
It was shortly after South Africa bowled out New Zealand for 45 at Newlands that I began to wonder whether Jerry Bruckheimer might be wrong. The Bruckheimer recipe was seized upon by sports marketers. Their logic was solid: if the modern signifiers of action and excitement are sweaty men running in slow motion, accompanied by portentous but ultimately meaningless orchestral music, then that was how they would sell their product. Those of us up in Row Z should have been roaring. There should have been slow-mo high-fives, Bronx-accented yells of “Dat’s whut I’m taakin’ aboud!”. After all, Jerry Bruckheimer had promised us that wherever unlikely drama met overkill, there we’d find deep, manly satisfaction. But it just wasn’t so.
Like to see more ?

Subscribe to our on-line edition !
For a mere R305.00 per year you get the convenience of our online version including:- Twelve monthly issues of Noseweek delivered to your browser
- A searchable archive
- Access to every back issue since 1993 !
- A downloadable PDF version
If it’s just the article you are after, you can purchase it by clicking here.
Tempted ?
For a taste of what awaits you, you are welcome to browse this free issue.
Please support Noseweek and this author