Before this WC I had never seen England lose a game. In fact I had never even seen them draw a game. Me watching England live meant we won. Alas this logic fell apart in SA in other ways too. How to explain our abysmal performances? Well, I think Monty has chosen his vice-captain Ryder Cup picks based on what England did wrong at the WC. For my Serbian friends, bear with me as I'm talking golf here. Tournaments create different needs and challenges to qualifying matches. A long time away from one's usual environment, isolated, stuck with fellow players and a disciplinarian coach, crushed England's team-spirit. Not even printing The Daily Mirror locally helped the boys. So Monty has picked Darren Clark as the team's court jester to jolly up the chaps ahead of the Americans coming to Wales. Couped up in Rustenburg the boys had no fun. No release. And it showed on the pitch. Mr Capello, before Poland-Ukraine 2012, please have a chat with Monty.
Once my friends at the Serbian FA learn of the 100% correlation of my being at their WC games and them being defeated, they will surely ban me from watching them live at any future tournaments. In Germany 2006, under the guise of Serbia & Montenegro, I saw all three of their WC games. They lost them all, conceding 6 to Argentina and 3 to the Ivory Coast. In SA I missed one of their games, the victory v Germany. And had Zigic not missed open goals v both Ghana and Australia, my 100% record would have been broken. In fact Zigic is beginning to look Heskey-esque the way he's missing open goals.
I made it to 7 of 9 WC host cities and 8 of 10 stadia. My favourite? Most definitely Loftus in Pretoria. Why? Well, it's in the heart of town; you can park your car nearby; Pretoria is a pleasant green and safe town and most importantly you are so close to the action. Soccer City was magnificent inside, though in the middle of nowhere with poor motorway access. Ellis Park is in a seriously dodgy part of Joburg which look as shabby as Wembley's surrounds. Rustenburg I have already commented on, and thank goodness England's finishing second in the group meant we didn't have to return there. Though that would have allowed me to play the Gary Player Golf Course at Sun City, the country's second best layout. Will save that for next time. Neslpruit had the cute giraffe stanchions and great views of the pitch but again was in the middle of nowhere and they only really had the post-game park and ride fully functional by the third of four games they hosted. I enjoyed watching NZ hold Italy there too so I could be partially biased here. In Polokwane I encountered the wonderful Argentina fans, every bit as fanatical, vocal and partial to a beer as the English. Nice stadium with good sight lines and located on the edge of the small town, within walking distance of the scarey, scruffy centre. Did you know that the Argentinian national anthem has no words? Nor did I. Durban was beautiful though they had a silly security set up which meant you had to walk miles out of the way to enter the (fenced off) entrance just in front of you. Still it has a running track, which had been covered in grass, so fans were a long way from the action. It took us ages to realise Torres was on the pitch v Switzerland due to his haircut which like Samson's just seemed to sap his powers. And Bloemfontein. Classic old rugby stadium which was only half-full for Honduras-Switzerland though packed for England v Germany. Great views of the pitch for all fans. Located next to a modern shopping mall in the centre of town. I can't love Bloem though given the outcome of our game v the Germans. Too many bad memories. So that's my subjective overview of all the grounds bar Port Elizabeth and Cape Town, where I never ventured due to their distance from every other venue.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The party's over.....
Yes, I returned alive, for those of you still worried. What I have learned about blogging while on the road is:
have your own laptop -- staying in cheapo backpackers (as they are called in SA, or Youth Hostels as I know them) is not conducive to regular blogging
set aside regular time each day to write
don't fill every WC day with a round of golf, driving 600kms, or a WC match
A month later I remain filled with fond WC memories, in spite of England's dire performances. Vuvuzela debates continue, with clubs even banning them at Premier League games. I rather liked the atmosphere they created in the stadium. Though those who watched on TV or listened on the radio seemed to be universally against them. During a dull game -- and let's face it there were too many of them -- watching the local (ie. black) SA fans dancing and blowing their vuvus was much enjoyable. It's certainly part of their modern match-going culture. Foreign fans took to them too. Each passenger on the flight home carried 3 on with their hand-luggage. We almost needed special vuvuzela storage space. My vuvu sits on my office desk, which causes much amusement in Kabul.
In fact I have just completed my WC reading, a fabulous, beautiful and poignant book "Ways of Staying" by Kevin Bloom which explores the fears of white South Africans in post-Apartheid SA. It was a pleasure to meet SAs from many backgrounds and colours. Afrikaaner farmers at Legends Golf Course who worried about the 3,000 white farmers murdered since the ANC took power. They fear one day the country will be as bad as Zimbabwe is today. White 'British' (ie. they are not Afrikaans) SAs in Bloemfontein who had recently moved up from the Cape whose (black) domestic helpers had insisted they wanted to move with them, even though they didn't speak the local language of Bloemfontein. This couple believed it largely boiled down to how one treated such help.
