Africa's Team: The USA Is A-Ghana Again

June 26 Day 17

Ghana 2 USA 1 Rustenburg

There were at least four bad portents for the USA in tonight’s game:

1) The location was “Rustenburg,” actually 12 miles beyond the city, at the “Royal Bofukeng Sports Palace,” which would do better to borrow the name, “Cow Palace.”

2) The USA defense has been as inconsistent as feared going into the tournament, while Ghana had scored exactly zero goals from the field in the three group games. Only a FIFA official could love a game where a team can advance without scoring even once from the field in three games. Anyway, Ghana was due.

3) Ghana was the only African team to advance. Any past African continental conflicts and disputes were forgotten—Ghana was now all of Africa’s team. The USA had 15 possible opponents in this game, but Ghana was the one we drew.

4) Ghana had knocked us out of Germany in 2006, even though the USA was favored. The Americans were favored again tonight

I departed Pretoria on the city center “N4,” the designation given to two separate routes around and through Pretoria, west to Rustenburg. Brian and I had been looking for the Pretoria route the first time we went to Royal Bofukeng. We thought this route would save time. It does not. The in-city N4 winds a couple miles through urban streets before entering a genuine expressway. Unfortunately that expressway is incomplete, and only goes 10 or so miles. After a toll booth, the route turns into a two-lane road meandering through the countryside west of Pretoria. Fortunately there were cars ahead, apparently also going to the game, so I could follow them. By this time, darkness had fallen, while many directional signs had deteriorated reflector lettering, making reading on the move quite challenging.

There is also a darkness hazard we do not expereince in the USA. Poor Africans are commonly seen walking, even along rural roads, as they have no money for any other transportation. In the dakrness, they are very hard to see. I worried that if I had to pull over, I might easily strike one such walker.

After more than 10 miles in these conditions, finally the N4 spur was about to merge with the
main N4 highway Brian and I knew, a nice two-lane road, which is half of a future expressway. However, to my chagrin, at that point I ran into stop-and-go-traffic. The reason appeared to be an accident. Accidents are frequent in South Africa, and I have seen several in my travels since arriving June 12.

Unfortunately, even after the accident scene, traffic was still bumper-to-bumper. I was FIFTY MILES from the stadium. Brian and I had experienced clear N4 sailing, until we had passed the Rustenburg city exit. Tonight was very different. Evil thoughts crossed my mind about the idiocy of putting a World Cup venue in such a godforsaken location.

Traffic did ease, and began to flow much better. However, progress was definitely slower than Brian and I had experienced.

Laughably, several police motorcades escorting poo-bahs passed on the shoulder, because of the slow traffic. Could officials really be so stupid to put a World Cup venue in an inaccessible location? Yes.

I pressed on. I passed the Rustenburg exit. For some lucky reason, there was no traffic back-up at that point, as Brian and I had seen. Had the stadium managers learned something about traffic flow?

I made rapid progress, all the way to the N4 stadium access exit. I entered the 6-mile-long stadium approach road, knowing what to expect. The road circled way around behind the stadium and then curved back toward the facility. I picked up some heavy traffic but I was almost at the end, as far as I could travel in the car. Based on experience, as soon as I was saw the junction where the road turns toward the stadium, along with many others, I ditched my car road side, just as Brian and I had done before.

I began the hike to the stadium. I knew where to find the white school bus-like vehicles, to save a mile’s walking. This time there was a significant line, waiting to board. Finally, I boarded. The bus dropped us off near the stadium, of course with some last twists and turns, in a dusty dirt field. These World Cup organizers love dusty fields for dropping off bussed fans. They also love to see us walk way around the stadium exterior, past parking lots, many tents and other facilities set up for corporate types, poo-bahs and high rollers. Except for Pretoria and Soccer City via Rea Vaya, there has been no such thing as being dropped off near a stadium security checkpoint.

Since the game time was getting very close, I hustled through the security check, and then the ticket check gates, even farther along. I was headed for the second deck, around the 30-yard line. I scrambled up one of the narrow stadium staircases leading to the Royal Bafokeng second deck.

There I found a nice surprise, two vendors, from whom I acquired tonight’s dinner: ice cream and water I later saw someone with potato chips and even a hot dog, but finding those foods in any reasonable time was just too hard in the cramped, no-frills stadium. The two-few concession points and narrow first level concourse created long lines.

Given such confined spaces and the remote location, neither FIFA nor the South African tournament organizing committee should have ever considered such a place for a World Cup game. That is not to say that Royal Bafokeng does not have its good uses: horse shows, rodeos and tractor pulls would be quite enthralling there.

A local tribe controls The Royal Bafokeng Sports Palace. The tribe owns several platinum mines in the area. I read they brought in some European corporate suit to run their business operations. The tribe used more than $25 million of their resources to refurbish the stadium. They did their part. The point is: FIFA should never have allowed them to spend that money, as still, the Royal Bafokeng Sports Palace is the worst excuse for a World Cup venue I have ever seen.

