On arriving at City Lords, it was quite obvious to see that this is no ordinary derby day. I had witnessed a glimpse of what was to come while I watching the netball at the Kirkby Courts on Friday. The quiet on the Kingswood side of the stand before and during the netball game was disconcerting and seemed like a precursor of things to come.
On arriving at City Lords, it was quite obvious to see that this is no ordinary derby day. I had witnessed a glimpse of what was to come while I watching the netball at the Kirkby Courts on Friday. The quiet on the Kingswood side of the stand before and during the netball game was disconcerting and seemed like a precursor of things to come. It was my first K-Day, and being from East London, I wasn’t aware of the passion that lies with the derby.
I found myself at the Dold fields to watch the junior rugby, and even there, the young ruggerites went at each other very hard, with a constant glimpse towards the scoreboard, as the winner will almost always take the picture with the score behind them.
When the U11A game ended, the contrast was evident, with the joy on the Kingswood side and despair on the St Andrew’s side. Some losses are acceptable, but today’s loss looked very hard to stomach, but they took it with good grace.
The main U13A game was intense, and Kingswood were deserved 22-0 winners, but the most interesting part was listening to parents, especially the mothers, trying to interpret the ruck calls. The Prep U13A coach had a frustrated look to him, especially when his team made mistakes, but there is only so much a coach can do. With each forward movement, the parents and other spectators cheered their respective sides, with the younger ones more attuned to their popcorns, boerewors and drinks.
At halftime, the College uttered these words: “Twenty more minutes left, show them you can play rugby. This is what the season has come to.” The backslaps became harder, faces had determination written all over, but at the end of it all, it was just a game, and at full time, sportsmanship prevailed.
As I walked up Charles Street, already past the railway tracks, I heard the College war cry from the Dold Fields.
Derby days are about the camaraderie and new friendships, but when you have a 16 year albatross hanging around your necks, it tells. I can relate to my time at my alma mater. Until 2004, we went 25 years without tasting victory against Selborne, and up until 20 May 2006, 21 years had passed since we beat Dale College, so gaps in wins is something I know quite well.
When I arrived earlier for the U14A game, parents were taking their seats at the Graham Beck Pavilion, and when I returned at the end of the U15A, the focus was diverted to the astro, but the crowds steadily built up, and by the start of the 2nds, the pavilion was packed and the embankments filled up. The home side were gallant, but hit off the turf, as a 53-0 shoreline would suggest, but the College faithfuls never booed and cheered them off and formed the long winding tunnel, which is, I have to say, unique to Grahamstown schools, as I’m more accustomed to the second team tunnel.
The game kicked off and lived up to its billing, and on the stands, the singing started, and the drums started to reverberate, and I found myself singing along especially to the tune of “Swiinngggg… the ball… to who?… to the winger!”
I then just chuckled, remembering how at the netball and the hockey, DSG sang the song to the beat of Kingswood’s drum and (what I did not expect) there were no jeers from the College group. The sportsmanship filtered down to the fans, where the Saint’s boys applauded Hale’s intercept try. As with any main game, the big hits, the handoffs and the bounces are keenly watched. When one of each is effected, the crowd’s reaction tells the story.
As the visitors landed blow after blow on the field, the louder the Kingswoodians became and the drum beat on and on. Most schools from my region jump overboard when the ship is sinking. When the game ended, the College 1st team joined their schoolmates for a rendition of the war cry, for some it will be the last time they do so in their school colours. Ukhanyo then wrapped up proceedings by singing in a way only we black people can, and all eyes where on them as they sang in praise of the victorious side. It was just something else.
I now understand what is the big deal behind K-Day, and one preppie summed it up by singing: “It’s now 17 years…17 more years.” It is such events that make school rugby a true experience.