I wish also to apologise to the Zulu Blonde Brewery Company just outside of Durban. They kindly wrote me a note about the name of this blog, which I blatantly plagiarised from them since I loved their logo. Those little photos may have a name which Luddites like me have yet to grasp. Anyway, I promised to visit them as it had been my plan on my pre-WC itinerary though it never materialised, for the following reason. The day after the remarkable Swiss defeat of the eventual champs, Spain, in Durban, I had hoped to spend a day sampling the delights of Zulu Blonde, which my hostel told me was a 90 minute drive away. Plans on match day however went a little awry. Playing the Durban Country Club -- a top ten ranked golf course in the country -- was my priority. I tried to do this early on match day. The club's entrance however is literally 200 metres from the stadium and their car park would no doubt be handy for many fans. Not oblivious to this fact, and no doubt with a little help from our dear friends at FIFA, security arrangements meant no entry to the club on the match morning unless one had a prior tee-time, which I didn't. To cut a long story short I had to play the course the following day -- and boy was it worth it -- the SA Open will be played their in December this year, so look out for it on the telly -- even though they doubled the green fees for the duration of the tournament. A "world Cup Special" they called it. Though at R850 ($112), it was still cheaper than Dubai. So I missed my ale at Zulu Blonde. Next time, inshallah.
have your own laptop -- staying in cheapo backpackers (as they are called in SA, or Youth Hostels as I know them) is not conducive to regular blogging
set aside regular time each day to write
don't fill every WC day with a round of golf, driving 600kms, or a WC match
A month later I remain filled with fond WC memories, in spite of England's dire performances. Vuvuzela debates continue, with clubs even banning them at Premier League games. I rather liked the atmosphere they created in the stadium. Though those who watched on TV or listened on the radio seemed to be universally against them. During a dull game -- and let's face it there were too many of them -- watching the local (ie. black) SA fans dancing and blowing their vuvus was much enjoyable. It's certainly part of their modern match-going culture. Foreign fans took to them too. Each passenger on the flight home carried 3 on with their hand-luggage. We almost needed special vuvuzela storage space. My vuvu sits on my office desk, which causes much amusement in Kabul.
In fact I have just completed my WC reading, a fabulous, beautiful and poignant book "Ways of Staying" by Kevin Bloom which explores the fears of white South Africans in post-Apartheid SA. It was a pleasure to meet SAs from many backgrounds and colours. Afrikaaner farmers at Legends Golf Course who worried about the 3,000 white farmers murdered since the ANC took power. They fear one day the country will be as bad as Zimbabwe is today. White 'British' (ie. they are not Afrikaans) SAs in Bloemfontein who had recently moved up from the Cape whose (black) domestic helpers had insisted they wanted to move with them, even though they didn't speak the local language of Bloemfontein. This couple believed it largely boiled down to how one treated such help.
I wish also to apologise to the Zulu Blonde Brewery Company just outside of Durban. They kindly wrote me a note about the name of this blog, which I blatantly plagiarised from them since I loved their logo. Those little photos may have a name which Luddites like me have yet to grasp. Anyway, I promised to visit them as it had been my plan on my pre-WC itinerary though it never materialised, for the following reason. The day after the remarkable Swiss defeat of the eventual champs, Spain, in Durban, I had hoped to spend a day sampling the delights of Zulu Blonde, which my hostel told me was a 90 minute drive away. Plans on match day however went a little awry. Playing the Durban Country Club -- a top ten ranked golf course in the country -- was my priority. I tried to do this early on match day. The club's entrance however is literally 200 metres from the stadium and their car park would no doubt be handy for many fans. Not oblivious to this fact, and no doubt with a little help from our dear friends at FIFA, security arrangements meant no entry to the club on the match morning unless one had a prior tee-time, which I didn't. To cut a long story short I had to play the course the following day -- and boy was it worth it -- the SA Open will be played their in December this year, so look out for it on the telly -- even though they doubled the green fees for the duration of the tournament. A "world Cup Special" they called it. Though at R850 ($112), it was still cheaper than Dubai. So I missed my ale at Zulu Blonde. Next time, inshallah.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
hi-jacking hotspots
Saturday. In Nelspruit, in the east on the road to the Kruger Park, ahead of Italy v NZ tomorrow. England were shocking yesterday. Caught it in a Pretoria bar without commentary since there was a live band playing. Managed to duck the 40R cover charge. They found it hard to believe I was more interested int he footy than in the band.
Driving around one of the few differences from home are the many hijacking hotspot road signs. The first time I saw one I flooored it for the 5km it mentioned were dangerous. Now I realise I am getting a bit blase. Still, some police cars are marked exclusiovely for hijacking response.
It's truly winter in SA. Been wearing thermals even in Durban on the Indian Ocean where it's much warmer than Pretoria-Joburg which are at 1800m, the same as Kabul.
