Rugby-tackling a bok during wedding is not for sissies

Vusi Nzapheza Straight & 2 Beers
Rugby-tackling a bok during wedding is not for sissies.
Rugby-tackling a bok during wedding is not for sissies.
Image: 123RF/Johan Swanepoel

Two weeks into December and I'm already bedridden. All it took was a funeral in the first week and a wedding in the second to crash my festive programme. The cousin's wedding was particularly hectic as I was the MC in the Vaal.

I had them eating out of my hand until the newly betrothed went for a photo-shoot on the banks of the Vaal River.

A seemingly friendly springbok was grazing as the couple and bridesmaid posed for pictures with a few guests watching. Suddenly, the antelope rushed for the behinds of the female guests and gored them, exposing their bloomers.

In the melee, it was left to me to intervene and stop the blatant sexual harassment from the randy animal.

For someone who had never even caught a chicken in his life, I had to summon superhuman courage to grab the mad bok. I forgot about my bad foot and rugby-tackled the animal. I put my beer on the side and grabbed it by the rump but it cut loose and went for my beer.

The animal was horny and drunk. It was clear it was too familiar with homo sapiens but I had reached the end of my tolerance.

Nobody gate-crashes a wedding when I officiate, and that includes a four-legged animal that sits on my country's emblem. Drunkenness and raging hormones are a bad combination. In the scrum, the bok lashed out with a kick to my healing fracture, sending needles of pain coursing through my marrow.

By the time the staff at Zuikerbosch recreation club subdued the beast, I was a ball of pain on the grass. I suckled my beer like a baby camel to relieve the pain and it worked.

I limped through the rest of the wedding programme while mulling whether to lay a charge of GBH against the animal. None of the ladies whose bums had been gored were prepared to lay charges.

They said they wouldn't want to expose themselves to further humiliation. By sheer stealth and popular demand, I managed to conclude the wedding programme.

Unfortunately, I could not honour the many invitations for a dance with the MC. I've spent the whole week in bed as my leg plays up. I am proud to have got hurt defending the honour of women in this country notorious for treating them as lust recipients.

So, here I am hobbling with a crutch today when I should be toasting those who brought us the Day of Reconciliation.

I also had to cancel your invites to grace your festive occasions but it's better to be safe than sorry.

On a positive note, my bar is overflowing and my freezer is well-stocked. My only regret is not making biltong of that springbok when I had it by the neck, or was it the tail?

The readers of Straight & Two Beers don't do dumb things like drinking and driving or speeding. I also know you wouldn't grope a woman unless you had her signed affidavit. Have a merry one and see you in 2019!

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