The smell of Wintergreen and knee strapping, the crowd edged over the side, touch judges urging them to get back so they could run the line. commentators going wild, Werner Greef at outside centre - how could we lose? Getting chosen as the last team member to join seemed strangely familiar. The curtain raiser game of touch and we were psyched, prepped and in the zone… A sluggish start and a few tries down brought back the inner resolve, those glory days revisited, when the no -hopers would overcome the odds to emerge triumphant to strident strains of trombones. Finally, out on the wing, the ball spun down the backline and it was time to shine…ghosting past the kid in the walking ring left him grasping into space, then a leap over the toddler sucking a fizzpop, dropped a shoulder at the girl in the pigtails and she backed off as we moved into open space, with only the baby in the stroller between us and glory. Running straight at him, his eyes grew wide, a drool of fear as his dummy popped, drew him, putting Werner into open space to run in and dot down. What a move! Minor showboating and a delicto incident with the corner flag - a euphoria so removed, I was enveloped in a deathly silence…I'm sure I should have heard the cheering, but those glory day trombones were blasting through my head!
Deon