Yesterday's pulsatting USA v Slovenia was a cracker, though freezing when sitting in the shade.
Running out of Internet money.....
Driving around one of the few differences from home are the many hijacking hotspot road signs. The first time I saw one I flooored it for the 5km it mentioned were dangerous. Now I realise I am getting a bit blase. Still, some police cars are marked exclusiovely for hijacking response.
It's truly winter in SA. Been wearing thermals even in Durban on the Indian Ocean where it's much warmer than Pretoria-Joburg which are at 1800m, the same as Kabul.
Yesterday's pulsatting USA v Slovenia was a cracker, though freezing when sitting in the shade.
Running out of Internet money.....
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Got any jump leads?
Having vowed to blog daily during the WC I have failed to keep that up on my first full day in the country. Poor blogging, granted. Still, there is a great deal of remarkable events to report on. So let's start with Friday last, World Cup opening day.
England Fans congregated at a modern Soweto shopping mall, just like one finds in Dubai. "Meet at the elephant" was the instruction which I navigated to thanks to Google maps print offs and a little help from the petrol station a few miles away, as 30-odd of us headed off for a tour of Soweto with local school children. We toured the excellent inter-active museum to Hector Pietersen, the school boy who was shot dead in the 1976 school riots in Soweto where black children were protesting laws that forced them to study in Afrikaans, not their mother tongue. Eloquent 13-year-olds told us why the 1970s struggle had led to their freedom today. One couldn't help but overcome one's initial cynicism such was the power of their words and emotion. In fact, shedding cynicism about the SA WC and all myths about this country are fast becoming a reality, not only for myself but all other England Fans.
From there we proceeded to play a match against a local school side. The pitch had suspiciously been watered, or so it seemed, as it was a mud bath as bumpy as Wembley. The dead rat.....was this a sign of local voodoo and witch craftery which is till alive and kicking across much of African football. Remarkably the team comprised of 40 inch waists and an average age of the same held the young whipper snappers to a highly respectable 1-1 draw. Only our disciplined offside trap, a la Arsenal, led by yours truly, and outrageous fortune with our goal -- their goalie picked up a back pass, prevented us from a conceding a hatful.
A Soweto shabeen (restaurant) in the street where Mandela and Tutu once lived ("the only street in the world to have two Nobel laureates"). A number of locals blazed away on the vuvuzela. I tried and sounded like a wet elephant roar. It's hard to make that loud sound! Alas, 25 minutes into the game we experienced a frequently Soweto event -- the power cut. So we continued to follow the match by SMS. Local fans celebrated exuberantly when SA took the lead -- and what a goal it was when I saw it much later -- and took it on the chin when the Mexicans equalised. Locals realised they ought to have won the game but the boys had done them proud, which was the refrain of the national papers, "make us proud".
I was then dropped off at the shopping mall in the dark around 7pm. Alone, I tried to start the rental car but the battery was dead. Given my low budget I chose the cheapest one which doesn't remind you to turn off the lights when you leave it. Ooops. Alone at night in Soweto, the only white bloke, wondering how I'd got myself into this mess after such a perfect day. Misfortune led to one of my trip highlights to date though. I asked passing shoppers if they had jump leads; none did. I found the police who proceeded to stop every passing car in the car park for around 30 minutes until they found someone with jump leads. From adversity, through the kindness of strangers, came a powerful testimony. I shan't be turning my lights on in the day, Swedish style, any longer. What is the local law? No idea.
Hertz told me to bring the car back to the airport, as the radio and internal light weren't working either. A got a minor upgrade for my efforts, and think I left my battery recharger with new batteries in the old vehicle.
Saturday. England's first game. One of the great things about being in SA is being able to read the local vibrant newspapers. Every one was so happy with yesterday's opening point but realised it could have been much better. Bafana Bafana ("the boys, the boys" which locals call their SA side) is now the usual greeting,rather then hello or the like. The papers reported of those arriving for the opening game two hours before kick off and missing it due to traffic jams. With this in mind I set off from my base 50km from Rustenburg a mere 9 1/2 hours before kick off, and two and a half before England Fans' game against the administration of Bafokeng, the area of Rustenurg where the stadium is located. What is interesting is the Bafokeng tribe is led by a King though they follow all SA laws. He is a powerful man and lobbied hard to have a WC stadium in his tribal area. Having pulled a groin and damaged my ligamentless ankle, I sat out this one. If there was a connection between this and our 2-1 defeat, I know not, but the pitch was ratless. Channel 4, the Guardian and SA newspapers are covering our games. A journalist was interested in my Soweto car park story and she has a two-page story on us coming out Monday. Two pages! In a quality paper too. Worried about traffic issues in the tiny hamlet -- I kid you not -- of Bafokeng, with one road in and out, we hit the park and ride facility more than 5 hours prior to kick off. Naturally a couple of hundred England fans (fans, not Fans) were there before us and the shuttles were ferrying people to and from the stadium. The P&R was about 6km from the stadium, which seats 40,000, and 15km north of Rustenburg. On the drive in during the morning I took a tour of Rustenburg. nothing more than a small wind swept run down little dive best kept away from.
