Spud (30 page)

16:00   I arrived at cricket practice in my rugby boots – it seemed very weird putting on the old pads and gloves. Mad Dog was so erratic that he bowled one of his fireballs into the wrong net and nearly killed Martin Leslie who was caught unawares while adjusting his ball box. The Guv was back to his usual high spirits and hurled some spectacular abuse at us throughout the practice. He said my bowling ‘had gone from guile to vile’. He also told Rambo that he was the slowest bowler in the world and should be prosecuted for bowling donkey drops without a permit. The Guv did receive his comeuppance when a classic straight drive from Simon smashed into his shins, causing the loon to fall off his shooting stick and let loose a volley of furious swearing.

Dinner: Luthuli handed Boggo the keys to the AV room (this week is our house’s duty week). Boggo’s eyes lit
up and he snatched the keys from the head of house (reminded me of Gollum and his Precious…). The delighted Boggo wolfed down his lamb chops and sped off to check out his new porno control centre.

15:00   During a learning break for exams, Gecko (who has ruthlessly annihilated his bilharzia) and I took a stroll across the fields, past the dam and up into the hills. Gecko told me about the time he met Elton John at a cocktail party in Knightsbridge in London. (Elton passed Gecko on the stairwell and asked him where the toilet was.) We reached the top of the steep hill and sat on a flat, smooth rock that was warm from the sun.

Below us lay the school, all red brick turrets and spires like a medieval castle. Shielding the buildings stood the bare trees and underneath them the dry frostbitten fields. In summer it makes a perfect postcard; in winter it seems a dry and desolate place. After a long pause, Gecko suddenly asked me to sing to him. I felt embarrassed and said that I was not allowed to sing for a while. He seemed disappointed and I felt guilty again. He said my singing at Crispo’s funeral gave him goosebumps and that he hoped that I would sing at his funeral one day (provided that I didn’t die before he did). I gave him my word and gradually felt the terrible weight of guilt ease away.

On our way back to the house we came across Fatty and Geoff Lawson, poring over pieces of paper and old photographs. No doubt Geoff was checking out the evidence before confronting his parents about his great-grandfather’s suicide.

A rumour about me and Gecko being fags is going
around the house. (It seems that a spud, while not being a real man and able to have sex with a woman, is somehow able to do it with a man.) Have decided to ignore it and hope it goes away.

20:30   Boggo’s porno debut. Rambo and Simon were invited to watch the premiere of Randy Racks with Boggo in the AV room. All three said it was a wicked experience. Being a spud, Rambo said the porno would be wasted on me because I ‘fire blanks’. I felt the blood rush to my face and sank low into my mattress and desperately tried not to be curious. No matter how many times I’m teased about it, my spudness still kills me!

Our rugby team has been reinstated as the under 14Ds. Lilly gave me joyful thumbs up to celebrate the news as he swaggered up to the top table at lunch. I doubt he’ll be swaggering after the Kings College side has had its way with us. Kings College is more than twice the size of ours and has eight under 14 sides.

Julian hauled myself and Gecko into the prefects’ room and demanded to know if we were poofs. We assured him that we weren’t. He looked dreadfully disappointed, cancelled our tea and toast and told us to get lost. As we were leaving, he told us to let him know if we ever had a change of heart. While climbing the house steps together, Gecko said his cousin was a fag, but had since come right, got married and opened up a sex shop in Cape Town. I told him that (together with the Elton John story) it probably was best not bandied about in these suspicious times.

Warcry practice before the Kings College game traditionally takes place in the quad, which is seen as the holy epicentre of the school. This despite the quad’s reputation having being somewhat dented by Fatty’s
window debacle and Mad Dog’s night on the lawn. All week the school has been alive with stories and records about our meeting with Kings College. In over a hundred years we have beaten them only three times and last year they thrashed us 44-3! The last time we beat them was in 1977 when Kings claim they were laid low by a flu epidemic.

18:30   The rugby gods stood up on the rim of the fountain with the school tightly crowded in around them. Captain Gillson made a fantastic speech about pride and passion that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. It still managed to whip us all into a frenzy of bloodlust. The warcry shook the walls and set scores of dogs barking around the place. The school song was sung in a unison of sheer passion that, although terribly off note, seemed to please the huge rugby captain standing before us. At one stage Bert became so overwhelmed with the proceedings that he let loose a volley of punches into the air. Unfortunately, the big lock lost his footing and stepped back into the fountain. Gillson silenced the sniggers and guffaws with a nasty glare and set off on another speech about honour. After about half an hour of speeches and shouting the crowd dispersed with much hooting and shrieking. Nobody, surely not even the great Linton Austin, would dare open a book tonight.

