Masters Waterpolo – A Tale of a Drinking Tour (Part 1)

Picture the scene: Lanseria Airport – Wednesday Evening, 17h30 PM.

A lone figure enters the Wiesenhof coffee shop, clutching a Hansa Lager branded bag and a slightly nervous expression.

He takes a seat at a table and orders a draught beer, for the nerves.

One beer leads to another. He seems to be waiting for something besides a plane- but what?

Suddenly a few hulking figures emerge blinking into the light, the waiter stand up and shouts: “Boys! You made it! Let the Masters Waterpolo Tour begin!”

Needless to say, when you get drunk before you get on the plane, things can only go one way

I ended up losing my original boarding pass and five minutes before we were due to start boarding I made a rushed and somewhat stumbling jog (I don’t run) down the stairs to the check-in. The kindly gentleman there said “Lucky I remembered you from joking about having drugs in your bag”

Little did he know I wasn’t joking.

The flight itself was uneventful, apart from the whirring and clicking in my brain about how I was going to convince my team to abandon them for a romantic tete a tete once we landed. I realised that no amount of convincing in the world would sway them from taking me drinking so I came up with a cunning plan.

When we landed, I ran.

Without so much as a goodbye, I bundled into the car of my lover and we sped off into the night… romance and beer ensued.

The next morning, after a stolen breakfast and much skulking in corridors so as not to be seen, I was driven across the peninsula to Table View, and then even further to Durbanville, and a disused quarry that was to be our playing filed for the next three days.

As I was being dropped off, my lady remarked that this was the equivalent of being dropped off by your mom for the matric dance, and could result in any even heavier fine than the one already promised to me due to my ninja-bomb disappearing act the night before.

Luckily as you can see – I was literally the first person to arrive:

Eventually, after watching a bunch of really old men do a couple of warm-up laps of the quarry, my team arrived – ordered me into leopard-print boxers and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the morning.

Our first game was against Clifton – a team in which there were 3 current Springbok players and the rest of the team were all ex-Springboks.

In comparison my team had 2 Gauteng Schools Provincial players. We lost.

We played another 2 matches and lost those too – at which time we decided to turn this tour into a drinking tour.

In part 2 I’ll try and piece together what actually happened through interviews and photographic evidence. It may take some time.

Please be patient, your views are important to us.

Don’t be a C*nt

I was talking with a very attractive lady recently, and we were talking of high school shenanigans. She, it appears, was super hardcore. I was not.

I was pretty well behaved and my teachers all liked me. I never got into trouble, mainly because I never used to carry out any of my own schemes. I had some minions who, until they wised up, used to be the implementers of my pranks and schemes. They wised up after about the third time I got off scott-free and they got detention.

This story is not about these times, but it is about one of these people.

We were 16, turning 17 – at that age where you know everything and you’re not afraid to let other people know. Where you start drinking every weekend and girls become your single-minded focus. Where you accidentally make out with a second cousi… OH, wait yes, that’s not what everyone’s puberty is about.

Anyways, I had a friend – Eddie – who was clearly being drastically affected by his hormones. He had grown pretty fast and as a result (I’m guessing here) his body was tired and he was always half-asleep in class. (Well it was either the hormones or the incessant masturbation)

It so happened that we had a co-ed sex ed class scheduled for Life Orientation.

It also happened that a student teacher was scheduled to take this class.

You couldn’t really ask for a better set up. Thanks universe.

This student teacher, a fairly petite and fresh-faced young lady, knew she had a big ask- to teach sex education to a bunch of jaded 17 year-olds, most of which had probably already been having sex for at least a year. (I had a very sexy school)

She decided the best option would be to take a gung-ho approach and try and pre-emptively beat us at our own game. Lewd, crude and rude. All guns blazing. This was her plan.

Good plan.

On paper.

She strode into the class, pulled down an illustration of the female genitalia and boldly issued the following challenge: “Who can tell me what this is?”

Now, any normal, awkward teenager may have been taken aback by this in-your-face approach to S-E-X. Eddie however, arose like a phoenix from the flames, pushing his chair back and standing up proudly. He pointed to the board and shouted:

“Its a cunt!”

Well played Eddie, well played.

Family Values

I don’t hang out with my family a lot. Not even my immediate family, who normally guilt-trip me into seeing them about once every 3 months.

Judge me if you wish, some families just don’t hang out together.

The 2 people I ‘see’ the most are my brother – because he’s a lurker and will show up wherever a free drink can be bummed off a friend, and my cousin Dale (@badtennis_ on twitter and WordPress – read his blog because he told me if I can get him some more readers [up from just me and some old bird who always, ALWAYS comments] then he’ll take me to the same roadhouse he took his girlfriend for valentines) who I mainly converse with online. Because he looks like this:

Understandably I try to avoid getting my prettiness anywhere near him, because it would be unfair on him. Now he has a girlfriend, so its safe for me to be around him for short periods.

