South African sport needs new songs

BUSINESS DAY, 12 NOVEMBER 1999

AT A CERTAIN moment during the most recent test match, a number of the regulars down at the Chalk ’n Cue linked arms and raised their voices in song. “Olé!” we sang, “Olé, olé, olé!” Then, fearing that this was not sufficient adequately to express our enthusiasm, we added: “Olé!” and “Olé!” Not to drag out the anecdote, let me say that we repeated this lyric several times. We finished well satisfied, but of course Porky Withers, the local gin-soak, had to pipe up with his usual “Nog ’n Olé!” We ignored him sternly. Porky Withers never knows when enough is enough.

Later in the match, forgetting that we were supposed to be setting Porky Withers an example, we began singing again. “Olé!” we harmonised, “Olé, olé, o—” An elderly lady tapped me on the shoulder, none too gently. “Excuse me,” she said, in a tone that verged on the brusque, “but don’t you know any other songs?”

We pondered that, while Karl the barman fetched the next round. South Africans, it dawned on us, are woefully short of stirring anthems to sing during sport. Which is surprising, given that Leon Schuster made enough money out of “Hier Kommie Bokke” to retire to Knysna, a happy event for him, though an unfortunate setback to the Knysna elephant-breeding programme. We gave it a try, but it just didn’t take, somehow. We could get out “Hier Kommie Bokke” just fine, but it always fell apart during the line that goes “Laa-lalalalalala”.

Someone pointed out that PJ Powers has a career based exclusively around singing at World Cup ceremonies, but some of life’s mysteries are best left unexplored. We settled, finally, on “Shosholoza”, one of the most powerful of the world’s sporting anthems. It cannot but lift the performances of the athletes and indeed the spectators. We need to resurrect “Shosholoza” for our major events, we all agreed, but mostly we need to learn the words properly. Those mumbled lines between the first chorus and the second where we lower our eyes and try to approximate the sounds are simply embarrassing.

A problem with “Shosholoza” is that it is rather harmonically complex for a sporting song, which is to say, a song intended to be sung while drinking heavily. There is a point where the two vocal lines overlap, and where the pitch of the voice changes, and coordinating that is a lot to expect of the lads in Kings Park, working their way through their second pocket of spiked oranges. If you have ever seen those two sunburnt fools wearing watermelons on their heads trying to start a Mexican wave on the Saturday afternoon of a Newlands cricket test, you will understand the need for simplicity. Watching a grown man trying to stand up and sit down at the same time is not a pretty sight.

Singability is the key here. Chelsea supporters in the UK are fond of launching into “One man went to mow, went to mow a meadow”, not because of the allusive resonance of the lyrics, but because it is next to impossible to forget the words, no matter how many pints you have inhaled before the match. You also do not have to know when to stop. You never have to stop.

Most sporting anthems are similarly bereft of meaningful history. Liverpool’s moving “You’ll Never Walk Alone” is simply a song lifted from the cheesy old musical Carousel. It might have been “Memories” from Cats, had history been crueller.

The Twickenham anthem, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” is an old slavery spiritual from the American south. It was first sung at Twickenham not in support of the emancipationist movement, but light-heartedly on the occasion that Chris Oti, a player of Nigerian descent, scored a hat-trick of tries. Appropriately enough for the Twickenham crowd, it is an ode to death relieving the singer of this earthly misery.

We in South Africa need to bolster our repertoire of drinking songs that are clean enough to sing in public. So go on, enter the Bad Sport, Worse Singer competition. Submit your nominations for potential stadium favourites today. The winner will receive Leon Schuster. That’s right, Leon Schuster. You can have him, really, We don’t want him any more.