Sharks cop one in Durban video shop

Out of the mouths of babes. Well, not quite... he'd be in his early 20s probably, and he works weekends in a Glenashley video shop, and last Sunday morning he was angry. Very angry, indeed.

"Didya see the rugby this morning?" he asked, bristling.

"Yes," I replied, cautiously. My own wounds were still bleeding.

"Sharks game, I mean. Not the Cats, lucky sods."

I nodded, waiting for more. He soon obliged.

"Bloody fool," he said, heatedly.

"Who?" I ventured, feeling that in the 80 minutes against the Queensland Reds that morning there had been quite a few BFs on both sides, not forgetting referee Colin Hawke of New Zealand. A kindred spirit, I thought approvingly, awaiting his reply.

"Who... who else? Bloody Straeuli, of course," he snapped, his upper lip curling with scorn.

Hang on there a moment. I almost quailed. In the Sharks waters hereabouts, that's pretty close to heresy. So I prodded a bit to see what would follow. It came in a deluge - almost enough to drown a shark, if that were possible.

Sceptical though I was at first, the young man's reasoning began to sound increasingly valid. Sharks coach Rudolf Straeuli had badly misread the situation. The Reds were vulnerable, the weakest of the three remaining sides the Natal outfit had still to meet, he insisted. Of all their matches, this was the one to win; in which to score four tries and grab the maximum five points. So why make such radical changes to a team that was firing so well?

"It was plain silly. Why didn't we get ourselves an unbeatable 38 points? We'd have been home and dry - and a home semifinal into the bargain."

"But the coach's man management has been outstanding," I countered. "His clever rotating of players ... keeping everyone happy. And he had to rest Mark Andrews and others, give them time to recuperate for the more important playoffs ahead."

The young man remained unimpressed. He could barely contain his impatience. Was I really that thick? his raised eyebrows implied. With a win against the Reds, the Sharks could virtually have skipped Saturday's game against the Crusaders in Christchurch.

"Okay, even if he wanted to rest Andrews, why make so many changes and positional switches? Sure he's a good coach, but this time I reckon he overplayed his hand. Read it wrong. Entirely."

Hindsight, I ventured, was always the most exact of sciences. But that cut no ice with the young man either.

It was time to move on, I told myself, grab a video and get out of there. Yet I lingered. My interest had been pricked more than somewhat. Any more BFs? I asked.

"Plenty!" Youth seldom hesitates when the opportunity to jump in the deep-end presents itself. "Well," he softened, "another two, at least."

The "who?" on this occasion was superfluous. He was already into his stride.

"Butch James, for starters. He's got to clean up his act as far as his tackling is concerned. But that wasn't the problem this time. Didn't he realise it was the last movement of the match? As long as the ball was kept alive, the whistle wouldn't blow and maybe we could've scored. So he goes and grubber-kicks. They dot down. Match over. I mean..." he shook his head disbelievingly.

"Mind you," he added, "that ref, Colin Hawke, must be blind or something. Didn't he see that James was deliberately impeded so he couldn't get to the ball? That should've been at least a penalty. Maybe a penalty try."

Ah well, maybe by 11am Saturday it will all have turned out fine, with the Sharks having beaten the Crusaders. Straeuli may even have been restored to respectability in the young man's eyes.

What video did I choose? I didn't hesitate - The Devil's Advocate. It seemed rather appropriate somehow.