The legions of rowdy boys make their way through the gates of Westville Boys’ High School, entering for the promise of a riveting spectacle. They gather on the steps of stands that line the rugby field. Their voices rise, carrying drops of excitement and anticipation at what is to come, but all of that evaporates as The Stick emerges into the air. Everyone present knows exactly what that means…
Silence! The cage containing a beast with bated breath. A beast with a guttural voice; whose coat is composed of a thousand blue blazers that shift tensely like rippling muscles and whose eyes focus on the figure before it.
There he stands, with his hand wrapped firmly around the Stick. The Stick that promises control over the wild, hungry beast. The Stick, enrobed in colours that seeped from its Wielder. Red, the promise of passion within every boy attending that match. That battle. Blue, the promise of brotherhood. The promise that when you wear that badge, those around you are your own. White, the blinding light of hope. Hope that no matter the end there will be no shame. With the Stick in his hand, the Wielder symbolises these promises and quells the uneasiness of the beast. The beast is under his control, its power can be channelled.
Coaxing the beast out of its cage, the Wielder begins. He throws his leg into the air; the Wielder has the beast’s full attention. He brings it down upon the rust-red soil and the beast followed his actions. BOOM! The sound reverberates across the field and strikes fear into the opponent’s feeble hearts. Another one follows: BOOM! To complete the pattern, the Wielder raises his arms and brings his hands together, the beast follows: CRASH! This pattern of power continues: BOOM! BOOM! CRASH! Increasing in tempo and intensity: BOOM! BOOM! CRASH! It welcomes our fellow brothers onto the field: BOOM! BOOM! CRASH! BOOM! BOOM! CRASH!
But just as soon as it had risen, the wild roar of the beast subsides. The Stick is in the air. The taste of passion drips off the tongue of the beast and it demands more…
The players. The Wielder. The beast. They are the picture of concentration. The players stand on the field, poised for the next 40 minutes of eternity. The Wielder and the beast stand alongside. The Wielder begins moving the Stick in concentric circles, stirring the beast into action.
It begins as a weak rumble: Ooohhh… A hesitant sound that emanates forth from the throat of the beast – unsure and uneasy at the battle that laid before them. The Wielder reveals his might: The Stick in his grasp, cutting through the air in precise circles; passion bleeding from his every word; confidence proclaimed by his every action, he lights a fire within every boy. What began as a rumble became an inferno of sound. The ball is kicked into the air…
Silence descends like a hammer-blow. The ball arcs through the air suspended by the breathless gaze of every spectator. This is our day. This is Match Day. This is Westville!