book. Torino has sev­eral war­rants out for his ar­rest, but they can’t find him.

“You guys suck!” Torino said on the po­lice Face­book page.

The cops threat­ened to block him from the page. At which Torino of­fered to turn him­self in, plus hand over a bag of a dozen dough­nuts, if the cops’ next post at­tracted 1 000 shares.

The cops posted: “Donuts !!!! He promised us donuts! You know how much we love donuts! Help us win this chal­lenge and clean up bll­ght in Red­ford at the same time! It’s as easy as a SHARE of this post.”

The post had 4 200 shares in a mat­ter of hours. But, so far, Cham­pagne Torino has failed to ma­te­ri­alise, nor have his dough­nuts.

Is there not some­thing a lit­tle dis­turb­ing about this neb­u­lous and in­tan­gi­ble tosh? Cops por­ing over Face­book. A crim­i­nal dis­tressed at the thought of be­ing removed from a Face­book page. What about the real world? And that goes for not just cops and crim­i­nals in the Detroit area.


HERE’S a story of the Three Bears. But Goldilocks didn’t fea­ture and they ate not por­ridge but pizza dough and salami.

A mother bear and her two cubs were caught on CCTV, rip­ping out the ser­vice win­dow of a pizza par­lour near Den­ver, Colorado, in the US, climb­ing through and then help­ing them­selves to the good­ies.

They ate more than 20kg of dough and caused dam­age of $1 000 (R14 000). It shows what can hap­pen if you leave Goldilocks out of the plot.


MORE news from Amer­ica. A man walked into a Louisiana Cir­cle-K, put a $20 bill on the counter, and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cash drawer, the man pulled a gun and de­manded all the cash in the reg­is­ter, which the clerk promptly pro­vided.

The man took the cash from the clerk and fled, leav­ing the $20 bill on the counter. The to­tal amount of cash he got from the drawer: $15.


A SAILOR is in trou­ble off the Ger­man coast. He ra­dios to the coast­guard: “May­day, May­day! We are sink­ing, we are sink­ing!”

The ra­dio crack­les into life: “Und vot you sink­ing about?”

Last word

THE place where op­ti­mism most flour­ishes is the lu­natic asy­lum. – Have­lock El­lis


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