Popping pills is a way of life. It all started with ‘The Pill’ preventing another brat entering the world. My Heidi has the distinction of being on the scene when it first hit the pharmacies in the 60s.
The fact that she had three births remains puzzling, but then maybe the first batch hadn’t been fine-tuned. Anyway, they turned out with acceptable genes – despite two family trees with some freaky characters dangling from the branches.
The sales of The Pill soared and the drug firms smelt filthy lucre. Since then thousands of pills have been flooding the market – at disgustingly astronomical prices.
I mean, there’s a pill for pumping up your sexual prowess; one for pinching piles in the bud, sorry butt; melting bad cholesterol brought on by double burgers and slap chips; improving your eyesight without having to munch on a raw carrot; allowing you to sleep without counting sheep; softening the scabs around your in-grown toenail, making surgery less painful.
Then there’s my favourite pill prescribed by Dr Evert. It’s supposed to stimulate the brain, preventing brain cells from further deteriorating. Whether or not it’s paying off is in the eyes of the beholder…
Anyway, my dreams have taken on a new form. They’re colour montages, not unlike in-house advertisements for SuperSport and KykNET. And every night the same images. The agonising, sweating faces of Syia Kolisi and Eben Etzebeth with the superimposed words The Pain and the Glory.
On a bad night, Afrikaans singers with sad songs of lovers left on railway stations, contemplating suicide on the tracks.
And Mark Boucher cocking a snook at Paul Adams for bringing up incidents when both were still young and vocal in change rooms. Hey, the names I was called by my Afrikaner rugby teammates were unrepeatable to outsiders.
If the shoe fit you kept mum. If not, we Rooinekke gave it back to the Bloupense in equal measure. No running to the coach reporting what today is labelled racism. Like men, we sorted it out. My dream tells me Mark is considering a job abroad with a healthy package. Go for it Mark, where there are still men around.
Perhaps there’s a pill to block these frenzied scenes, replacing them with, say, pretty and intelligent (sic) blondes. Heidi says I need a punch, not a pill.
Response welcome. cliffbuchler8@gmail.com
- The opinions and sentiments expressed are those of the writer, and not necessarily of the publisher, Group Editors.
