Balls to the Wall: Ifmadiba Had Played Squash

Balls to the Wall: IFMadiba had played Squash …

2013, in many ways was a year of mediocrity. There were very few REAL Sporting Highlights, save farewells to Sachin Tendulkar, Jacques Kallis, Burry Stander, Alex Ferguson and the blackballing of Lance Armstrong. Yes, I suppose the All Blacks went through the year unbeaten, and Andy Murray, discovered his English heritage when he lifted the Wimbledon trophy. Neither of these, though, really warm the cockles of South African hearts.What we will remember though, is that 2013 is the year that we bade farewell, to Nelson Mandela.

So while I was on leave, resolving to crunch my 6-pack into gear and seek answers from my Hansas, , I started wondering. Many top sportsmen use the game as a secondary support, and folk like Mark Boucher and Ollie Le Roux were top notch SA Schoolboys.Even Roger Federer admits to dabbling, and stealing ideas from the game.Despite being seriously shoulder-charged, Uli Schmidt is still one of my prized victims and imagine my concern when one day I took a call from “ Derek, from Carte Blanche!” No , I was not being investigated for some devious double-dealing. Derek Watts was in town, and looking for a game !

But Squash does not get much focus from our politicians. And I wondered. What IF, we had to entice some of our leaders into our wonderful game …

Madiba - Tall, imposing and dignified, I doubt if he would have been the quickest guy around, but using his height, his reach, and his gentle charismatic human touch, he would have been one of those who is very difficult to move out of position, and his, would have been a teasing game, of skillfully maneuvering opponents around. Win, or lose, he would shake you by the hand, look you in the eye, and smile that magnificent smile

Bishop TutuScared of no-one, the Good Bishop would I imagine be a hustle-bustle, busy-busy bite-at-your-heels opponent who would never let go, and if you relaxed, did something stupid or made a mistake, he would corner you.And having beaten you, he would wag his finger, and praise and pray for you

Jakob Zuma: Surely somewhere in the Nkandla malaise, there is Showcase Match Court with en-suite shower, waiting to be exposed. I somehow doubt that our President would be much of a zoom-zoom on court. More than likely, a barging-bumping type of player, trying to play as others tell him to. But whether he would read the script correctly, is questionable.

Fikile Mbalula: Our intrepid Minister of Sport ? Just imagine if he was a Squash Fanatic ! What magnificent End of the Year Functions, we would have, and maybe he would bring World no 1’s Nick Matthews and Nicol David to South Africa to attend some functions. The Honourable Minister would probably be one of those Loud-and-Proud pre-match players who would dazzle in sponsored kit, but when it came to action, I fear those words would drizzle into pools of blubbery sweat. And maybe we could get the Bafana to come and watch, and comment

Would it not be fantastic to have our Julius, huffing,puffing , bumbling,blustering and EFFing around our courts.Without doubt, he would not be short of opponents, lining up to play him, to line him up, and blast him up the behind with a burning little black rubbery bullet, singing the Squash Players’ version of “Mashini wam”

So maybe this year, to do something differently, we should look at hosting a Celebrity Tournament where Centrestage’s Gino Fabbri and Gary Hemmings could feature and show that they are not just little drummer boys who tell some jokes. And maybe we could cajole Algoa FM’s Caroline Kelleher out of her cobweb to dally and drive with Daron Mann, get Charlie T. onto the tee and I am sure, we could bully Neil Bisseker off the Golf Course.

Just Imagine , we could have Paul McCartneycalling Let It Be,ifMick Jagger complained about not getting any satisfaction. Shakespeare would have to decide whether , To Tee, or not to Tee while Myley Cyrus would be welcomed with her wrecking ball tactics. John Masefield would have said, “I must go down to the courts again” and if Rudyard Kipling had been a squash player, maybe his famous words would read something like this …

IF you can keep your head when all about you

Are driving deep, and nailing nicks
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

Knowing that you have practised, and done your solo time
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Cos Patience wins matches

And more squash matches are lost, than won
Or looking for strokes, don't deal in double bounces,
Or querying refs calls, don't give way to ref call querying,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

But visualize your game, and see practised perfection
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

Stick to the game plan that will out-think your nemesis
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

Knowing that in losing , there is winning

And in winning , sometimes, there is losing

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by administrators to serve their own needs,
Or watch the game you have given your life to, damaged,
And stoop and build it up with worn-out tools and new ideas:
If you can be quiet over all your winnings
And retrospective, when winning has not been your partner,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And praise the person who brought you your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

That little longer, your opponent is just as tired
And use your serve, your turn long to turn the game,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to you: 'Hold on!'
If you can linger with lower leaguers, lift their games and keep your virtue,
And practise with Champions–taking you out of Comfort Zones,
While foes and loving friends may beat you,
But let all men want to play you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With 5 games worth of corners run,
Yours is the Court and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Squash Player, and a Man, my son!