Home and Away...

While most of you are either organising your tiger halloween outfit for tonight, gloating over your 45second Springbok bus tour cellphone footage or maybe learning for your exams on friday morning there are 300 million people engrossed in their domestic sporting league, the NFL.

Why I mention this is because over the weekend was the first time in NFL histroy that a regulation in season game was played in another country. The Miami Dolphins moved their home arena to Wembly Stadium to host the NY Giants this past sunday. [the first 40000 tickets went in 90minutes] Dolphins lost 13-10 thanks to a carry rushing best by Giants QB Eli Manning. The funny thing is the English came out in droves to support the home side, which lost. Proving that if you're supported by the English you're doomed to lose...

"I give in a 10, a fuckin' ten..."

Keep your finger poised on the PVR trigger of Sunday 4th November. The only two remaining unbeaten sides go head to head in Indy as the Colts [7-0] host the New England Patriots [8-0]. Peyton Manning v Tom Brady, Tony Dungy v Bill Belichick.

It should be epic and won't end up the superbowl as both side are in the AFC. I won't be watching because of exams, I promise Mom!

High-giene...

I am struggling to over come the 4th step in my recidivist pattern of addiction and I promise you it is not easy. However, I am trying to be a 'better' person and tone down the spiteful nasty thing but alas moments like these make it so impossible...


I am not the biggest fan of the 'The Opium' Group (vomit) as working for them was one of the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life. The racist bunch of coked up assholes are utter idiots and have a collective IQ that wouldn't threaten surpassing Tiger Woods' highest single round golf score. And by collective I mean the accumulation of ALL of their IQs.

Father of chucky? The shaved red mango doing nothing for the IQ aggregate...

Moving swiftly along though, this story is totally impartial and not hinged on the fact that going for a cocktail at Opium Camps Bay is akin in throat-slitting potential to the Grey's Anatomy soundtrack. If the bad service, terrible cocktails or thumping techno-house (?) beats don't kill you, you will certainly consider taking your own life...

On Sunday afternoon the little side street that corners Opium CB and the Camps Bay strip was a hive of police activity. Police cars, vans, ER24 paramedics and a very cool 'unmarked' tinted window hatch-back that had flashing lights. A variety of conclusions could plausibly come to mind.

- Smart dressed 'Smiley'-looking man resembling a Pakistani fast bowler caught unloading 10kgs of Columbia's finest in the back room.
- Patron suicide.
- The inevitable arrival of the Asset Forfeiture Unit investigating the tax avoiding owner.
- Bathroom rape?

However, these very possibly speculations were not the reason behind the pile of police personnel! The real story?:

A drain was blocked and overflowing so they called a plumber in to sort the job out. (Opium being full of shit should also have been on the possible explanation list) The plumber located the blockage and opened up that pipe section to flush it out. What was behind pipe number 1?

A dead baby.


Yes I am being serious. A dead newborn baby was found in the drains of Opium Beach Bar.

Monday Missus...


This young lass is in celebration for all the PGDA guys that finish today, cause you guys have worked hard and are also ready to get greased tonight. No sure.

Spam Male or Type A jock..?

Despite one or two girls I wooed using exclusively my extensive knowledge of female fashion accessories, my premeditated renditions of heart-string pulling Sex & the City episodes, sequential tirades of romcom quotes, lasciviously long eyelashes and the odd ballroom dancing move, no girl has ever questioned my sexual design or orientation.

There was also that one hefty butch girl that questioned it after I refused to give in to her abandon-less drunken advances but I think she thought I was gay and her physical demeanour would fly her under the radar and into my pants.

I stand by a long history of heterosexuality and manliness that would make the first round draft pick of the NFL feel [colts still unbeaten by the way, 6-0] girlish. I am a fuckin' Alpha Male. I am such an Alpha Male I refer to myself as one. I refer to myself in the 3rd person, fuck it sometimes the 4th person. And I liken myself to wild, robust manly animals. GH, called GH the Wolf...!