As is tradition, prep was cancelled and all the boys were ordered to their common rooms to watch a video of The World’s 100 Greatest Tries. Our common room was packed. I captured a small piece of carpet in the corner. The lights were switched off, the video played. But instead of Naas Botha, Gareth Edwards and David Campese we got two naked women kissing each other. It only lasted a few seconds, but the roar of approval from our common room and other common rooms around the school lasted several minutes. The video was hastily
changed and Gareth Edwards was returned, but the damage was done.

Surely Boggo’s error was fatal (that is, if it was an error). The video channel is beamed to all the staff houses as well as to most of the nearby farmhouses around the estate. Some staff member has had to have seen the beautiful ladies in action. I’ll be surprised if Boggo lasts the weekend.

Dreamed of the Mermaid and Amanda kissing each other on my bed. Is that sick or normal? Rambo said that if he was a girl he would be a lesbian. Come to think of it so would I!

A terrified Boggo consulted Rambo in our dormitory before marching off to meet The Glock (and presumably his death.) We all huddled around Rambo’s cubicle and spoke in hushed whispers. Boggo was terrified. In his trembling hands lay the porno tape in a white plastic box. We wished him luck before he shuffled out to meet his fate. The rest of us waited together in the common room as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, a smiling Boggo returned (without the tape), gave us the thumbs up, and skipped up the stairs to the dormitory. Half the house galloped after him and found the scoundrel relaxing on his bed like a Texan billionaire. Here follows his account:

Obeying Rambo’s instructions, Boggo decided not to deny knowledge of the tape, but rather to bring the porno tape forward to The Glock. What he
did
deny was that the tape was his. He told The Glock that it was just lying there in the AV room and Boggo had mistakenly thought it was The World’s 100 Greatest Tries tape. After some probing questions, The Glock gave Boggo the benefit of the doubt and confiscated the tape (Boggo reckons he slipped it into his bottom drawer). The
Barnes house AV monitor was then brought in for questioning. Another grand escape for the Crazy Eight. One day Rambo’s empire must fall…

We lost 92-0 to Kings. The under 14Es lost 108-0 (Mr Lilly has claimed it a victory!).

By 15:00 every single one of our teams had been swept aside by the menacing green and black tide. Kings College seemed invincible. Their first team, which looked twice the size of ours, took to the field in front of thousands of people. After a few minutes the inspired team in red and white hooped jerseys sprinted onto the field to the sound of an enormous warcry. Kings College dampened the excitement by scoring a try in the second minute and by half-time had opened up a 12-0 lead. Our unbeaten record was on the rocks. It seemed certain that the great Kings College would be triumphant for the thirteenth time in a row.

But the second half was a different story. No doubt Mr Hall had fired them up with his half-time speech/ threats, which he had apparently conducted with a revolver holstered to his hip (according to Bert, that is). Unbelievably, Armstrong scored two magnificent tries, both of which Oliver Brown converted: 12-12. The score stayed like that for the rest of the half.

Then, with only seconds left to play, Kings intercepted a stray pass and their winger scorched down the sideline and scored under the poles. We hung our heads in misery as Kings erupted, hurling their straw bashers into the air in a scene of mass celebration. Suddenly there was cheering all around me. The ref had blown his whistle. Penalty to us! The ref adjudged that the Kings winger, who’d made the interception, was offside. The Kings College boos were silenced by their head boy who brought the school to order with a savage wave of his flag.

Time had elapsed as Oliver Brown placed the ball on a small mound of sand. He took his familiar crab-
like steps backwards and then to the side. And there he stood, examining the poles like a professor. Without doubt it was a difficult kick from an acute angle and with the pressure of ten thousand people standing in eager anticipation… THUMP The ball flew high and directly at the right hand upright. And then came that soft right to left curve like a tenpin bowling ball. The flags were raised and then chaos. A stampede onto the ground. The players lifted high, warcries, hymns, car alarms, dogs, babies, roosting birds… everything joined in. We had beaten Kings College! The Kings had been dethroned. Long live the Kings!

