The Champion's League Heineken Bash

The Dutch. There is little we hear or know about them and as far as I am aware, their contribution to the advancement of mankind has been to cut down trees to make clogs for us to wear and getting some stupid young boy to stick his fist into a hole in the dam to save the city from flooding.


If you wiped the Dutch from the face of the earth, it wouldn’t be news. So they set about trying to reinvent themselves by turning a beer that was brewed in 1833 into a brand that is instantly recognizable all over the world.

Last Sunday Juliana Kagwa, who I am led to believe ‘wears the knickers’ for Heineken in Uganda, decided to throw us a bash as we watched the Champion’s League Final between two German teams whose names I can’t remember and quite frankly, really can’t be bothered to Google or ask anybody on the sports desk.

As far as parties go, this was not a party. It was more than that. It was a celebration of sports, beer and how to effectively market a brand by using a dozen or so young female beauties whom, I am sure must have had their busts and butts laser measured to make sure that they conform to the size and finesse that a Heineken drinker would appreciate.

Indeed, when I walked into Sheraton hotel, I was amazed at the amount of drool and driblets of malusu there was at the entrance. I was going to put it down to the cleaners not having done a good job until, I saw them. Brown Heineken Girl and who had a butt that looked like the back end of a Toyota Celica was in my face trying to put an arm band onto my wrist.

I barely had enough time to wipe away my malusu which had stained my t-shirt when, Tall Legged Heineken Girl approached. She was everything and all she lacked was a sign on her butt to read: “G-string caught between my butt cheeks; hence I have to walk slowly.”

Heineken Girls were a not a distraction but a nuisance because they were good looking and they had legs as long as the Empire State Building that sent we men into ga-ga land.

When the match started, NTV ‘Men’ presenter Peter Igaga, the man who betrays us real men on his weekly talk show by revealing our secrets and I, were the real winners. We were, because everybody else including the Kagawa brothers – Tendo and Gonza and some zungu – er, what’s his name… ah, Milutin 'Micho' Sredojević (whom I really didn’t think had a clue about football) were glued to the match. Peter and I on the other hand, were focused on the Heineken Girls, the beer buckets and the chipolatas that Godfrey Gyagenda and Sam Kalule, Sheraton’s banqueting managers made sure passed our table every five minutes.

When the football match finally came to a close, the match Peter and I had with the beer was impressive enough – three cartons each.

But there was something to ponder as we drove home. First, it was arguably the best corporate bash thrown this year. Second, as it was a stone throw away from CPS, ‘responsible drinking’ kicked in so we used a driver. And lastly, this is a direct appeal to Juliana. “Babe, you got a nice beer but at 8k a bottle, it be a squeeze. You know the embeera – a dime be tight these days!”