However, the one place you don't hear about my masculinity is on my email address. And this is where my point comes to the coverpage.


Why the hell then does the spam mail I receive know that I am a guy? For arguments sake, don't reach for the 'comment link' below and type in 'cause you have a guys name in your e-dress', because I would have realised that and I don't.

I get more penis spam in one day than your average gynaecologist gets snatch. I draw one of two possible conclusions. 1- Spam mail isn't designed for women so everyone just gets exclusively male directed spam, or 2- they don't make the female equivalent of 'make your junk slinger 3 inches larger'*.

*words not belonging to the author.

Since the first conclusion is implausible and as I know all about boob lifting bras, fat hiding ass corsets and ugliness covering makeup the second conclusion is impossible too.

Smoke, mirrors and a phallus.

Therefore we are left with; my masculinity is at musking elk status and permeates through the 'interweb' as it would if I was doing shirtless push ups at a single mothers Tupperware convention...

Spam isn't annoying its a tribute...but I swear if I get one more email about how to trim that annoying extra 5 inches to aid maneuverability and access I'll slap it on Bill G's laptop.

You bet your fuckin' life we are...

As with all rowdy, boisterous and slightly inebriated young men can be the Guv and myself decided to place a gentlemanly wager on the result of the beastly 'little yellow cup' competition.


The odds at the tote for him backing SA to lift the trophy and myself backing the ABs wouldn't have been great since both sides were pre-tournament frontrunners so we decided to keep the waiger between us.

The terms? 1 week. 1 week to do as you please to the others hair styling preference.

Flying at half mast?

The Guv put his uncle, the merchant of venice, to shame as he asked for his pound of flesh with acute venom. How can I be hungry after swallowing all that pride...

Rockstar Look-a-Like ...

Maybe if Pollock spent less time trying to work out who threw that hooker out of the 12th floor apartment and playing with his sunglasses we'd be doing a little better in the cricket. Maybe ....

Guess the Owner...

Clue 1: I sold my cattle but kept my lawn...

Clue 2: Mbeki the bastard looked so big on my plasma. Can't believe his rugby team won the RWC.

Clue 3: I have a pool filled with oil too!

Clue 4: My upholstery must match the colour of my blood money!

That's correct guess fans. Have a dabble at whom you think owes this palatial example of opulent home living!

It is funny...


Congratulations to the Cheetahs and Lions for making the Currie Cup final to be played this Saturday! Oh and congratulations to the Sharks and Bulls for winning the Rugby World Cup...


I promise this is the last thing I write about rugby until the 3nations next year but how come Bryan Habana (one of 4 backs nominated) received the World Rugby Player of the Year award when the World Cup was a bore fest where winning play involved forward dominated conservative rugby and defence; not attack and tries. Victor, Bakkies, Os, Juan, Danie, CJ and John can't be happy...

Monday Mayhem...


I give it a ten...

Group Holdings...

Thank you!

Without being there in the moment, or having the full scope of the context in which something happened explained, renders hearing the story less interesting than what it should be. However, by living the rockstar life you will have intimate inner knowledge of why this is entertaining.

A random girl: You guys are so exclusive in your group!
The Guv: Thank you!

RWC07 3 v 6.

Here at Rockstar Journals our attachment to RWC France 07 has been as contemporary as playing rugby in cotton jerseys and our predictions have been less accurate than Wayne Barnes’ positional play.

Tell me all about Treadstone Sydney!

To some up the events that unfolded since game 1 in early September, I struggle to find the loquacious aptitude to describe it as anything beyond an ‘Upset’. My reticence however was not echoed by Mr Syd Millar (head of the IRB) as he reckons it’s the most successful RWC ever. I would loath to be described as the sour support but can’t avoid asking upon which yardstick he measures success.

