It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with this, I am now at the point where I can recognise the problem but can’t do anything about it. You see, I fell in love as a young girl with a team one cold night at Ellis Park. Rain was falling, muddying up the white and red jerseys of the Transvaal team, I didn’t know the rules but I wanted to learn them, such passion was on display and I had to know more about it. I asked every question I could think to ask of my long suffering father who was just glad that someone cared about his Lions. I learned about rucks and scrums and players and teams, what the refs hand signals meant and when to shout. My eyes sparkled with delight and I knew it was love.
The honeymoon phase went on for a long time as we made finals and won some trophies in the next few years (it was the early 90’s, we won, I promise). Then there was a slump, I was devastated, had I done something wrong? Was the end of this blissful affair near? I couldn’t give up, not after the great time we’d had. So I clung on. I stuck by them and they leaned on me when they were down because they knew that I would always be there.
Our relationship was platonic without me even realising it and I wanted romance. I was the trusted and loyal supporter and they kept me on starved of reciprocated feelings. Every week I would get all dressed up, hoping they’d pass a nice comment or come away with a win and almost every week I would have my heart broken. There were fleeting moments when a win would happen and I would have renewed vigour, but those were few and far between.
The blow came last year at the Currie Cup final, we got drunk and fell into bed together and I thought that they loved me too, we would be happy forever. But, I see now that I was in the friend zone all the time. My passion was not shared and that one emotional night that we had together meant nothing to them.
Like a battered wife I go back every time, they seem so sincere in their losses and so elated in their victories, I have to forgive them, they need me. The bruises fade and I wait, full of hope, for the next weekend to come where they will run away into the sunset with me.
Recently I rebelled, I picked both the Stormers and Crusaders for the wins at Ellis Park and got the points, but the guilt has sat with me all week and I just couldn’t do it again. A psychologist would call it Stockholm Syndrome, a psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and have positive feelings towards their captors. I have passed the point of no return and I’m stuck with the Lions for life. I do really love them, and if they can’t love me back then so be it.
