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How I do love thee

Published on Aug 17th, 2011, 2 Comments

I’m cheating on my wife.

She knows this, and she’s cool with it, as long as I don’t let it interfere with my duties here at home and my commitment to our daughter as a parent and a provider.

My mistress is South African rugby, and I love her unconditionally. No matter what she does, no matter how badly she screws up, I love her all the same. I might be a bit pissed off with her for a while on a Saturday night, but I’m guaranteed to still love her come Sunday morning because a bad day with her is still better than a good day without her.

Some days all I’ll need is a quickie with the Sevens team, and other days there’s nothing better than an extended holiday for two to a faraway destination like the United Kingdom on a year-end tour or to the Antipodes for a World Cup. As long as she continues to promise to do her best to make me happy, I’ll keep on loving her, and keep on wanting to go overseas on holiday with her. I know that she might not always be able to live up to my expectations (and those expectations are high – make no mistake, when you love her like I do, nothing short of the highest expectation is acceptable) but as long as she keeps trying her best, I’ll be there for her. Yes, sometimes I’ll be disappointed, and yes, sometimes I’ll say things about her that I might regret later, but at the same time I’ll defend her to the death. Because that’s what unconditional love is all about.

And it’s hard sometimes. It’s not always easy to continue being upbeat and looking for the positive in her, particularly when she falls short of my expectation of her. Sometimes it would seem much easier to rather be continually negative and expect the worst, and avoid dealing with the disappointment of having my hopes for her dashed, but it is in those times that I remind myself that South African rugby is not my trophy girlfriend, someone to get hauled out at appropriate social functions to bolster my own ego and convince those around me what a champion chap I must be to have a mistress like her.

You see, younger, vibrant and optimistic trophy mistresses are most often on the receiving end of a raw deal from their older, disillusioned boyfriends, in the throes of a midlife crisis centred on their own failed rugby ambitions, many of which are within the attainable grasp of their mistress. The love is conditional, and the relationship with them is mostly one-sided as she gets sucked dry of all she has to offer with nothing of substance in return, only criticism and verbal abuse. And it’s easy to treat her like a bastard, taking out the frustrations of your own particular short-comings and failings, being jealous because she can achieve things that you’re afraid to admit to yourself that you aren’t capable of, and not wishing her to succeed at all. But that’s not love, that’s possession: to truly love you need to learn how to hope for the best and sometimes cope with the worst, and give her the confidence that allows her to stand up after a fall and try to give her best for you again, no matter what.

Yes, I’ll admit, my South African rugby mistress is not as young as she used to be, and yes, she’s carrying a bit of extra, unnecessary weight in her team sheet that she didn’t have before, but this doesn’t embarrass me about her at all – I want her to succeed all the more for it.You see, she’s coming to the end of her relationship with me, and in all probability after the World Cup when the majority of the current Springboks drift away to Europe and Japan I’m going to get a new, younger mistress that I’m going to have to learn to love all over again with all her successes and failings, and even though over time I’ll learn to love this new mistress just as much, after a torrid 6 year affair I’m really going to miss the one I’ve got now.

A. von Molendorff

Pic: cgi.ebay.com

  • Andy

    Excellent article Mr. von Mollendorff. Great content…

    • Alaric

      Thanks dawg – hopefully I won’t be calling my mistress a dirty whore on Saturday night after a date with the All Blacks….

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