Money wise from live audience? Then I am sure it has been the most successful. Every venue has been packed to capacity and then some. Money wise from TV audience? I am sure it is the highest watched rugby competition ever. Which admittedly doesn’t say much since it is only the 6^th RWC and the majority of the nations that play have only developed enough in the last decade to even get satellite signal.

Nevertheless, economically the IRB must be giggling like Tony Spreadbury at ruck time, all the way to the bank. However, whether it has been the best rugby spectacle I have my doubts. Actually the truth hiding behind that statement is that all World Cup Rugby turns into a banal display of ‘we’re to frightened to lose decision making’. It is trite knowledge that the side that makes the fewest errors usually wins, but the result it that game plans are now centered on giving the ball away to allow the other side to make the errors as opposed to keeping it and trying to score.

Step 1: Win 1st phase. Step 2: Set up a ruck. Step 3: Let JW kick the points.

I personally watch rugby to see sides play fast, skillful, intelligent and brave rugby. Sides that forego possession in favour of territory and then just defend are not the sides that take up the most minutes of the highlight channels allotted viewing quota, they do however take up the evening news as they’re the ones that lift the trophy.

Think Blue Bulls Currie Cup success. Think England 2003…think last Saturday and Sunday and think toward Saturday night in Paris...!

Step 4: Defend the lead. Step 5: Celebrate like World Champs. Step 6: Take it home..!

The English (7)* France (5) quarter final was possibly the most boring game I have ever seen. Both sides played good rugby and made few errors, with France unfortunately making more than the Poms, but it was fakkin boring. It was like watching two aussie rules teams warming up. “Hey mate, Ai’ll stend one end of the SCG and you stay here en we can kieck it to each other…”

You might now speculate that the South Africa (3) Argentina (4) quarter cannot be criticized in the same manner since SA scored 4 tries. Unfortunately, I can cut and paste the above paragraph in here except just substitute in ‘made many errors’ where it says few.

Both sides adopted the ‘let the other side lose it approach’ except neither were ‘clinical’ enough in that game plan. [‘Clinical’ used to be an ACT Brumbies word referring to an attacking game built on accuracy and precision but now is euphemistically used by front row captains who are describing the last 80 minutes where they told their flyhalves to kick.]

Argentina lost cause they made more mistakes than the South Africans. Obviously, pressure can force mistakes (see Jake White rush defence manual 2005) and converting opposition mistakes into points does require effort but the facts are undeniable. Loose Argentine pass = Fourie Du Preez bags 7 points. Argentina counter attack badly off a terrible Juan Smith clearance kick, got turned over, SA spread it wide to where two props were defending 3 backs, and bye bye Habana, 14 points. Pichot’s infallibly bad service to a drifting inexperienced stand off who scones it, SA pounces repeats the unbelievably complex Eddie Jones pass the ball down line whilst unopposed drill, Daniel Rossouw, 21 points. Argentina attacking with abandon, reckless pass under, bye bye Habana 2, 28 points.

Yes four tries and besides Schalk turnover in the 2^nd try none were proactively created by SA. The 1^st and 4^th were unnecessary passes whilst the 3^rd was Pichot’s appalling pass off perfectly clean ruck ball.

I am not having a go at SA here though but rather at semi final rugby. I am not trying to highlight the inadequacies of the tournament so as to play it down and hence revoke some of the pain I feel that the best side in the world won’t lift the cup but the facts are incontestable:

Only two of the top 4 seeds made the semis!
Only one of the top 4 seeds made the final!

None of the top two sides did.

If SA win the top ranked side they will have played held number 4 spot (Argentina). [ the others: Samoa 10, England 7, Tonga 14, USA 15 and Fiji 12.]

If England win they would have beaten side 2 and 5, lost to 3 en route and will be the only side to have retained the trophy and the only side to have won the tournament whilst not going unbeaten…

However, SA can move into the number 1 spot on the IRB ranking if they beat England by 1 point, and the English can if they beat SA by 15 points. Very interesting.

