I’ve got my money on the welfare girl

LIFE is not a rugby match. Do you realise that?

On a rugby field, for example, it's easy to distinguish between the good guys and the bad guys — the good guys are the ones in the dark green jerseys.

Life itself unfolds on DStv, just like rugby, and if there were enough hours in the day I would now know who the best chef and the most charming bachelorette in the country are.

I did catch a glimpse of the latter a couple of weeks ago. I had to quickly switch to another channel when I realised five minutes before the end that England's rugby team were booting South Africa out of the World Cup. Bloody England, of all teams. I simply couldn't watch and suspended my DStv subscription the next day.

Since then, I've been avoiding all sports on the internet and staying away from Facebook too. It was a big blow, and there are people out there rubbing salt in the losers' wounds, whether the referee was crooked or not. I don't even want to know who won the cup. Never mind, Springboks, there's always next time.

Now, the aforementioned bachelorette.

I knew from the get-go that one had to keep a safe distance from the one with the eyelashes and cheekbones. She's clearly a flirt. My money is on the social worker with the fair hair and inner beauty who doesn't even own lipstick. She did, however, rescue a dog from the SPCA, and she feeds stray cats in the neighbourhood every morning.

She must do this because she had hung bells around their necks to prevent them from delivering a final blow to an endangered bird species.

She is a gifted pianist but pawned her keyboard on eBay for next to nothing and used the money to buy books, which she reads to residents of the old-age home at the weekend.

I must confess, I didn't catch a glimpse of her, but I knew there had to be someone like her or viewers would start to think reality television is superficial.

Unfortunately, at that moment I had to go and quiet my neighbours — you can't go on like that past 11pm — and missed the part where the flirt is sent home.

My girlfriend is peering over my shoulder now and says I got it wrong. The cheekbone girl is the prize. She was chosen precisely for those cheekbones.

As for where the social worker fits in, my girlfriend couldn't say. She sighed deeply and mumbled that that person will still learn how foolish it is to take pity on tragic cases. They are emotionally unstable and probably taking the wrong pills, she said.

Oh, but how would she know? She doesn't even own a dog.

I also think she's wrong about the programme content. TV people wouldn't broadcast something that promotes loose morals, would they?

She saw I was disappointed about the rugby. It softened her heart, and she perked me up with a bit of good news: she'd read somewhere that kykNET would soon be airing a reality series I'd enjoy called Poor Old Spinster.

The thought intrigued me, but I'd resolved to stay away from the TV until after the Cricket World Cup. The kind of disappointment the Proteas dish out, like clockwork, right at the semifinals, would be too much for my sensitive soul.

Has anyone ever wondered why one of the best teams in the world messes up the way they do? They choke, that's what people say.

I have a theory. In my family, my mom's chicken pies were legendary. My brother Nico would fly specially from Windhoek to Johannesburg every year or two for them.

In her old age, my mom's eyesight deteriorated so much that she couldn't see the small chicken bones any more. The third time I choked on one of those, I not only stopped eating chicken but all dead animals. I don't want to choke again.

I don't expect the Proteas to do something as radical as that. I just think they can avoid poultry during a World Cup tournament and see if it helps.

By the way, my neighbours partied again last Saturday until who knows what time, even worse than the last time. I let them be. I shared in their celebration about the social worker who finally found happiness.

♦ VWB ♦

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