Is Lady Rugga A Muncher?

Local television sucks.

Most of the time our comedies are as amusing as stepping barefoot in dog shit, our dramas are less controversial than the general family get-together, and our game shows are low-budget replicas of better-produced, more entertaining overseas ones.

We follow the American formula when it comes to everything from our scripts to our cookie-cutter, assembly-line television presenters, and viewers should keep this in mind when anticipating the forthcoming selection of the “first female rugby commentator in South Africa”.

That quote is being trumpeted at the moment louder than the Stormers fans’ boo’s at an opposing team; like it’s a gigantic, stiletto’d leap forward for gender rights.

Following from the success of the ‘Player 23’ marketing campaign, Vodacom has created ‘Lady Rugga’ – which I’m assuming is a female version of the Jan and Elton characters from their adverts.

What they don’t realise is they’re setting themselves up for an epic fail no matter what the outcome.

Most girls I know don’t know much about what should really be called the beautiful game, and the handful of women’s rugby matches I’ve taken in haven’t held my interest as much as, say, Anna Kournikova in a short skirt at Wimbledon.

At risk of a black eye, let’s just say the girls who pass around the pigskin ain’t dainty. But having said that I’m sure they know a hell of a lot more than me about the game’s strategy and rules and psychological burdens.

And therein lies the rub. Because of our broadcasters’ insistence that any member of the female persuasion on telly must be eye-gogglingly and mind-bogglingly beautiful, petite and slim, where are they going to find a sexy presenter with the rugby chops to keep up with Naas Botha and the other guy with the flat hairdo?

Is it going to be a blonde bimbo who knows nothing about the game? Just throwing a petrol bomb onto the fire of the chauvinistic ignorance of the average rugby fan?

Or a meaty, hairy-chinned female forward to do the job? Perpetuating the other stereotype of the rugby chick being an over-testosterone’d vagina-tarian?

I await the result with bated breath.