*the numbers in brackets are the pre-RWC official IRB standings...

American Cars...

Apartheid and isolation were the biggest drawbacks ever encountered by South Africa’s history. Thankfully the latter had an impact on FWD magnanimously bringing an abrupt end to the form but during the reign of isolation we suffered immensely.

The combination of the two ensured SA is still only a developing country now despite having all the resources that should have made it 1^st world. One of the results of isolation was that our international friends didn’t want anything to do with us. They didn’t want to feed us, they didn’t want to come stay over and they didn’t want to play with us. We had no friends…

Of course a few sneaky fakkin lying bastards committed purely to making money pretended to isolate us but still made money off us like some people do in fueling Mugabe’s efforts in Zimbabwe today. The other thing was some people isolated us despite having national policies back home that threatened making SA looks like amateurs on the world oppression circuit. You could shoot aboriginal people in Australia up until like the 1980s.

But this isn’t a history lesson and I am not aiming to bitch about Australian outback pastimes. I’m looking to the bright side of post-isolation and foreign investment…

American car manufacturers are starting to get there dirty fingers in our motor vehicle pie, and it feels great. Now before you rush out and splurge your enthusiasm on a Chevie Spark just take a breath, and probably a slap to the head because I am talking about the Cadillac Escalade that should be on our showroom shelves soon…!

It’s a showdown between this and a Range Rover sport to be the car to replace my trusty A-2-B VW. Thankfully I am not threatened by possible fiscal success to have to make the decision just yet so have some time to think about it. Although if they bring out a Prius Hatchback before then I might have my choice made for me…

Chicks dig Green!

UK Monday Girl...


Since everything English really incites me lately I had to find an export from them that wouldn't enrage me. She is English. Although I love it when you speak foreign...

Summer is here...


And I am okay with it...

Captain my captain...

In preparation for the looming advent of summer I have done three things. I skip carb-laden fat meals quicker than a flyhalf should skip De Wet Barry on quick ball, I do more reps than Ron Burgandy does in front of a hot blonde co-anchor and I got myself a summer job...


Now since I am doing everything in 3s I might as well elucidate the 3 fantastic perks centered around serving people cocktails on the Miami strip of Africa. 1 - The relationship between monies earned and work provided is fantastic. 2 - The ratio between serving drinks and getting hit on by hot women is the same as the vodacom voicemail number. 3 - you meet some absolutely amazing fuckin' individuals.

I might start a biggest doos award and on saturday night a man virtually engraved his name on the trophy. I am pretty sure he will stay on top throughout the entire summer unless say he gets a good opponent and an english referee that is still in high school. Let's rather not go there and back to our 'boytjie'...

First 'the doos' insists on ordering shots of a mojito. Now for those of you who prefer your drinks not to come with umbrellas I'll inform you that a mojito is a refreshing light rum cocktail shaken over crushed ice with sugar, mint and lime wedges. The appeal of a mojito is encapsulated in it being tall, diluted and refreshing. So 'the doos' orders it to be poured out into shot glasses. If we do the math: 1 mojito has 2 shots of light rum (50ml) poured across 10 shots glasses that makes us 5mls of rum per shooter. You heavy drinking doos you...

Moving along. After making said poor, yet strikingly handsome and crazy sexy, bartender labour over numerous mojito shots he throws me that red-faced penetrating gaze of a western free state farmer that you justed helped fill out his tax return. It is a mixture of brotherly love, admiration and 'boytjie can I buy you a drink' bravado...

Sure you can buy me a drink, just make sure you tip me...


He throws his big hairy mechanic fist across the bar and thanks me like he saw Diddy thank 50 at the EVMAs, pulled away, said "its time for a..." and placed the West Coast Massive sign on his left shoulder..!!!

I was fuckin perplexed..! My erudite knowledge doesn't extend to the inner workings of the Los Angelos gangster underworld but this doos has obviously got an inside track with someone like Ludachris judging by the mechanic grease under his fingernails...


