Scrummin' for a victory

I went to see a Rugby game this last weekend, which was pretty cool. It was WP (Western Province) versus some team whose name I can't remember, but it sounded like "Greek-ass." The best part was listening to all the psychotic Afrikaans shouting the whole damn game, even though their team (WP) had already qualified for the playoffs.

The best part is that WP is traveling to Pretoria this weekend to face off against the mighty Blue Bulls (hold your jokes please) in the first round of the Currie Cup. The Bulls played on television right after we saw the WP game. The Bulls had just amazing weather at their stadium and cowboy cheerleaders. We had cold rainy weather and no cheerleaders. I predict the Blue Balls will kill us this weekend.

The Homeless World Cup

This last weekend was the final of the Homeless World Cup which took place here in Cape Town from Sept. 25-30. Basically, they get a bunch of people that meet the "homeless requirement" and shuttle them to a location around the globe where they play some seriously intense 20 minute street ball games for a week. Not everyone who participates is homeless per se. I think sleeping on a buddy's couch for more than 6 months in the last year makes you eligible (i'm not joking here). They had the requirements listed in the program.

What killed me was some of the hilarious info in the program. One team profile said to watch out for this Norwegian who was compared with Maradona. Look, let's get one thing straight here. I don't care how much drugs and alcohol you did in your life (because Maradona did a shitload of both), if you really were like Maradona you wouldn't be playing in the Homeless World Cup. I'm an American for God's sake, and know almost nothing about soccer, but I know that.

Lastly, the Homeless World Cup (yes, that's the official title) is used primarily to promote homelessness awareness. And I guess it also promotes that homeless people can kick your ass in soccer and this is why you'll never be a pro.

And I know you're wondering - the CCCP, I mean Russia, won it.

Gay clubs, cops and arrests or how to get your first story published

The first day that I had to produce something was Sunday (which is now almost a week ago). Obviously our two week seminar in Paris didn't prepare me for this at all, since writing about "that AIDS problem they got here" won't get you real far in the actual newsroom. Stuck with no ideas, I headed out into the Cape Town night on Friday, wondering what the hell I was going to write about. Rather than pack it in early, because I know no one in the whole city except for the owner of the Dubliner and a few of his friends, I decided to keep drinking.

Eventually, Pat (one of the Dubliner regulars and about as Irish a guy as you'll ever meet), came in and we shot the shit until 4am. That's when the bars close here in Cape Town. Or most of them. Pat said that a few clubs, that moonlight as gay clubs during the week, become major hangouts - straight and gay alike - on Friday nights because they have 24-business licenses. They can't sell liquor after 4am, but they turn some good music. So we went to a club called Sliver, which sounds only a hair's breath seedier than it actually is. After being in there for 10 minutes, the cops came in and roughly arrested the owner and 2 managers and shut the place down. One actually got maced in the face. And I was right there. Interestingly, what the cops did was illegal, because the club had a right to be open with its license - and no one was charged with selling drugs or anything. Combined with excessive force by the police - this was a seemingly great story.

Luckily I got to do this story on Sunday, rather than some crappy story on Grandparents Day in Cape Town. But on Monday, when I opened the paper, the Grandparents Day story got 4 times the space my story got and it had a picture to boot. Moral of the story, in Cape Town don't write about police brutality if it involves gay people in any way.....

I hate editors.

Meeting a Nobel Prize Winner

It's not every day that you get to meet a Nobel Prize Winner, and I actually got to meet one the first day I went to work. I went out with a reporter and a photographer to shadow them on a quick story on Archbishop Desmond Tutu getting a soccer jersey for his 75th birthday. At first he didn't seem too pleased to see us, but then he warmed up and spoke with us for about 20 minutes. He turned out to be extremely funny and a real pleasant guy. Not bad for day 1 of work.

Zed's dead baby

One of the first things I've had trouble with down here is getting people's names spelled right. Here in South Africa, people pronounce Z as Zed, which can make for some awkward moments on the phone.

Guy: My surname (another quirk I love) is N, I, T, Zed...
Me: Uh, what the hell did you just say?

Anytime anyone here says Zed now, all I can think of is that great moment in Pulp Fiction.

Bruce Willis's French girlfriend: Who's Zed?
Bruce Willis: Zed's dead baby.

Maybe in L.A., but not down here in South Africa - he lives on.