Hobbling from a weekend of whipping and lights-out

It is Saturday morning.

You wake up early to do few errands. A day like this is short. What with the banks who slam their doors shut at 11 am, and some retail stores at 1 pm.

And, there is the Soweto derby coming up. The build-up to it is raising your blood pressure. Kaizer Chiefs is running amok, undefeated. Orlando Pirates is teetering somewhere in a lousy position. Although it is obvious that Pirates will come out second best today, the usual belligerence of a Buccaneer keeps you hoping for a surprise result. After all, this is a derby.

You have gone through the week telling the Chiefs supporters that their impending demise was nigh. They remind you that you are coming to this game an underdog. You refuse to back down, for even the analysts have been appearing on radio and TV the whole week, putting their money on neither of the teams.

There is a problem. Andrew Etzinger of Eskom has been has been delivering bad news lately. Only gutsy and belligerent people are fit for this kind of job. So there you are, running around on a Saturday morning, holding your breath, hoping that by the time they pull down the switch, it better be around 5pm.

It is 10h30 am. The bank teller at the enquiries desk guides you with a pen in her hand, that you must join the “correct” queue if you are serious about getting help from her. Damnit! You have been standing in the “wrong” queue for 29 minutes. When you joined the damned thing at the entrance there was nobody to show you the correct queue. You protest their madness. They back down.

Everybody is looking at you. You are wondering if they admire your gutsy protest or your belligerence, because you are wearing an Orlando Pirates t-shirt. Was it not Vladimir “you know” Vermezovich who jumped ship ahead of the derby? And for chrissakes there is no indication that one of the Bucs players will manage to kick or head the ball past Khuzwayo. It must be your belligerence they are marvelling at.

Some “nice” Kaizer Chiefs supporter drags you into a verbal brawl about who of the two teams will come out unscathed – as if such eventuality is not already obvious - points out the obvious for you to see. “Mhlongo is bleeding goals.” “Your defence is leaking.” The brawl shatters your optimism. You stubbornly stand your ground, and you leave. Outside you meet those who are wearing black and white, and red t-shirts. A surge of optimism returns.

At 2:15 pm you rush home. You wonder why you did not pick the tickets when you were passing Computicket counter. Eskom is imploding and… who knows what is coming. It is a risk mitigation measure. You want to see it with your naked eyes when Pirates turns the corner at the expense of arch rivals. ‘We are going to win today,’ you tell yourself. When optimism is overstated, belligerence is inevitable.

You are relieved to find that the TV is on. A misguided (because he supports Chiefs) sibling is sprawling on the couch. He is wearing black and gold. He clearly owns the day. He cannot wait to break some bones. You feel your stomach wanting to run. You drink water; you make sure that you are not too far from the bathroom, and you hope for the best.

Seeing that the lights are on, surely the people at Megawatt Park are soccer-loving messiahs. Maybe the ruling party has warned them against plunging the masses into a blackout on a day like this. You cannot “put our people through so much the whole week, forcing them to arrive late from work, forcing them to eat bread and peanut butter for supper, and washing it down with warm cool drink (no pun intended), and still deny them their opium on a weekend. Thank you, Minister Mbalula, for your random outspokenness. You are a bunch of winner on this one.

Hang on! The aerial view of the calabash shows motorists crawling slowly towards the parking. It is mayhem. The vuvuzelas are blurring. The game begins, and ends. In between, Pirates players are huffing and puffing. There is hardly any clear-cut chances in front of Khuzwayo. You are blaming the coach for not pairing Majoro with Erasmus. Everyone is a coach on a moment like this.

It is second half.

The Kaizer Chiefs eleven are clearly out for a kill. Yeye is a nightmare. He is tearing through the middle and defence of Buccaneers, leaving them to chase shadows. Parker peels off to the right. Shabba sneaks in. The calabash is a hive of frenzy and nerves. Shaka drives an iklwa into the hearts of nervous Buccaneers. It is like he is accusing them of invading the forbidden land of his forefathers – the FNB stadium.

You cannot stand this. You walk out of the house, hobbling. Blurring vuvuzelas by annoying neighbours deny you breathing space. You have nowhere to go. You go back inside. It is over. Trompies had predicted a draw. Legs of Thunder had predicted 2-1 in favour of Pirates. Such belligerence by him.

With defeat so fresh, you are surely looking for something to take the edge off. But what will that be? The lights go off. Thank you, Eskom. Here is something you can take your frustrations out on; and on Vladimir who left us in a crisis, like he did with Chiefs not long ago. And that trigger-happy idiot who took Senzo Meyiwa’s life… #ef# you too!

It is Sunday morning.

Cooking begins as early as 6:30. Church or whatever else, something tells you to bath and cook now, to avoid bad body odour and starving, on a glorious Sunday.

You are still licking your derby wounds. Eskom strikes the blow again. You are ready to organise a tyre-burning street protest with a handful of angry Pirates supporters. But sanity prevails. You hop into your trainers and go for a jog. Yes, on a Sunday. It feels better than cursing those Chiefs supporters who have been jamming facebook and twitter with bone-breaking jokes directed at Pirates.

You’ve been going well for 40 minutes. You are feeling so good that a thought comes to your mind, ‘If Pirates carry on like this, I will personally introduce myself to Tinkler… to demand immediate inclusion into the starting eleven!’ You reach home, ready to collapse. After a lukewarm shower, you eat cold supper, in candlelight. How romantic. The weekend is over.

It is Monday morning.

You have managed to drag yourself out of bed. Up the N1 you take the Rivonia off-ramp and you join Witkoppen. The traffic lights are working. Well done, Eskom. ‘It’s Monday morning… #hiss# good morning,’ says John Robbie. You switch. Bob Mabena and Kuli Roberts are in stitches about something which McFarlane Moleli said. You switch. Just-Ice is greeting the whole of South Africa, and readies himself to mock the belligerent Buccaneers. Switch.

The news on Lesedi FM is of teachers who sleep with schoolchildren, who fight amongst themselves at school premises. Ramatsoso Mokebe reports that Eric Tinkler has said that Orlando Pirates can still win the league. The belligerence of Tinkler is admirable. Switch.

Sakhina Kamwendo welcomes Andrew Etzinger on air. ‘Andrew, is it true that it is getting darker within Eskom?’ she asks. Before Etzinger hops to his usual deny-deny-and-deny, you come to a halt at a red robot. Witkoppen ends here. You are facing the entrance of Megawatt Park. As Etzinger’s PR roll on, you take it upon yourself to inspect things inside the imposing yard. Cars are driving in without any interruption whatsoever. The occupants look determined and in control.

There must be a misunderstanding. These guys who work here don’t look like people who are messing up the country’s blood pressure grid. Oops! You have to turn right, into Maxwell Drive, and leave Etzinger to carry on putting out the fires, for about why they are switching off the lights. Before you reach Woodmead Drive, you make a silent prayer, and hope for a brighter Monday.