So I humoured him. "Bud, I have no clue what your 3 fingered shoulder slaute means, pimp my knowledge..."

He leaned in for the real thing and the conversation went like this:

Doos: My man, you weren't old enough to go to the army, let me educate you...
Bartender: Teach me where it hurts master...
Doos: [1 greasy finger on inner arm] Private!
[2 fingers on inner arm] Corporal!
[3 fingers] Lance Corporal!
[1 finger on shoulder] Sergeant!
[2 fingers on shoulder] Staff Sergeant!
[3 fingers west coast salute] Boytjie my boytjie, can I get a Captain!
Bartender: Dumbfounded!

Reasons to feel good...


I find hedonistic pleasures are the most mind-numbing distraction from the real pain, and because I am at work and can't 'drink away the part of the day I cannot sleep away' I think this young lady might perk us up a bit...

The Aftermath...

Being an assimilated All Black supporter through choice made Saturday night very possibly the worst night of my life. The feelings that horror loss invoked cannot be matched by quite anything I have experienced before. It felt like I had just broken off a 4 year engagement with the girl I was meant to marry...


What scares me the most is that I have no connection to the All Blacks beyond being one full and loyal supporter. The All Blacks didn't choose me, I chose them and then they kept me there. The practical implication of my heartfelt connection with the Men In Black is zero. They lose, my life goes on.

So here is the thing. Why then did the loss elicit a response in me that has never found parallel in anything else I have experienced. I have supported them since 1995 so aren't unaccustomed to bowing out of the Rugby World Cup but Saturday was terrible.

I started supporting them because to me they blend the perfect mix for rugby. They play attacking rugby without compromising abandon, they execute aggressive defense without losing their pattern, they play with flair without losing structure and structure without losing the individual, they assess a situation and react, and they play with spirit, pride and an unrivalled sportsmanship.


For me Richie McCaw was epic on Saturday and despite having to deal with a microphone before the ring of Wayne Barnes' final blast had ended. He could have questioned why the French weren't penalised once in the final 40 minutes despite numerous infringements, he could have asked how beyond his ground did McAlister go to deserve getting binned, he could have asked why a referee with only 2 years experience got to blow the most important quarter final, he could have asked where 'advantage' went from the ruck before the drop goal was taken, he could have asked how did 3 officials possibly miss that incredibly forward pass.

He could have moaned about not being allowed to play in their traditional strip, he could have moaned about how unlucky you have to be to have your half back pairing injured simultaneously and then lose your reserve flyhalf 6 minutes later. He could have moaned about playing 7th tier nations before playing a game of that level. He could have moaned that Spreadbury's mare in the opening game set up Saturday's match up.

Did anyone hear Richie McCaw or Graham Henry mentioned any one of these things? Sure the press and irate public have but not those two. They admitted France were the better side on the night and wholeheartedly deserved the win and even wished them best of luck.

"If you realise that the real problem is losing yourself, you realise that this itself is the real trial!" Joseph Campbell.

For those sporting fans out there that jump on the commentator and press bandwagon instead of forming your own opinion and feel the All Blacks choked go read the article by Marcus Leach on www.planet-rugby.com. Don't take the credit away from France. They deserved the win...

Monday girl...


Amongst the many things I will devotedly give my wife is a list. My free pass list, and Gemma A will be on the top of it...only cause it will be in alphabetical order...

The Quarters and Beyond...

This weekend is looking hotter than a green eyed girl in red shoes. The match ups for the 1/4 finals of RWC08 are very one sided, as in all the top sides (or atleast the 4 semi-finalists from last world cup) are playing for the one semi-final whereas only one top side is playing for the other.

If the nation that gets to hoist the soccer-ball marked trophy come October 20th came from the first set of quarter finals they would have play 3 nations in the top 5 on the trot and beaten them, something which no side has ever done to win the World Cup.


