Kool-Aid

As a wet-behind-the-ears Marketing Actuary, I can remember one of my first workshops standing in front of a room of independent financial advisers to explain the risk and investment products the company I was working for had launched. A few clearly had a bone to pick. Any bone. And I was fresh meat. As a newby, I was attempting to be very polite. It took a senior marketing person to step in and answer back with skilful banter. As a youngster, it is easy to take all “the adults” seriously. Not as the bunch of adultchildren you realise we all are. It’s easy to drink the Kool-Aid and see the company you work for as a cult, rather than part of something bigger. Gradually you will see people move companies, and get treated by companies they bought into the rhetoric of as gangrenous limbs. Gradually, you can learn to detach. Public Speaking (and work in general) can be frightening because you feel like you are being judged. Until you realise that even the Emperor is wearing no clothes. And giggle at the love handles.

Cry Baby

I was a good value tease at school. You knew you would get a reaction. I wasn't the only one. Aged 12, I can remember standing in a circle of boys chatting when one of them said, 'I am bored, I am going to go make X cry'. About 5 minutes later, X walked past heading for the toilets in tears.

Part of what made me easy to tease was I was 'a little bit brave', and I had a deep-seated belief in right and wrong. I was very serious. I was often holier-than-thou, and more than a tad judgemental. So someone looking for some fun wouldn't have to work hard to get me hot and bothered. 

The face in the mirror

Add to that a tearful nature, and it was game on. Boys didn't cry in Apartheid South Africa. One of my friends has a saying, 'I would cry, but my tear ducts are welded shut by toughness.' A few drops and cries of evidence of your weakness would ring out. I spent a lot of time in the bathrooms, staring at the mirror and splashing water on my face to calm down. 'Stop crying!'.

I find it embarrassing to admit, but when later visiting England, New Zealand and Australia... I felt at home. As an English Speaking Apartheid South African, my world was more tied to the rest of the White Anglo-Sphere than back home. There was no Ntini, Philander, Rabada and Mtawarira to celebrate. Australia felt like a bigger version of the white bubble I grew up in, and culturally I felt like I understood it more than many of the other people who lived down the road at home.

Part of that culture was Banter. I got better at it as I got older. As I dropped the chip on my shoulder, and developed a sense of humour. Most of the time, Banter is good-natured. Teasing isn't meant to end in tears. When a guy has been spending more time drinking than exercising, a good mate is expected to ask him who ate all the pies.

But there is a difference between Banter and being a complete Dick. Banter is good-natured and friendly. It is about intent. You aren't trying to make anyone cry. You are trying to keep things light-hearted and fun.

I still have that 'little bit brave' nature when it comes to someone getting Banter wrong. I feel obliged to stand up to bullies. Even if that means breaking the rules. I also recognise it in the South African teams, politicians, and business people. They tend to rise or fall to the level of the opposition... but a little more extreme. Playing the Kiwis, our rugby players raise their game. Playing Samoa, we get a little harder. Playing the Aussies, I have no doubt 'lines' get crossed.

Banter is fun. I want friends to tell me I am fat when I am looking less likely to fall down a manhole. I want friends to poke fun at me about being excessively tied to arbitrary beliefs. Banter is a form of friendly feedback.

If you don't like the other person, it is probably best to keep your mouth shut.

Loose Tap

I was pretty awful at banter as a little chap. I took myself, and life, very seriously. It is not that I didn't have a sense of humour. I just wasn't comfortable with it being directed at me. I also happened to have a 'loose tap' in an environment that looked down on boys crying. If I stood back, perhaps it would have been fine. But. The final ingredient was an over-endowment of righteous indignation. This made for an easy target. It was easy to rattle me. I often ended up in the bathroom, splashing water on my face, trying to calm down. Being able to laugh at yourself, and at others' crazy opinions and actions, is an important part of truth seeking. This too shall pass. We'll look back and laugh one day.

Old Friends (Tim)

I am a big fan of the theatre of traditions. One of my favourite was the ringing of the bell at the end of our last day of high school. Each boys name would be read out quite slowly, so it would take some time. There were 147 in my year. 1000 (mostly younger) boys, and the staff, would sit in silence and listen as the young man whose name was called out would file out of the hall, walk to, and ring the bell. A double ring would signal the end. From outside, would come the sound of the leavers linking arms and shouting a final school war cry. You listen to this at the end of four each of four years, and then it is your turn. Then you go out into the world.

I have two older brothers, and so grew up with them and their buddies experiencing these traditions ahead of me. I have very fond memories of their various antics. They kept up a good facade of being very wise and worldy. I could learn from their triumphs and mistakes. To this day, I still drive very cautiously. My brother had a crash on the day he got his licence. His friend Tim, one of my witty favourites, managed to write off our garage door in a spectacular early driving leason. Cars, they taught me, were dangerous. But that was just one of Tim's stories. This is another.

An older, wiser Tim, and his younger old friend, Steve

Old Friends

Tim Casteling

'Yes'm, old friends is always best, 'less you can catch a new one that's fit to make an old one out of.'

