SNOOKERING THE GAME CALLED LOVE

PLAYER: What life is with Snooker 

Confessions are in order – When it comes to the game of love, I’m a bit rusted not to mention frazzled. This uncompromising oxidation was brought about by endless heart-breaks from infatuations that I thought were love in my high schooling years and a long term relationship that amounted to naught. In all expects of metaphysical existence regarding love in affection either on its physical parts or its emotive side – thus my long-term attachment ended in mistrust and emotionally unfortunate detachment. My emotional misfortune - for I realized then, that I was at that period of time to many steps shy of being a PLAYER.

The latter (emotional misfortune), left my mind and soul lingering in a sea of uncertainty, to what love really is. I thought I knew it all – of cause Boyz II Men, T.P. (Teddy Pendegrous), Marvin Gaye (or is it Gay), the Manhattans, R. Kelly and Michael Jackson (Yeah! Michael Jackson), to some extent, taught me about ‘snookering the game of love’ – after all there was no father figure to tell me about these things - girls and all. One fine holy Sunday morning my mother just threw a glance at me from a corner of her eye, whilst Pabi Moloi delivered her summon on Metro (or was it Kabzela on YFM) and sighed; only to throw me with a box full of condoms hours later, on a Monday morning, a royal blue one nogal. She warned: “Dare not get pregnant at your age under my roof!”. What confusion! Pregnant! Did I miss something at birth? Maybe she’s on Ritalin or something, PSYCHO!. So, I took the learn-as-you-go-route, no not pay-as-you-go, I had a box full of expendable condoms. World, here I come! (Oops, excuse the pun). Bump n’ Grind baby!

Unfortunately the box in action was thrown away exactly a year and two months, five minutes and two seconds after the clock registered the thirteenth hour. With only one condom used (in practice, mind you), expired - what a waste, environmental waste. The box came at the time when I was unschooled in the matters of playing the game – What amazed me though is that, everyone called me a player: “What’s happen’ Player!”… “Howdy’ do Player!”… “Man, you look like a Player!”… “Man, you’s a Player!” - Well I was a player… Soccer player, Cricket player…Basketball player...and I could run the 100 meters mark in precisely 13.73 seconds, but who cared about that.

Love was in the air and the ladies all looked good in my eyes, but I was still lacking in taking the trophy for ‘Playerdom’. Whatever cretinous game that was! This was way before the AIDS/H.I.V pandemic started ravaging our society, before being a player was a safe game to play. Gone are those days.

These days, ‘snookering the game of love’ is more dangerous than going to church. In the apartheid days one could be boomed to pieces in church before the Pastor could shout: “Peace!”, gees Desmond Tutu was lucky. Ag, no wonder ladies tell me about Jesus when I propose a date, these days. “In church you shall be safe from all sexual exploits including H.I.V/AIDS!”

I guess it’s true what they say: “It takes a fool to learn that love don’t love nobody.” Except Jesus, amen to that!

So, I learned to snook the game of love….

Play Safe Kids!

WORD TO A NEW REVOLUTION!