Can any WC stadium in the modern era be situated in a area so poor as Bafokeng? Within 100 metres of the spanking new stadium were red dirt roads. Industrious locals got around FIFA's penurious ban of all non-FIFA compliant merchandising within 2.5km of the stadium by turning their front yards into pub gardens. Queues streaked down the streets with English and USA fans decked out in full colours, flags and the ubiquitous vuvuzelas. One highly innovative chap was even selling ear plugs, adult and child sizes, to prevent ear drum damage from the sounds the SA-style trumpets emit. Not that we were able to watch the other WC games on TV since they are only shown on cable TV which the destitute locals dare I say it don't have.
A tradition of England fans is to bedeck stadia with the flag of St George. 20 minutes after the gates opened, 3 hours before kick off, 1/2 the stadium 'belonged' to us. A lot of locals were decked out in England colours too. The easiest way to differentiate local England fans from the English was that for us we were dressed for summer even though temperatures plummeted to about +5C by the end of the game, whereas the locals were dressed in heavy winter coats. It being winter in the southern hemisphere, which still seems to be warmer and drier than an English summer.
The match. We started well, with energy and fire and skillfully took the lead of three minutes. I was at the other end from the goal, so I think it was Gerrard who scored. A goalie howler by us let them equalise, though I didn't see it go in as the advertising boards blocked our view, in spite of having the second highest category ticket at $120. The running track meant we were along way from the action.
The best part inside the stadium was the mash and gravy which to my horror came out of a machine, though quickly hardened and with much salt and pepper tasted not unlike airline food. I counted one tiny piece of chicken in my otherwise tasty chicken and mushroom pie.
The return journey to the P&R was a fiasco and shambolically organised, much to the embarrassment of local SA fans. Too few buses and not waiting where we were told they would be meant much waiting. Those of us who had figured out where the buses were coming from stomped out that way about 2km and a crowd of 50-odd commandeered the next empty bus which probably held 50 over it 50 capacity. Banter was good on the bus, lifting a gloomy spirit among England fans after quite a poor performance. The American players and fans celebrated as if they'd would the WC, such is the extent of their ambitions, I suppose. Unhappy, I got to bed just after one am.
Sunday. Dies Domini. I write from the nation's capital, Pretoria, at a charming 4-room B&B. My room alone could easily sleep my own family. I was fortunate with my 3-night stay in a 6-bed dorm outside Rustenburg which, as the lone occupant, I had to myself. I had to leave before thanking the owner for this since today was the England Fans highest profile match ever. Zonderwater Prison were out hosts. As part of their rehabilitation programme, the British High Commission had arranged this fixture. Many of our side sat with the orange-coloured jumpsuits on the inmates and looked not out of place! Only kidding. Our opponents were inside for murder, assault, rape and robbery, I learnt after the game, which ended 2-2. This was too big a game to sit out, so I took the equivalent of a pro's corsalin (sp?) injection, and made it through the niggles of my aging body. A lot of speeches before prison slops for lunch and a medal, certificate and commemorative plate. The media big boys came to cover it, so look out for my altercation with the linesman on CNN, BBC, Reuters and even FIFA I'm told.
In the original FIFA match calendar, today's Serbia v Ghana match, for which I had a ticket, was to kick off at 8.30pm and thus I had planned accordingly. Yesterday I noticed the ticket had a different time of 4pm. Who was right? I suspected FIFA's ticket wouldn't be wrong and other sources confirmed the 'new' time. So I had to dash from the prison to Pretoria's lovely 40,000 capacity rugby stadium Loftus Field, where there is no running track and you are really close to the pitch. Deciding to avoid P&Rs as much as possible, I managed to park a mere 10 minute walk from the ground. Locals who pulled up next to me advised me to tip the guy 5 or 10 Rand when I return, "if the windows aren't broken". I took their sound advice. At least today there was little hanging around as I got to the stadium 1 hour 15 minutes before kick off. Not so many flags on display today. Also, unlike the England v USA game where there were very few locals, Bafana Bafana fans were present in numbers today, backing Ghana. The ever officious FIFA officials removed my St George's flag from a fence 10 metres behind the advertising boards, since, they told me, it would interfere with the TV viewers ability to read the advertising. How FIFA loves to keep its paymasters sweet. And the fans? Who cares about them? We are the mere props to the Zurich boys' money making juggernaut and SA the venue. This was proved too when bags were checked coming into the ground. Thankfully this is Africa so it wasn't too heavy, friendly and rather relaxed. The only question I was asked? Have a guess. Any weapons? No, no, no. Got any food or drinks? Yeah, that was the only thing they wanted to know. You see, Budweiser, Coca Cola and the food people have paid big bucks to have exclusive access to the stadium's catering. Curious.
