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If you didn’t spend the long weekend out of town, sandbagging your holiday house against the imminent threat of flooding, it is likely you were, once again, wrapped up in designer wet weather gear, watching schoolboy rugby in the southern suburbs.

I suspected the incessant foul weather may be fraying sensitive Capetonian tempers when I watched my son play in the U/9 F’s on Thursday afternoon.  A surprisingly large parent group had shown up in foul conditions to watch their boys enjoy a slip-and-slide in the mud while trying to pass a cake of wet soap.  I was once again armed against the elements with a Consequence Wealth umbrella, although, despite the negative connotations, I had risked wearing my Barbour oilskin.  Some situations call for extreme measures.

I cheered early on as my boy tackled the largest member of the opposition whilst slipping barefoot in the mud in the opposite direction.  A bit like Alcaraz sliding left on the clay at Roland Garros while managing to pull off a drop shot in the other direction. And then the boy he had tackled punched my boy in the face.  Just like that.  In front of all of us.  I was furious.

Instinct compelled me to run on and strike the eight-year-old antagonist one-third of my size. Instead, I shouted at the ref to watch out for stray punches – and then felt guilty about it.  Then I controlled myself, consciously.  These were, after all, eight-year-olds. When the same bully had punched the fourth member of my sons’ team in an old school reincarnation of a ’74 British Lion forward on a personal rampage, I was angry, although I did nothing about it at the time.  I considered sending an email to the coach when I had calmed down.

I noticed my boy was less keen to tackle or get amongst the rough and tumble after having his teeth rattled. When I asked why afterwards he said that boy had hit him a couple more times and his jaw hurt.  He thought that if he was removed from the action, he had less chance of taking another blow.  It was hard to disagree without insisting that he took an eye for an eye.

I was sipping on a whisky in Overberg candlelight on Saturday evening when my phone lit up with photos and videos from a southern suburb’s first XV derby.  The tempest had blown down Eskom’s frayed infrastructure like the big bad wolf, and our lights had been out for most of the day.  One school had apparently won, via a late try, in a brave performance after a difficult season.

Then more videos came through showing a fracas that had taken place under the poles after the try had been scored.  There was an initial scuffle between two players, which was subsequently joined by others in an unsavoury scene which reminded me of chavs playing football after an unpopular decision by the referee.

And then a lady of indeterminant age between 50 and 70 walked onto the area of the field behind the poles and slapped one of the players.  Like a forthright grandmother from another age, castigating a youth from her village who she perceived was straying from the path.

I am not sure if she hit him with her handbag afterwards, but she may have. She was wearing a cream doek but I couldn’t be sure if it was Burberry.  By this stage, various parents were on the pitch actively involved in the melee. I have heard several accounts but since I wasn’t there, I can’t be sure about any of them, but we can join the dots.

Rugby has always been delicate a mix of violence and chivalry.  A hooligan game played by gentlemen who always relied on manners and a proper sense of right and wrong to make sure sense prevailed.  I am not sure we could say the same about what is happening in these schoolboy matches today.

It seems to me from what I saw in the U/9s that violence is being encouraged and condoned by idiots who lack the intelligence to occupy any mentoring role for young boys.

There are sad times when writing farce becomes superfluous because society has become such a ridiculous caricature of itself.  We have said it before in these pages but there is far too much pressure on these boys to win.  Rugby is a game designed to release some testosterone and teach gentlemen how to behave.

It is not war.  It is high time that the sensible, intelligent people take back control.

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**After going viral on the Whatsapp groups, we are very keen to find the person who took the footage. If it’s you, please get in touch so we can credit you.