Tallying secret stashes and executing Woolies triple jumps in a Survivor world
Iventured out into the big wide world on Monday, the first time since the world changed at the end of March. It was the first time in 11 days I had got in my car to drive it instead of paying a visit to count the cans in the secret, emergency booze stash I have hidden there from the wife.
Outside was a fearful place to be. I wore a buff over my face and a pair of the rubber gloves I use to clean beetroot. The packet says the gloves are “ideal for all messy jobs”. I hope Cricket SA and the SA Sports Confederation and Olympic Committee (Sascoc) panicbought a stockpile before March 27 for their messy jobs.
I shopped. I sprayed every surface that could be sprayed with sanitiser. I let no-one touch my cart. I felt daft, I got hot and ikky and claustrophobic.
But the essentials had to be bought. Fresh food, milk, cleaning stuff, firelighters, charcoal and wood. They were rationing wood at the grocer’s shop. Just three bags a person.
There is a lot of braaiing going on in these fearful days.
Not everyone stuck to the rules. Not the fat, red-faced fella with the earphones out for a power walk who stared at me defiantly. Not the chunky, redfaced lady walking her dog off the leash.
Not the woman who stopped outside my house to pack the essential pine cones that had fallen onto the road into a black bin bag. Not the person who stood close to me in the queue at the shop and shrugged when I asked them if they could get a little closer.
Some shops have the unsocial distance marked out clearly with tape on the floor in the queues to the tills. I waited a few turns for those in front of me to get clear and did a triple jump at Woolies. It was gold medal stuff. I got no applause.
I bought the papers even though I have digital subscriptions to a load of media. “Why buy them?” asked the wife. Well, because the dogs can’t crap on my iPad when they stay inside at night.
Every story on the back pages was on the lockdown and the virus. Event organisers were holding thumbs, rugby was turning into a battle field behind the scenes, virtual horse races were reported on, events were cancelled and we learnt Virat Kohli’s haircut was “huge hit”.
Reliving great moments in sport has become a perfect way to fill the space that “hard” news once dominated. Writers whack out lists of greatest players, teams and matches. Columnists are showing their worth in being able to make sense of the jumble of mumbles rumbling around sport.
But what do we want? We want live sport. When do we want it? We want it now.
There is a desperation to start playing again. How desperate? The Sydney Morning Herald reported on Tuesday that Australia’s National Rugby League is preparing a “bubble plan” in terms of which they “will be forced to endure prison-like treatment and complete a 14-day solitary confinement programme” so they can play the league in a shortened three-month period.
Players will not be allowed visitors and they will be confined to a community “bubble”, perhaps at the Sydney Olympic Precinct, where they will stay in rooms by themselves, have food delivered and be allowed to train with others only after the two weeks.
The All Blacks’ Ian Foster believes there will be rugby played this year in some form.
Over in Europe, French Rugby Federation president Bernard Laporte, in that Mr Burns way of his, is using the downtime to push through a 20-team world club championship held once a year (except for World Cup years). To do this, he told Midi Olympique, they could scrap the European club competitions as they don’t “make money”.
It’s a pipe dream by Laporte but, as SA found out when bidding for the 2023 World Cup, he has a way of going behind people’s backs and making things go his way. Laporte is the sort of person you wear a mask and gloves when in the same room as him.
The big, wide world of sport is fearful and uncertain. Everyone is on edge, from the fans to the coaches to the players. Resources are tightening. Sport is counting its emergency stashes and wondering if they will survive.
Oh, and I was kidding about having a secret hoard of cans in my car. I never drink from cans. They are bottles.
I SPRAYED EVERY SURFACE THAT COULD BE SPRAYED WITH SANITISER. I LET NOONE TOUCH MY CART. I FELT DAFT, I GOT HOT AND IKKY AND CLAUSTROPHOBIC
3 is the limit of bags of braai wood shops are limiting customers to at this time of national lockdown
WHAT DO WE WANT? WE WANT LIVE SPORT. WHEN DO WE WANT IT? WE WANT IT NOW. THERE IS A DESPERATION TO START PLAYING AGAIN