Seems to me most of the spent funds went into a new stadium roof, which is just big enough to cover the FIFA officials, poo-bahs and press area. Everyone else sits in the open. I had read that new seats were installed. If the dirty plastic non-folding seats I saw were “new,” they were purchased at a rural Zimbabwean flea market.

Other funds were spent for blue covers over many prime seats near the field, on the press area and player benches side. I am sure those seats were designated for high cost “hospitality packages,” which did not sell well in South Africa and poorly at Royal Bafokeng. Real soccer fans would have loved to buy tickets for those seats. However, no complaints: the electronic screens actually worked for this game!

Indeed, FIFA did get its usual three things right:

1) The teams and game officials are ready to go at the precise starting time

2) The pitch is perfect.

3) The electric sign ball boards function flawlessly, so the TV viewers can see
the commercial sponsor logos.

No matter the stadium shortcomings, the game went on. I settled in my seat. Then I heard a vuvuzuela, much louder than usual. Truthfully, given all the stadium noise, vuvuzuelas are rarely that bothersome. However, I had seen vendors selling ear plugs and people wearing them. I found out why. A kid sitting behind me blew his vuvuzuela right next to my ear. The air pressure caused a pain in my ear. I flinched. Then I politely told the kid to blow his horn up in the air, which did not create the pressure on my ear drums. We co-existed peaceably after that. I do not believe my less-than-optimal ears suffered any lasting damage.

Turning my attention to the field, the USA wore white, and Ghana sported maroon with yellow accents. As Africa’s team, 90% of the crowd was in Ghana’s favor, same as the England game. Like that game, and true to the bad portents, Team USA gave up Ghana’s first tournament field goal early, about five minutes into the game. For the third time in four games, Team USA quickly fell behind.

Ghana played its usual solid defense and also as usual did not threaten much offensively. Unfortunately the USA did not seem to have much life, and did not create much either. Time rolled on, through the half time, and into the second half. Team USA was still down. Time ticked on. Anxiety mounted.

With about a third of the game left, the USA caught a break. Mensah took down Dempsey in the penalty box. The referee called a penalty shot. With time dwindling and the USA unable to score and down a goal, this penalty kick was high pressure. Of course Superman , Donovan, was tabbed to take the kick. I held my breath; absolutely, positively he could not miss. After sixty-plus agonizing minutes finally we had the opportunity to tie the score. True to his nickname, Superman “made no mistake” and saved Team USA yet again. What a relief!

The USA seemed to be energized and attacked better. “Let’s get a goal and close out business,” I thought. It was not to be.

I felt very uneasy. One good shot, one lucky bounce and the game could be lost.

Regulation time expired. Overtime began. Here, again we have FIFA world class goofiness. Rather than sudden death, after the exhausting 90+ regulation minutes, two full 15-minute periods are played, no matter how many goals are scored. Only a FIFA official can see the wisdom of such a system.

All that system accomplishes is increasing the likelihood of the abomination known as “the shootout.” Perhaps even worse, tired players are forced to play 33% longer than regulation, before getting to the sho0tout. Most World Cup players have previously played a long club season, plus other competitions, plus national team service. Why subject players to even more wear and tear? Let us nor forget: only three substitutions are allowed. If you like exhausted players struggling to keep a game going at the end, while exposed to greater injury risk, you are on track to become a FIFA official.

Since the USA failed to put away Ghana in regulation, the door to disaster was open. Yet again, soon after a period began, overtime here, indeed disaster struck. Gyan gathered in a long ball at the top of the penalty box, just to he left of the goal center point. The USA defender jostled him, but he regained his balance and struck a beautiful shot, which curved into the right corner of the net.

Predictably the stadium exploded. Africa’s team! I felt sick. I sensed the USA was doomed…again… to have Ghana knock them out of the Word Cup.

As expected, the USA could not come close to scoring, and were A-Ghana from the World Cup again.

The African crowd danced, cheered and howled boisterously. I walked sullenly out, wishing I had not worn my USA cap and jersey. The worst of the night was to come: traveling back to Pretoria. I had tortured myself for this, plus overtime no less?

I made my way through the blowing vuvzuleas and celebrating Africans. I eschewed the buses, as there was a huge throng waiting to board amidst the swirling dust. I walked back to my car, maybe 25 minutes from the bus pick-up. At midnight, I arrived at my car and started home.

The exit road was not bad. However, once I reached the N4 highway, I was in stop-and-go traffic. At 2:00am, after two hours on the road, I had traveled 10 miles. The fact is, most everyone was heading back to Pretoria/Johannesburg on that road. Toll booths significantly worsened the travel time. I had to pay for this?

Finally at 4:00am I collapsed into my bed. There was good news: there are no more World Cup games scheduled for the Royal Bafokeng Sports Palace, and surely none ever, ever again.