Category Archives: Dick van Dyk

Dick van Dyk skiem dis SuperRubbish, maar hy is ‘n Sharks fan

By Dick van Dyk


I have trouble sleeping. It’s a well known fact that anyone who has ever spent time with me will attest to.It takes me ages to drop off, and when I do I tend to wake up at the drop of a hat. If a sparrow farts, I hear it as an earthquake in the depths of my somnolent state.

I used to drink excessively before bedtime in an effort to cure the hours of tossing, turning and brain-churning. But apparently it’s not good for your health.

My dog, Naas, tends to disagree, because he quite likes me pissed. He says I’m more fun after a couple of doubles. The fact that we have long, intense conversations which both of us understand when I have imbibed is probably testament to that fact.

However, not to disappoint my dog, I have found an alternative to booze, pills and all the other things which are supposed to make you tired when you partake concurrently… It’s called Vodacom SupeRugby. Yup. Rugby’s supposedly finest competition has become such a bore-fest that it’s guaranteed to put me to sleep within 30 seconds of settling down to watch a match.

My dog is also called Naas. And that's Kwaad Naas (Thanks Bittereinder)

My dog is also called Naas. And that’s Kwaad Naas (Thanks Bittereinder)

It makes the Heineken Cup look exciting by comparison. Hell, even the French league is preferable to the snore-inducing marathon I am expected to endure each weekend in the name of earning an honest crust.

The only spark of excitement in recent weeks has been the Stormers getting busted for bringing the game into disrepute for calling a referee’s judgment into question.

And Sir Graham Henry following suit with some not very nice comments about Sanzar. All of which makes a prop punch-up seem quite dignified, really.

The standard of rugby being dished up this year is, quite frankly, abysmal. When the Cheetahs represent the most rivetting option amongst South Africa’s franchises, you know things are getting bad.

The weekend’s headline game between the Sharks and the Bulls was the final straw as far as I am concerned. That I had had to sit through 80 minutes of agony between the Stormers and the Reds to keep myself awake for the showdown was bad enough. And nigh-on impossible. Shite bedazzle me, but the Stormers HAVE to be the most unexciting rugby side in the universe.

There’s not enough there to get a sozzled ho as much as slightly damp around the edges. Watching them play is like settling onto the toilet with the Sunday paper and getting only a wet fart and last week’s regurgitated news for your trouble.

Where was I? Oh yes, Saturday’s “thrilling” (not) battle at “Growthpoint” King’s Park. A name which can’t go without a mention… Growthpoint King’s Park? Really? Someone paid all that money to give a stadium a name which sounds like a disease? It sounds like something House would say while examining the Elephant Man… “You see the growthpoint here and here? (pointing bemusedly at a particularly gross piece of tumescence) I don’t know what caused this but there is no cure that I can think of…”

Which pretty much sums up life at the home of banana boys… Who failed in spectacular fashion once again to do anything anywhere near what they are capable of against a Bulls side that to me is the equivalent of a “moer my sig” – I see it and I just want to flippen punch its lights out.

Tell me if I’m missing something, but isn’t the point of rugby to pick up a ball and run with it over the tryline? Not, apparently, if you are a Blue Bull. Because if you are, you are invariably going to be either too big or too stupid to either pick up a ball or run, let alone combine the two actions. All you have to do is force the other side to commit an infringement and let dear old Morne kick. And that, dear hearts, is what wins rugby matches. How frigging exciting is that?

Do I sound jaded? You bet. In fact, jaded would be good compared to how I feel about the game I am supposed to love above all others right now. The only hope on the horizon is a short breather from this SupeRubbish to watch Heyneke Meyer continue in the path of predictability… And Samoa make mincemeat of what uninjured talent we have left.

Oh to hell with it… Pass the Glenfiddich and a couple of Myprodols, please.



A Whole Lot Of Holes

By Dick van Dyk


This week I’m in a losing frame of mind. But relax. I’m going to be writing mostly about teams other than the Sharks. So all you disappointed okes out there who support the boys in black and white and who are having a hard time understanding this particular “soutie” can take both deep breaths and several chill pills.

This year’s Vodacom SupeRugby competition is blowing holes in a lot of things. Firstly, there’s confidence in the ability of the Sharks to actually play rugby the way everyone seems to think they can. It’s gotten so bad for the Durban outfit that they are relying on Meyer Bosman to score tries for them… The same Meyer Bosman I relegated to a bench somewhere outside Kimberley last week.

But wait, I am not about to launch into another Shark attack. Because the most full-of-holes thing in this year’s Vodacom SupeRugby (yes, I’m still interested in seeing exactly what Vodacom has in store for the scribe who mentions the name the most…) is the Southern Kings’ defence.

OK. I know how easy it is to kick a King when he’s down. And I also know that there’s a howling mob who used to be the three okes on the second tier of the main stand at Ellis Park who attended every single Lions home game baying for Oregon Hoskins’ blood. But honestly, letting the Warratahs put 72 points past you at home has to be a new all-time low for South African rugby. And brings us back to square one when considering who should be the fifth wheel, sorry team, in South Africa’s Vodacom SupeRugby line-up.

Before we discuss things further, it has to be said that the hypothesis that the Lions wouldn’t have caved so terribly against the Tahs at home is also full of holes. The Lions are where they are because of their shocking Vodacom SupeRugby performances last year.

Personally, I think we should play Shimlas before we look at letting the Kings or the Lions back into the fray next year, but then my brain is something akin to Swiss cheese at the moment so my thought processes are full of holes too. I think John Plumtree has a voodoo doll of me somewhere with its head full of pins, which is fine because I have a lifesize cardboard cut-out of him with bulletholes where his face used to be.

Andries Strauss Faceplant

Where was I? Oh yes, the Kings. I actually feel sorry for the guys from PE because they have put on a lekker show, and have a following which the Lions fans could do with taking a long, hard look at. And anyway, you can’t really blame them when the Sharks lost to the Highlanders – southern hemisphere rugby’s equivalent of a dream team boy band with individual talent brought in from everywhere else in the belief that they’d automatically be good together. BANG! Sorry, Plum’s cut-out has another hole in it… I’ll leave you to guess where.

The only smile of the weekend was provided by the Stormers in their one-point loss (sue me, Newlands faithful). And the thought that what we appear to need in South African rugby at the moment is a lot of big, fat thumbs so we can stick them in the holes in our teams’ various dykes (and no, I am not being mean to ladies of the lesbian persuasion in that summation).

I am therefore calling for auditions for okes with huge, flabby opposable digits to take over from the okes with little, flaccid appendages who are systematically screwing up our rugby pride. You all know who they are.