Now for the real thing - World Cup 2010

I dont know about you but I like the fact that there is no need today or tomorrow or anytime soon to worry about what is on television - soccerwise that is.
The Fifa Confed Cup is over and very soon,
yes we will be back to the same routine of Premier League soccer, English soccer and all the other weird and wonderful sports we are used to.
Confed Cup was a blast.
A reader in one of the paper today commented how the park and ride improved from shambles in the first game to real organised operation by the end of the games.
I must say having attended two games - USA vs Brazil and Bafana vs Spain games, I can attest to that. The first game was shambles.
I arrived in Pretoria at the agreed venue but the drivers supposed
to take us to the stadium at Loftus were lost. Taxi drivers lost! Go figure.

Mind you they were lost on the way back from stadium to the restaurant where they had picked us up in the first place.

The second game - or the losers' final as they say - was a thorough
breeze. We left JHB at noon via Pretoria. At the last toll gate before Rustenburg we were handed a piece of paper directing us to the various park and rides.
We picked one and drove straight there. A quick transfer to the bus and before long we were at the stadium.
Again after the game, it was basically the same. Out to the waiting buses and before long we were back in cars and on way home. Part of the park and ride problem is that people do not listen. As you board the bus, they tell you that you need to check the sticker on the bus so you will not be lost.
A lot of people boarded wrong buses.
I hope those are not the ones who have been complaining loudest - the ones who had not noticed the stickers.
So just as well we have Confed Cup. There is still a lot to improve but we shall get there.

Singing for the world

The year was 1985. The brief was clear. Actually it was more the idea than it was a brief. We were going to make the concert of the year. St Francis College in Mariannhill is not one of those rich private schools where elaborate matric dances are held.
In fact you could not even begin to call the last concert a matric dance. It was more of the fun and games. I was in an invidious position where I was expected to come with the idea. But in the end it was not an issue at all coming up with one.
The year saw a number of hits but the best was Michael Jackson's We Are The World. That it was a catchy tune was not the reason that we chose it. The message was what appealed to most of us. You see, most of us came from thoroughly poor families and were there at the mercy of the church or some other sponsor from the various countries of the world.
So the appeal to help was particularly edifiying for us. Its one thing identifying your signature tune. It is a completely different executing the task. Then there were no websites with lyrics. We certainly did not have compact discs.
Instead we had a tape recorder and a tune that was badly copied off radio. Radio deejays really messed the likes of us with the well-timed comment in the middle of the song. From the tape recorder with a dodgy battery we had to make sense of the tune and work out the lyrics. Once that was accomplished, we had to assemble and try to sing the song. Except what passed on as lyrics did not make sense sometimes and a huge argument would erupt on the exact words. For crying out loud we did not know the exact words. And much as we cared, it was near impossible to pull off the concert and still find the exact words. So we went with what we had.
Twenty three years on, most of us believe it was probably one of the best concerts we had. And the most important part was that we did not have the resources. A former schoolmate remembers the craze of red jackets. He also remembers like me that only two of the 500 or so boys could afford to have them. That and the concert are our shared memories of phenomenon Jackson.

A friend celebrated 25 years as a priest this past weekend. Yes the real makoya Roman Catholic type that never marries and hopefully does not do what those Irish priests do to altar boys. Our relationship goes back three year more than he has been a priest. To be exact, I met him in 1981 at St Mary's Seminary in Ixopo on the foot of the Drakensberg mountains. Then I thought I would be a priest and make a wonderful one at that. It was not to be. Like Adam, I discovered the apple and it was downhill from then on. Fr Vincent with Zinhle

But the story is about my friend, Fr Vincent Mdabe, CMM. He has managed to be true to his calling through all the tribulations of life. In the period he has lost his sibblings to all manner of ills, had to bury his father and recently buried his brother. He has also played a role in the vocational guidance of young novices at Cedara. Until this year, he was the superior at Mariannhill Monastery, a position that ordinarily would have gone to someone else more older. But even being in such a position did not affect his humility. When my daughter was studying in Pinetown, Fr Mdabe would easily run my fatherly chores including taking Zinhle to a hairdresser if so needed.