Sarah Orne Jewett

I've almost never been lonely. Maybe it's the circumstances that I've been in, but I inevitably make new friends wherever I go. After school there were new friends at Rhodes, and then in Queenstown and back in Durban selling CDs at Rythmic Beat, and then teaching English in Taiwan - both Taichung and Taipei. And when I moved to China after 10 years in Taiwan, I had an instant set of new friends in my department. Now, again in Seoul, I find that I'm making new friends. And yet, the vast majority of these friends will never become old friends. Nice people, certainly, but for one important reason they'll never take on that quality of comfort that you get from an old friendship. That reason is simply time and shared experience. I'm talking about friendships that go back about thirty years, to a time when I was just becoming aware of myself. These men (almost funny to think of them as men with thinning hair and beer boeps) are not just buddies, they are a part of the furnace where my identity was forged. I share so much with them that I can't think back on my formative experiences without their ugly faces floating into view.

Since we have scattered across three continents, we very rarely see each other. We have our own adult lives filled with careers, wives and children (to varying degrees). And yet, when we get together, either in person or online, we don't need to make small talk about the rugby, we have an instant connection. We don't need to be polite or talk about the weather because we can skip straight to our favourite form of conversation - abuse. Each of us has his weaknesses, and we are all fair game. There are no sacred cows, partly because there's no risk of ruining the friendship, but mostly because we've always done this, and we always will. Outsiders might think we harbour old grudges that make us so malicious, but nothing could be further from the truth. This kind of banter is exactly what reinforces our bond. I would love to get the old gang together for a drink, and I can't imagine not teasing Neil for his height, or Andy for his. I can't get my head around not ragging Grant about the girls he used to smooch, or not having Steve complain about how I wrecked his car.

It might sound morbid, but I have imagined my own funeral with a smile, not because I'm morose, but because I like to imagine my oldest and dearest friends quoting from Monty Python and making fun of the foolish things that I've said and done, clinking their glasses and having a laugh at my expense. Rest assured, Boys, I would do the same for you!

Barrack Bombers

It isn't good enough to know the rules of a game to get into it. The stuff that matters is being able to have a little righteous indignation and be able to shout at the ref. Yesterday I went to my first Aussie Rules game at the MCG ('The G'). I was very excited about seeing the G after having grown up waking up at ridiculous hours to watch Test Cricket. My introduction was through two Ruddock cousins and the chap who indoctrinated them. Cameron was James first buddy as a 7 year old when they arrived in Australia. He has supported the Essendon Bombers since then, and partnering up with his brother Charles (the world's tallest psychologist), they were able to get some banter going with Dad who supported another team. In Aus, you don't support a team. You Barrack for them. That makes sense since it refers to the housing Soldiers had. Theirs is not to question why, theirs is just to do or die.

The G

James reckons the key to happiness lies in three things. You need to have someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward to. Footy provides one of those things for Australians, even though most of the rest of the world don't get it. The Irish play the Aussies in an international game which mixes the rules of their national games which have similarities. All around the world though, people have that thing that they look forward to on the weekend. A sports team who represent something more than the rules to them. The rules can be adjusted. In Footy, the thing to shout indignantly is 'Ball!!!'. It means your guy has tackled their guy, and their guy hasn't passed the ball cleanly. You should have a free kick. When this doesn't happen, you get to tear at your hair and enquire after the refs IQ, vision, and peculiar taboo tastes.

I still need to figure out how to get into games I haven't grown up with. The downside of caring is that every four years I get punched in the stomach. I used to think the upside was when you actually win. Although, I have to admit that I was very proud of the way the South African side played, and the way they lost in this most recent World Cup. I think the upside is actually the banter and friendships. Looking forward to something together. The cost is that rollercoaster of emotions seems to take years off your life.

Here is an interesting look at the world's most popular sports. Of the top ten, I currently only really care about 3. Tennis and 4. Cricket. I have some work to do if I want to be a Global Citizen.

World Series

I have spent a wonderful month with the various members of a family of whom I am very fond. As close friends of my parents we spent lots of time growing up together till they moved to Middle Earth. A wedding sparked my journey here, and since it is such a long way away, I decided to stick around for a bit. Rather than travelling aggressively, it has been more of a relocation. I have spent my mornings reading and blogging, and afternoons wandering and wondering.

I passed through Hobbiton on the way to the airport. Didn't see Bilbo.

I am wary of making sweeping comparisons of countries based on short period of time with limited experiences. I have really enjoyed New Zealand. It actually feels a lot like home. Being here during the Cricket World Cup was a strong reminder of the sporting links with South Africa. A British comedian once joked that the thing about rugby is that there are only really 8 countries that play, and ‘half of them are us’. The sports which I care deeply about are rugby and cricket. I feel like I care as much about rugby as a Kiwi, and as much about cricket as an Aussie. And we all like it when England loses. 

As Safas, we always joke about the ‘World Series’ in the US being played only in the US. I believe the name comes from the original sponsors being World rather than the countries belief that it is the world. I don’t chirp so much now that I realise how many team participate. But Global sports are a great way of providing links between countries. In the same way as you can start up banter with a complete stranger in a line or a bar when you overhear sports talk, sports provides an immediate connection between countries. Get into a cab with an Indian – and Sachin is common ground. At a coffee shop with a Sri Lankan – Murali is common ground. Cricket at least breaks into non-English territory in Asia. Rugby is trying.

I should really make more of an effort with Baseball, Basketball and American football. I have always like the idea of multinational companies as means of bringing to together different groups of people. But we don't all do the same jobs. Sports creates a non-work alternative glue. So does religion, but we don't seem to believe the same stuff. Football (Soccer cough cough) is the leading contender to create global banter, but perhaps you have to try learn the sports people have grown up with to feel at home.