I noticed Scotland fans today too. They haven't qualified. And a Croatia fan (they haven't qualified) wearing a Slovakia hat. Had he confused Slovakia with Slovenia? I ought to have asked but given I was bedecked in my Serbia shirt I considered this unwise. Serbia had the better chances and should have won. The penalty Ghana were awarded 5 minutes before the end seemed unfair from my half way line view point. I felt the Serb defenders had been tripped. I think the ref said handball. Still, that's football sand Serbia have null points. Right, off to see Germany v Australia in my cosy Pretoria B&B where I have a room all to myself.
Hope to be a better and daily blog henceforth.
England Fans congregated at a modern Soweto shopping mall, just like one finds in Dubai. "Meet at the elephant" was the instruction which I navigated to thanks to Google maps print offs and a little help from the petrol station a few miles away, as 30-odd of us headed off for a tour of Soweto with local school children. We toured the excellent inter-active museum to Hector Pietersen, the school boy who was shot dead in the 1976 school riots in Soweto where black children were protesting laws that forced them to study in Afrikaans, not their mother tongue. Eloquent 13-year-olds told us why the 1970s struggle had led to their freedom today. One couldn't help but overcome one's initial cynicism such was the power of their words and emotion. In fact, shedding cynicism about the SA WC and all myths about this country are fast becoming a reality, not only for myself but all other England Fans.
From there we proceeded to play a match against a local school side. The pitch had suspiciously been watered, or so it seemed, as it was a mud bath as bumpy as Wembley. The dead rat.....was this a sign of local voodoo and witch craftery which is till alive and kicking across much of African football. Remarkably the team comprised of 40 inch waists and an average age of the same held the young whipper snappers to a highly respectable 1-1 draw. Only our disciplined offside trap, a la Arsenal, led by yours truly, and outrageous fortune with our goal -- their goalie picked up a back pass, prevented us from a conceding a hatful.
A Soweto shabeen (restaurant) in the street where Mandela and Tutu once lived ("the only street in the world to have two Nobel laureates"). A number of locals blazed away on the vuvuzela. I tried and sounded like a wet elephant roar. It's hard to make that loud sound! Alas, 25 minutes into the game we experienced a frequently Soweto event -- the power cut. So we continued to follow the match by SMS. Local fans celebrated exuberantly when SA took the lead -- and what a goal it was when I saw it much later -- and took it on the chin when the Mexicans equalised. Locals realised they ought to have won the game but the boys had done them proud, which was the refrain of the national papers, "make us proud".
I was then dropped off at the shopping mall in the dark around 7pm. Alone, I tried to start the rental car but the battery was dead. Given my low budget I chose the cheapest one which doesn't remind you to turn off the lights when you leave it. Ooops. Alone at night in Soweto, the only white bloke, wondering how I'd got myself into this mess after such a perfect day. Misfortune led to one of my trip highlights to date though. I asked passing shoppers if they had jump leads; none did. I found the police who proceeded to stop every passing car in the car park for around 30 minutes until they found someone with jump leads. From adversity, through the kindness of strangers, came a powerful testimony. I shan't be turning my lights on in the day, Swedish style, any longer. What is the local law? No idea.
Hertz told me to bring the car back to the airport, as the radio and internal light weren't working either. A got a minor upgrade for my efforts, and think I left my battery recharger with new batteries in the old vehicle.
Saturday. England's first game. One of the great things about being in SA is being able to read the local vibrant newspapers. Every one was so happy with yesterday's opening point but realised it could have been much better. Bafana Bafana ("the boys, the boys" which locals call their SA side) is now the usual greeting,rather then hello or the like. The papers reported of those arriving for the opening game two hours before kick off and missing it due to traffic jams. With this in mind I set off from my base 50km from Rustenburg a mere 9 1/2 hours before kick off, and two and a half before England Fans' game against the administration of Bafokeng, the area of Rustenurg where the stadium is located. What is interesting is the Bafokeng tribe is led by a King though they follow all SA laws. He is a powerful man and lobbied hard to have a WC stadium in his tribal area. Having pulled a groin and damaged my ligamentless ankle, I sat out this one. If there was a connection between this and our 2-1 defeat, I know not, but the pitch was ratless. Channel 4, the Guardian and SA newspapers are covering our games. A journalist was interested in my Soweto car park story and she has a two-page story on us coming out Monday. Two pages! In a quality paper too. Worried about traffic issues in the tiny hamlet -- I kid you not -- of Bafokeng, with one road in and out, we hit the park and ride facility more than 5 hours prior to kick off. Naturally a couple of hundred England fans (fans, not Fans) were there before us and the shuttles were ferrying people to and from the stadium. The P&R was about 6km from the stadium, which seats 40,000, and 15km north of Rustenburg. On the drive in during the morning I took a tour of Rustenburg. nothing more than a small wind swept run down little dive best kept away from.
