Vuvuzelas: PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPA-PAH-PAAAAAH

BLATANT: One of the great ironies of the whole debate that has flared up over the proposed banning of the vuvuzela is that it is seen as a racist attack on a black South-African institution. This, when the entire vuvuzela empire is in the hands of a white Afrikaans man and a guy called Beville Bachman, need I say more.

SHOOT: There's one thing worse than a vuvuzela, and that's a person who sounds like one every time he/she/it speaks.

clipped from www.blatant.co.za Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough of attempting not to write about the Confederations Cup. I wanted it, like the hype that didn’t precede it, to just die away and I could return to my normal life of never having to hear a vuvuzela. I have, on the odd occasion, accidentally changed the channel to South African football before, with the result being simultaneous immediately raised blood-pressure, panic and rage. But luckily this would only ever last a few agonizing seconds. But on Sunday I was subjected to more than three hours of this hell on earth. That’s right; I went to a Confederations Cup game between Spain and New Zealand. Actually it was more like Spain against a school of special needs children, but that is neither here nor there. I thought I had recovered after a few days, but just like those Vietnam flashbacks, I panicked when I switched over to a game yesterday. I actually got angry. I had to go outside and kill something. Luckily something wasn’t around.