Those are what female dwarves have right?

Anyway, Dale is a couple of months older than me, and had his 30th birthday party this weekend. My dad, brother and I all ventured out to the East, only to find out Dale had managed to get Blackberry to sponsor Kid Cudi for his party – we were amped.

Very shortly afterwards, we were disappointed as we realised that the Blackberry/Kid Cudi event was wholely removed from Dale’s party.

To tell the truth, I wasn’t all that disappointed, I only know one Kid Cudi song and that’s becasue it was played to death, reborn after three days and played to death again on a holiday I went to.

Dale’s party was slightly more low-key, although he did have the biggest pizzas I have ever seen on the tables. And a beer tab, which was completely unexpected.

I brought Dale some money as a present from my side of the family, but I was planning on holding on to it and offsetting the price of the booze with how much money he would get as a present – I personally think this is rather unique and will totally be utilising this method at all celebrations moving forward.

Dale, I still have R 480 left from your present. If I keep punting your blog can I keep it?

But I digress – the best part of the party was seeing my family together for a celebration rather than a lamentation. And it was awesome.

Here are some photos – when in doubt, I’m the sexy one.

Here’s to seeing a lot more of all the people I love this year! Love you guys

 

The Naked and (Hardly) Famous

I’m getting good at these pun-ny titles hey?
This, in the vein of entertaining you folks rather than ranting at the farce we call our government, I will regale you with another story from my not so distant past…

The Time: 2004
The Place: Johannesburg – Northern Suburbs
The Occasion: Natalie’s Birthday Party

Agent 00Pete reporting. The squad has arrived at the operational area, it consists of one man with a smile so big it almost touches at the back of his head, a ginger who thinks he’s not and me, dressed in a tutu and cute strappy top with polka dots.

The local population consisted mainly of girls. Well, I was only looking for girls. As usual when a man (read: me) goes out with the intention of getting laid, they pretty much ignored me. There was a short liaison in the garden maze, but nothing worth reporting (read: I got horribly dissed)

After extraction, Pete got tired of using the military report style of writing.
Agent 00Pete out.

So Chad, Garron and Steve were in the car with me and we were being merry, having already ate and drank.
We were in the car and on our way home when the craving for an ice-cream took me. And it took me without asking, or even cajoling. One minute drunk, the next, ready to kill for a frozen dairy-based dessert.

I realised when we stopped that my skin-tight choice of clothing had left no space for my wallet and I was in fact broke.
However, the craving was not abating.
I suggested that if my friends paid for it, I would go into the garage shop and buy the ice-cream… Naked.

With much averting of eyes, and contortion on my part, I managed to remove the strappy top, tutu and underwear, whilst still retaining my cowboy hat, boots and rainbow striped socks. It was incredible.

I vacated the vehicle, nonchalantly moseyed on into the shop, ignoring the gasps of the ladies behind the counter, selected my frozen treat and approached the tills.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want an ice-cream”

“…”

I like to think that those ladies learnt three important lessons that night.
Cowboys exist. They’re sexy as hell. And they leave their hats on.

Put On a Brave Face

So I know this has been coming since I decided to take the plunge, but I’m single… (and this is the third blog about it)… again!

My now ex is going to explore the world, on ships and stuff, either in the Mediterranean or the Caribbean, both places known for their terrible habit of turning people into fat, alcoholic, nymphomaniac murderers.

Ok, maybe not the murder part.

Nonetheless, it sucks. This girl is amazing, seriously. If you read my previous pity-party post (Alliteration FTW!) on being lonely, this girl ticked all the boxes. Smart, sexy, funny (and you thought I was going for the double alliteration there didn’t you?), interested in the same stuff I am and really caring.

Now because we broke up I could start ripping her off and really entertain you guys with made up libelous stories like the fact she can play a harmonica with her lady bits or that her elbow can lick itself, but I’m not going to.

I’m also not going to go on about how much this sucks and how I feel, because I know you don’t really care- to paraphrase P!nk incorrectly – I’m just here for your entertainment.

I’m also not going to put personalised subliminal messages in this post in the small hope she changes her mind, like this: DON’T FUCKING GO ON THE SHIPS, THE BEDS ARE SMALL, THE FOOD IS CRAP AND YOU’LL HATE IT! Only I think it would need to be less subtle to be truly effective.

This relationship always had an expiry date because she was always going on the ships- but next time you find someone who you think is cool, my advice is this:

Take the chance to get to know them, they could be exactly what you’ve been looking for

Don’t give up on what you want- I had about 5 months of bliss, which is 5 months more than i would have had if I just accepted the fact that she’s going anyway

Make the most of every moment. In the time I’ve known her I’ve crossed off more Bucket List items than ever before, and enjoyed them more than I thought possible

Put on a brave face.

And don’t forget to be awesome!

Love

Pete