Can any WC stadium in the modern era be situated in a area so poor as Bafokeng? Within 100 metres of the spanking new stadium were red dirt roads. Industrious locals got around FIFA's penurious ban of all non-FIFA compliant merchandising within 2.5km of the stadium by turning their front yards into pub gardens. Queues streaked down the streets with English and USA fans decked out in full colours, flags and the ubiquitous vuvuzelas. One highly innovative chap was even selling ear plugs, adult and child sizes, to prevent ear drum damage from the sounds the SA-style trumpets emit. Not that we were able to watch the other WC games on TV since they are only shown on cable TV which the destitute locals dare I say it don't have.
A tradition of England fans is to bedeck stadia with the flag of St George. 20 minutes after the gates opened, 3 hours before kick off, 1/2 the stadium 'belonged' to us. A lot of locals were decked out in England colours too. The easiest way to differentiate local England fans from the English was that for us we were dressed for summer even though temperatures plummeted to about +5C by the end of the game, whereas the locals were dressed in heavy winter coats. It being winter in the southern hemisphere, which still seems to be warmer and drier than an English summer.
The match. We started well, with energy and fire and skillfully took the lead of three minutes. I was at the other end from the goal, so I think it was Gerrard who scored. A goalie howler by us let them equalise, though I didn't see it go in as the advertising boards blocked our view, in spite of having the second highest category ticket at $120. The running track meant we were along way from the action.
The best part inside the stadium was the mash and gravy which to my horror came out of a machine, though quickly hardened and with much salt and pepper tasted not unlike airline food. I counted one tiny piece of chicken in my otherwise tasty chicken and mushroom pie.
The return journey to the P&R was a fiasco and shambolically organised, much to the embarrassment of local SA fans. Too few buses and not waiting where we were told they would be meant much waiting. Those of us who had figured out where the buses were coming from stomped out that way about 2km and a crowd of 50-odd commandeered the next empty bus which probably held 50 over it 50 capacity. Banter was good on the bus, lifting a gloomy spirit among England fans after quite a poor performance. The American players and fans celebrated as if they'd would the WC, such is the extent of their ambitions, I suppose. Unhappy, I got to bed just after one am.
Sunday. Dies Domini. I write from the nation's capital, Pretoria, at a charming 4-room B&B. My room alone could easily sleep my own family. I was fortunate with my 3-night stay in a 6-bed dorm outside Rustenburg which, as the lone occupant, I had to myself. I had to leave before thanking the owner for this since today was the England Fans highest profile match ever. Zonderwater Prison were out hosts. As part of their rehabilitation programme, the British High Commission had arranged this fixture. Many of our side sat with the orange-coloured jumpsuits on the inmates and looked not out of place! Only kidding. Our opponents were inside for murder, assault, rape and robbery, I learnt after the game, which ended 2-2. This was too big a game to sit out, so I took the equivalent of a pro's corsalin (sp?) injection, and made it through the niggles of my aging body. A lot of speeches before prison slops for lunch and a medal, certificate and commemorative plate. The media big boys came to cover it, so look out for my altercation with the linesman on CNN, BBC, Reuters and even FIFA I'm told.
In the original FIFA match calendar, today's Serbia v Ghana match, for which I had a ticket, was to kick off at 8.30pm and thus I had planned accordingly. Yesterday I noticed the ticket had a different time of 4pm. Who was right? I suspected FIFA's ticket wouldn't be wrong and other sources confirmed the 'new' time. So I had to dash from the prison to Pretoria's lovely 40,000 capacity rugby stadium Loftus Field, where there is no running track and you are really close to the pitch. Deciding to avoid P&Rs as much as possible, I managed to park a mere 10 minute walk from the ground. Locals who pulled up next to me advised me to tip the guy 5 or 10 Rand when I return, "if the windows aren't broken". I took their sound advice. At least today there was little hanging around as I got to the stadium 1 hour 15 minutes before kick off. Not so many flags on display today. Also, unlike the England v USA game where there were very few locals, Bafana Bafana fans were present in numbers today, backing Ghana. The ever officious FIFA officials removed my St George's flag from a fence 10 metres behind the advertising boards, since, they told me, it would interfere with the TV viewers ability to read the advertising. How FIFA loves to keep its paymasters sweet. And the fans? Who cares about them? We are the mere props to the Zurich boys' money making juggernaut and SA the venue. This was proved too when bags were checked coming into the ground. Thankfully this is Africa so it wasn't too heavy, friendly and rather relaxed. The only question I was asked? Have a guess. Any weapons? No, no, no. Got any food or drinks? Yeah, that was the only thing they wanted to know. You see, Budweiser, Coca Cola and the food people have paid big bucks to have exclusive access to the stadium's catering. Curious.