After the excitement of yesterday, I set about learning theorems, reading poems, studying climatology and reading up on South African politics from 1908. Needless to say, a long nasty day without relief. I broke the monotony with a telephone call to the Mermaid who was completely vague and bland and had nothing to say.

Eventually, some good news. Dad called to say that he’d raised the money for the tour. I thanked him many times and didn’t dare ask how he’d managed the final six hundred rand. In this case, ignorance is definitely bliss.

I have foregone my daily diary discipline because I’ve had to focus my full attention on my examinations. Besides I cannot recall anything of the slightest interest occurring over the last four days. Sparerib did call Rambo in for a ‘meeting’, though. Rambo has refused to let on what it is about, although we think it’s
all about Eve
… ha ha.

The exams ranged from easy (history, drama, geography
and English) to impossible (maths and science). I doubt very much that I’ll be living up to my scholarship billing as a budding genius.

The only other news is that all of Gecko’s jocks were stolen last night. Due to our newfound friendship he told me after dinner that he was hanging loose and he’s positive that Julian is behind it. As a precaution I’ve hidden three pairs of my underpants under the bed and am wearing another three.

Tomorrow is officially the last day of term, although the touring party will be spending the first night of the holidays at school and departing for Cape Town early on Saturday morning. This is my first official tour. I feel like a Springbok! (Not that the Springboks ever tour.)

The entire first rugby team was awarded either colours or honours during the final assembly. The Glock wished our cricket side luck for the tour and then handed out a crapload of ties, badges and trophies. Think The dock’s cheese might be slipping off his cracker because he spent the whole assembly grinning like an idiot and even made a few lame jokes that only the maths and science teachers laughed at.

12:00   Half the Crazy Eight said their goodbyes and headed off to their buses or parents’ cars. Our touring squad joined The Guv for an afternoon practice. It was quite weird having the whole place to ourselves. The staff must love the peace and quiet when us boys aren’t here.

22:00   Rambo slipped back into the dormitory and told us that he’d just had sex with Eve in the cricket pavilion. Fatty and Mad Dog pushed him for details but all he said was that it was the best feeling he’d ever had. Simon, who had spent the entire evening bouncing
a ball on the edge of his bat, told Rambo to stop his affair with Eve before things got completely out of hand. Rambo grinned and cruised off to the showers.

Tomorrow we set off across the country to beautiful Cape Town which I haven’t seen since I was about five years old. I wonder if we’ll get to go up Table Mountain in the cable car? Last time we were there we couldn’t go up because Wombat said she got vertigo and had a premonition that the cable would snap and the cable car would burst into flames. We went to the Houses of Parliament instead.

Mad Dog crushed a tea bag, rolled the leaves in a torn up letter stolen from Vern’s locker and told us all to smoke it. It tasted vile and I spent the night with a hacking cough that kept everyone but Mad Dog awake.

05:00   The rising siren sounded, followed by The Guv’s booming voice ringing out from the quad. ‘Get up, you miserable fat bastards, once more unto the bus! All aboard the bus to slay the feckless Cape swine!’ I think he said feckless, although with The Guv you can never be too sure. (Not sure what feckless is anyway but it sounds bad.)

We sped down Pilgrim’s Walk with The Guv leading us in a croaky warcry and some mad screaming from an obscure Shakespearian play called Simberlina or something. It suddenly dawned on me that The Guv was as drunk as a skunk and still wearing his academic gown from yesterday’s assembly.

Eric Nyathi, the school’s bus driver, was thrilled to have the firebrand English teacher sitting next to him and chatted away to our coach in a mixture of English and Zulu. The bus crept its way up the frozen brown hills of the Natal Midlands and then sprinted on the downhill stretches to try and gather pace for the next
hill. To keep our spirits up, The Guv asked me to lead the bus in several renditions of the school hymn. Once the singing had died down, The Guv pulled out a series of faxed pages and began telling us about our opponents for the week long cricket tournament. Our cunning coach had sent his brother (an estate agent who lives in Cape Town) on a tour of each of the schools we will play, armed with a notepad and a pair of binoculars to spy on our opposition. Our spy reckons the only worrying school is Cardinal College, who ‘have lethal opening bowlers and a batting lineup as long as a seven foot slapper in high heels’! The Guv carefully read through his information on each school and warned us that if we lose our unbeaten record we will be walking the 1 700 kilometres home.