In Santa and the Lions I trust

This year has most certainly been a year of unexpected madness on way too many levels. If anybody had told me in January that we would be subjected to prohibition and a ban on tobacco, I would have taken their measurements and had a straightjacket made.

Yet there we were, spending Easter weekend building little pot stills from pressure cookers and buying cigarettes from the Bangladeshis at the corner shop at insanely inflated prices. And that was just the beginning.

Lockdown levels and masks, Prince Harry resigning from the UK royal family, the rigged US election, a no-deal Brexit, travel bans, sport behind closed doors and the Pumas beating the All Blacks were all previously unheard of concepts which suddenly became the “new normal”.

But for me, the craziest of the crazy is that here we are halfway into December and for the first time in my life I can ask Father Christmas to let the Lions win the Currie Cup. Talk about a straightjacket moment.

As a primary school child in the ’ 70s, rugby was officially a winter sport. It was played during the months when the grass was covered with a thick layer of frost, which numbed our bare feet in seconds. With time, the season was extended as the sport managed to find its professional feet and, after the introduction of Super Rugby, it was not uncommon for the Currie Cup final to be played in October.

But through all that time, hundreds or even thousands of young boys in the country put a new rugby ball top of their Christmas wish list. I’m not sure about Father Christmas’ capacity, but I suspect it was one heck of a challenge to deliver a few thousand rugby balls to households across the country.

This year he should have it much easier – to deliver that one trophy to Ellis Park. Father Christmas has never let me down, so I’m convinced it’s a done deal.

Of course, there will be many people wishing for the same trophy to be delivered to other venues but for those poor souls I have just one message: it’s 2020. Suck it up!