I noticed Scotland fans today too. They haven't qualified. And a Croatia fan (they haven't qualified) wearing a Slovakia hat. Had he confused Slovakia with Slovenia? I ought to have asked but given I was bedecked in my Serbia shirt I considered this unwise. Serbia had the better chances and should have won. The penalty Ghana were awarded 5 minutes before the end seemed unfair from my half way line view point. I felt the Serb defenders had been tripped. I think the ref said handball. Still, that's football sand Serbia have null points. Right, off to see Germany v Australia in my cosy Pretoria B&B where I have a room all to myself.
Hope to be a better and daily blog henceforth.
Friday, June 11, 2010
It's Thursday night and I have been in SA for 5 1/2 hours now and I have yet to be robbed, raided or raped. In fact quite the opposite. Each interaction has been sublime. Bumped into a work colleague at Dubai airport and then one upon arrival at J'burg. Curious world my international organisation.
The Emirates flight was filled with Brazilians and Mexicans wearing team shirts and huge sombrero hats. When I figure out how to download photos to this site, I aim t share them. The 8-hour flight itself was rather uneventful. Though I did have my suitcase and golf clubs plastic wrapped before departure. They arrived safely in J'burg and we were welcomed by a chilled can of the WC's soft drink sponsor, Coca Cola. WC paraphernalia is on sale everywhere across the airport but I think I'll be able to pick up host shirts and cuff links at a better price later in the tournament.
Registered my MTN mobile SIM card with the minimum of hassle, changed some money -- though the antiquated notes' counting machine used broker down, and collected my tickets with the minimal of fuss. The ticket machine operated had a familiar accent and upon my question he said he was from Formby, not a million miles from where I grew up. Next onto Hertz where my tiny car was awaiting me. My solitary suitcase won't even lie down in the boot, so the golf clubs are on the back seat and the interior light doesn't work. I was given good directions towards Rustenburg and almost made it here without getting lost. The motorways have few lights though and I spotted zero petrol stations in the 140km drive. To consult my Google map at a junction after having left the motorway, I was forced to stop the car, engine running, and skip round to the rear light and read it that way. My heart was thumping...
This was how I turned up at the Cock and Bull pub. Lost. It was the only lighting around. The kindly assistant manager came out and offered words of encouragement. before I knew it I was inside supping beers from Namibia and eating a fine steak with the solitary patrons, a 4-handicap golfer and his lady friend from Slovakia. Thus I was welcomed to SA. After dinner they helped me find my way to m accommodation from where I write. The owner's hubby too works in Afghanistan. Funny old world.
Need to sleep as tomorrow I'm off to Soweto where the England fans take on the local college team.
The Emirates flight was filled with Brazilians and Mexicans wearing team shirts and huge sombrero hats. When I figure out how to download photos to this site, I aim t share them. The 8-hour flight itself was rather uneventful. Though I did have my suitcase and golf clubs plastic wrapped before departure. They arrived safely in J'burg and we were welcomed by a chilled can of the WC's soft drink sponsor, Coca Cola. WC paraphernalia is on sale everywhere across the airport but I think I'll be able to pick up host shirts and cuff links at a better price later in the tournament.
Registered my MTN mobile SIM card with the minimum of hassle, changed some money -- though the antiquated notes' counting machine used broker down, and collected my tickets with the minimal of fuss. The ticket machine operated had a familiar accent and upon my question he said he was from Formby, not a million miles from where I grew up. Next onto Hertz where my tiny car was awaiting me. My solitary suitcase won't even lie down in the boot, so the golf clubs are on the back seat and the interior light doesn't work. I was given good directions towards Rustenburg and almost made it here without getting lost. The motorways have few lights though and I spotted zero petrol stations in the 140km drive. To consult my Google map at a junction after having left the motorway, I was forced to stop the car, engine running, and skip round to the rear light and read it that way. My heart was thumping...
This was how I turned up at the Cock and Bull pub. Lost. It was the only lighting around. The kindly assistant manager came out and offered words of encouragement. before I knew it I was inside supping beers from Namibia and eating a fine steak with the solitary patrons, a 4-handicap golfer and his lady friend from Slovakia. Thus I was welcomed to SA. After dinner they helped me find my way to m accommodation from where I write. The owner's hubby too works in Afghanistan. Funny old world.
Need to sleep as tomorrow I'm off to Soweto where the England fans take on the local college team.
Long live Panini
It's Wednesday and I'm leaving Kabul tonight for Dubai and then on to J'burg tomorrow. Golf bag in tow. England flag with direct from Germany 2006 still encrusted in parts. Look out for a small England flag with Belgrade written across the middle red stripe. Immediately upon arrival in SA I need to collect my WC tickets, register a SIM card kindly provided by WC sponsors MTN, collect the rental card and drive, using Google map print outs, to my initial base at Rustenburg, venue for England's opening v USA on Saturday evening. So I'm all packed up. Three 'fake' wallets are stuffed with various currencies in the event that I'm pick pocketed, car-jacked or the like. Since I started this WC sojourn getting robbed in Barcelona during or following our opening game victory against Andorra, I intend not to close the tournament in the same fashion. This is what my international organisation calls 'lessons learnt'.