QF1: Repeat of the 2003 final.
England v Aussie, Marseille 15h00.
Should be an excellent game. English tight five and JW v Aussie 1 to 15 minus 10. Very interesting. If Barnes is up it and the wrecking ball Sheridan is contained Australia will take it...


QF2: Repeat of the 2003 3rd place play off
All Blacks v France, Cardiff 21h00.
Would have preferred this as the final but what can you do. I am too involved emotionally to make a call on this and have been having sleepless nights because of it. I do have 4 points to make on it though. 1.) France were 'fekkin stoopid' to host the World Cup and then play the one quarter final that they may have been in, in another country. Home ground advantage would have been a huge thing. 2.) Wayne Barnes at the tender young age of 28 is officiating. I don't think he will cope with the importance of the encounter. 3.) All Blacks playing in silver, aren't the all blacks. Hoodoo gone. And lastly 4.) The winner will go all the way...


QF3:
South Africa v Fiji, Marseille 15h00.
This could be one way traffic, this could be stupid tactical SA rugby playing into the hands of the underdogs. We will see..! Although the Fijian forwards collapsed after 35minutes against the Welsh and weren't buried. Victor and Bakkies get paid to bury people, they do it professionally.


QF4:Argentina v Scotland. St Denis 21h00.
Both these sides are still 2nd tier rugby nations no matter which way you put it. Argentina have done brilliantly to move from a minnow nation to 2nd tier but they still are only there. They win on sunday, which they will, and move to the biggest game of their lives they will still only be a strong 2nd tier nation.

Guess the man and win:


The answer to our last trivia question was Francois Pienaar by the way, but have another crack at the title by guessing who this man is...

Docking: The fat of the land...


So the building in which I spend my days wouldn't exactly compete with say the Sears Tower for the highest building in the world or with the Petronas Towers I and II for 3rd for that matter. Hell it wouldn't compete with the local church steeple. Basically it is short and fat. It looks like a face brick Rubik cube and has only 6 levels.

HOWEVER, despite the vertically undemanding nature of my building there are numerous girls that still insist on using the lifts as opposed to taking a maximum of 5 flights of stairs to move up or down. Are they taking the piss? Come on.

Admittedly there is another elevator in the building that only rides between two floors which I do use but that is only because it is extremely well lit and has great air conditioning. It also has a massive mirror but that goes without saying.


Summer is literally around the next moon cycle and yet every lard ass chick in my building still insists on traveling between levels as opposed to walking. Just plain senseless....

Guess the Quote Competition...


I didn't get to hear this classic myself but the good Docstar emailed it to me. Sporty. Guess the man behind the words, quicker than our reigning champion JJ, and stand in line to win amazing and as yet non-existent prizes.

"Ah, they say Habana can run away from a cheetah. This man can run away from 2 cheetahs..."

On retrospect two cheetahs shouldn't be quicker than one.

The "Guess the Quote" leader board:

JJ: 2 Golds, 1 Silver.
Anonymous: 1 Gold.
Banger: 1 Silver.
Kyle: 1 Silver.

Idol Worship...

Before you make an average puns about how I spend my idle time I will have you know that besides Colin Moss Idols is a professionally run, family orientated program that is both entertaining and stimulating.


Who the 'fak' am I kidding, I only watch reality TV so see which lunatics the producers put on the show for entertainment value and for the token belters they choose for pure sex value.

We have ourselves a winner!

There are a couple of sneaky belters this time round but our seasons favourite was chosen ages ago. I have just been too busy pursuing the rockstar life to actually post about her. So here she is.


Our little girl is Carla Louw. She is a quirky little sexsoldier but has vibe that permeates through my flat screen. She is so hot I caught my pvr replaying reruns of her by itself one day. Good boy, I taught him well.

Ey, Aloh!

Epic mic technique is so important!

Palpable "I won't just lie there" energy!