My Vuvuzela Blues
The vuvuzela has been a contentious issue for boring and negative whites since they heard the disastrous news the Soccerball World Cup was coming to town. The best attempt was, “Africans have such beautiful singing voices, why do they need a tuneless trumpet?” Nice try, love.
Now I’m as excited about Blatter’s Bonanza as the next bloke, but is it necessary for me to show my exuberance by parping a vuvuzela at six in the morning until my throat bleeds? I’m not sure if it was just the one guy or they were working in shifts, but for two hours that distinctive, unmistakeable sound of a cow giving birth to a World Cup stadium assaulted my ears.
So much for national unity, I wanted to strangle the guy.
The anti-vuvuzela minority front will tell you they’re noisy and tuneless and should be banned at football matches. As South Africa’s new weapon of mass destruction they want you to believe that the humble vuvu will so distract players they’ll be unable to kick in a straight line and might possibly fall to the ground and foam at the mouth. Our country will be embarrassed and the world will go home shaking their heads and lamenting the terrible time they had at Africa’s first staging of the beautiful game.
In all honesty, I quite like the vuvuzela. It’s fun, spirited, and just about anyone who can blow bubblegum can play one. It’s as South African as Madiba or moaning about Malema and will soon be the next big thing at sports events globally. This is something to be proud of, no matter how many early mornings and headaches it costs.
Once we all realise that the oddly-pitched parping sound is the aural equivalent of national pride it’ll sound more like birds singing sweetly than a sad ogre blowing its nose... even at six in the morning.
Now I’m as excited about Blatter’s Bonanza as the next bloke, but is it necessary for me to show my exuberance by parping a vuvuzela at six in the morning until my throat bleeds? I’m not sure if it was just the one guy or they were working in shifts, but for two hours that distinctive, unmistakeable sound of a cow giving birth to a World Cup stadium assaulted my ears.
So much for national unity, I wanted to strangle the guy.
The anti-vuvuzela minority front will tell you they’re noisy and tuneless and should be banned at football matches. As South Africa’s new weapon of mass destruction they want you to believe that the humble vuvu will so distract players they’ll be unable to kick in a straight line and might possibly fall to the ground and foam at the mouth. Our country will be embarrassed and the world will go home shaking their heads and lamenting the terrible time they had at Africa’s first staging of the beautiful game.
In all honesty, I quite like the vuvuzela. It’s fun, spirited, and just about anyone who can blow bubblegum can play one. It’s as South African as Madiba or moaning about Malema and will soon be the next big thing at sports events globally. This is something to be proud of, no matter how many early mornings and headaches it costs.
Once we all realise that the oddly-pitched parping sound is the aural equivalent of national pride it’ll sound more like birds singing sweetly than a sad ogre blowing its nose... even at six in the morning.