So this weekend he gathered all and sundry who have known him over the years for a celebration. A good time was had by all. What more is in store for this man? Time will tell.

language matters

The brief must have been simple. Create an advert that will cause ripple effect in the same mould as Yebo Gogo. So off the agency went. Creatives got off their backsides and cracked their heads trying to find a concept that was both original and had a wow-effect. Those managing them paced expectantly waiting for their charges to have that epiphanic moment.

And so it came to pass that one of the younger creatives was struck with the idea so intensely, he fainted for a few seconds - as if he was orgasmic. "We will show an unidentified flying object. There will be a congregation of these women looking at this thing taking one of their own. One of these fat mamas will stand up to this thing and insult it. And voila! we will have the UFO return their fellow congregant". The account executive who was now itching to get to this 9th tee shouted Alleluia and off he went, happy that another day and a succesful idea has germinated.

Except what in the world has happened to us. Are we happy to have insults like Voetsek introduced into our conversation as if it is the most natural way to converse? After voetsek, what more are we going to tolerate? An f.. word? And what happens to our children who think television is the greatest teacher? Language matters and unfortunately television plays an important part in the lives of our children. If we let this one through, we should not make a noise tomorrow when some other words creep into daily conversation.

do not feed the baboons

The temptation is to breeze past on the double lane without a thought. Actually, some form of thought is there but it is usually in the shape of a question. Does the car or stomachs need a refill? Invariably after two or so hours on the road, the children are restless. But do not despair. The road ahead is still more interesting. Ordinarily you would be expected to take a left. This time go right. Work against your instinct. The road will not be as good but it is worth it. The mielie (corn) fields of the Free State gives way to the rocky terrain and sharp bends, dips and steep accents. Vegetation and mist. And then there is is. A splendor so magnificent you are out of breath just watching. It is spread in front as your eye can see.Water everywhere. This is the time to eat and relax. The journey now is much more relaxed. As you gather speed down the valley, you suddenly realize that you are not. There are other bodies occupying the road. You think: What the hell? But… The people are more of a fairy kind. It is the. Kids become excited and as we stop, they want to pet and feed the hairy. No, no, no! Whatever you do, never feed the wild animals. The journey continues and kids will not forget this moment soon. It surely beats going to Durban just on the N3.

ghosts of belfast

In the stillness of the night, the sound was unmistakable. Creak, creak, creak. I held my breath. The noise of my beating heart seemed to reverbate throughout the corridors of this place.Straining my neck to listen, the stretching of the muscles almost dropped me dead still again. No. This was not happening. I sat up suddenly. What better way to deal with this sounds than in such a decisive manner. And then at that point the cup of tea on the sidetable fell and echoed for what seemed like eternity.Quiet again, I listened to the sounds. They were clear and unmistakable. Movement. Unhurried. Sometime hurried. Stamping and at times subdued. Muffled and a suddent burst of speed. What am I doing here.Reading a book would have required a lot more effort than television. I settled for the latter. Not that there were many channels to watch. The television sounds seemed to drive away the sounds on the wooden floors. Or was it the sounds in my head I wondered? It did not help a great deal that my favourite programme at the time was a macabre ghostly narrative called A Haunting.

There was nothing that was wow about The Royal when I arrived. Landing at night had hidden the true nature of this place. Conversely, it had reinforced the feeling of alienation and intrigue. The episode of A Haunting the previous night had been especially harrowing and now I was in the middle of a nightmare and yet I was wide awake.

I lay my head back on to the pillow and watched the ghastly movie. I can never tell you that what it was about except it was one of those e-tv special harking back to the days when my father was a young man. I tried to separate the sounds of my heart, my belly with what seemed to be the sound out there. Off course it was marrying the terrible sound off the terrible movie and it got to the point where I had no clue whether I was coming or going.

I woke up startled. The birds were singing. The light was seeping through the heavy curtains. It was morning. I was sure I had closed the curtains tightly. But then again, I was sure that there had been sounds...