England's lacklustre performances in the three warm-up games this year are of real concern. Hopefully it is nothing more than learning from the likes of Germany and Italy, which notoriously start off WCs slowly before peaking at the final. The less optimistic view is that we have played too few games since we qualified way back in October 2009. South Africa, which seem to play two games a week of late, have risen from no-hopers for qualifying from their group a few months back to having a fighting chance to reach the last 16. Should this happen, the tournament will be all the better for the host nation's continued participation.
Rooney's temperament is also a big concern. He was booked for swearing at the ref during the warm-up game this week against a local side. Yesterday the BBC World Service aired a great interview with the local amateur ref from the match who referred to Rooney's lack of respect. The ref also seemed upset because Rooney did not pass him his shirt at the end of the game, as he apparently promised to do before kick-off. The ref explained that Rooney was his idol.
In an attempt to reset the image of England football fans, the official fan club has organised three fans' games against local opposition this weekend. Although I indicated my age and my lack of match fitness to them, I was surprised to learn I am one of the younger team members. On Friday we play against a school in Soweto before retiring to a local hostelry for the opening game, on Saturday against a college adjacent to the Rustenburg WC stadium and most exciting of all, on Sunday we play a prison side. The British High Commission has set up a game as part of the prisoners' rehabilitation programme. We have been notified of the strict searches prison authorities will carry out on our bodies before and after the game. No cameras; no fraternisation with prisoners. A pitch surrounded by dogs and horse-mounted officers. I picture quite a setting and no doubt a heavy defeat. After Kabul's notorious Puli-Charki prison, this will only be my second time banged up inside.
Panini sticker albums are all the rage in Belgrade and it fills me with great pride that my son has started his first collection. My teenage years collection lies safely somewhere at home, starting, I believe, with Espana 82. Long live Panini.
England's lacklustre performances in the three warm-up games this year are of real concern. Hopefully it is nothing more than learning from the likes of Germany and Italy, which notoriously start off WCs slowly before peaking at the final. The less optimistic view is that we have played too few games since we qualified way back in October 2009. South Africa, which seem to play two games a week of late, have risen from no-hopers for qualifying from their group a few months back to having a fighting chance to reach the last 16. Should this happen, the tournament will be all the better for the host nation's continued participation.
Rooney's temperament is also a big concern. He was booked for swearing at the ref during the warm-up game this week against a local side. Yesterday the BBC World Service aired a great interview with the local amateur ref from the match who referred to Rooney's lack of respect. The ref also seemed upset because Rooney did not pass him his shirt at the end of the game, as he apparently promised to do before kick-off. The ref explained that Rooney was his idol.
In an attempt to reset the image of England football fans, the official fan club has organised three fans' games against local opposition this weekend. Although I indicated my age and my lack of match fitness to them, I was surprised to learn I am one of the younger team members. On Friday we play against a school in Soweto before retiring to a local hostelry for the opening game, on Saturday against a college adjacent to the Rustenburg WC stadium and most exciting of all, on Sunday we play a prison side. The British High Commission has set up a game as part of the prisoners' rehabilitation programme. We have been notified of the strict searches prison authorities will carry out on our bodies before and after the game. No cameras; no fraternisation with prisoners. A pitch surrounded by dogs and horse-mounted officers. I picture quite a setting and no doubt a heavy defeat. After Kabul's notorious Puli-Charki prison, this will only be my second time banged up inside.
Panini sticker albums are all the rage in Belgrade and it fills me with great pride that my son has started his first collection. My teenage years collection lies safely somewhere at home, starting, I believe, with Espana 82. Long live Panini.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
All packed and ready to rumble
All packed up and ready to fly from Kabul to Dubai tonight. Have three 'fake' wallets stuffed with small bank notes from numerous countries which are to be used if mugged. Fly from Dubai to J'burg tomorrow. Immediately upon arrival I need to collect match tickets and register the SIM card kindly provided by WC sponsors MTN. Then collect the rent a car and drive to my initial base outside Rustenburg, venue for England's opening game v USA on Saturday night. England's dire performance in warm-up games to date is a huge concern. Minor consolation is taken from the poor starts to tournaments made by past winners such as Germany and Italy. The nerves are starting to tingle. Have we played too few warm up games? Only 3 this year contrasts with SA which seems to be playing twice a week and have had noticeable victories against good teams of late. From being no-hopers from even qualifying from their group a few months back, now they look like they'll have a real chance of a last 16 place. This can only be good for the tournament. Will Rooney blow another fuse in the WC? The BBC World Service yesterday had a great interview with the local amateur SA referee
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
