Superman Saves The Day

June 23 Day 14

USA 1 Algeria 0 Pretoria

From Durban, I relied on 1 Time again to get back to JNB in time for the 4:00 pm USA game in Pretoria. Yet another time 1 Time came through. When I arrived at JNB, I knew First Car had no available cars. I decided to take a taxi. That is not so simple here as many crooks masquerade as taxi drivers. I found the reputable taxis. I paid around $90 for the 30-mile trip to Pretoria. The driver told me his company raised rates 50%. I do not have any problem with that, as South Africa invested several billion dollars for the World Cup.

However, the driver claimed his company ordered the drivers to work extra time to handle the World Cup demand, but with no extra pay. I do not know if this tale was an elaborate way to encourage a tip. I have heard similar South Africa stories, though.

As the airport road into Pretoria is World Cup world class nice, I rapidly arrived at the hotel. The next issue was how to get to the stadium. I saw from the map that the stadium was less than a mile distant. However, the game would end after dark, and I was alone and in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I chose a taxi. The hotel people call only a few companies they know, again for security reasons. I also suspect the hotel gets a cut, but that was no matter. I just wanted to get there.

The taxi cost $9 one way, which may have been three times the usual rate. Also, because of the security perimeter, the driver only could take me about 60% of the way. I walked the rest.

Because entrances are so limited, I had to walk way around the stadium to enter. I do not know what fans do who cannot walk long distances. I just do not remember such walking in Korea nor Germany. Not to worry, poo-bahs, corporate types and high rollers get to park next to the stadium gates.

Finally in the stadium, I made my way to my lower level seat, even with the penalty box outer edge, to the left and opposite the player benches, as the players see the field. The entry tunnel from the concourse was far more narrow than I remembered, but appropriate for a stadium originally built more than a century ago. A bulky African policeman stood on a retaining wall and warned us to watch our wallets.

I had trouble finding my seat, and since I was confused, of course no one was around to check my ticket, even though I was in the top category. Usually, stadium attendants abound. Once successfully there, I found myself among the hardcore USA fans. Such fans are as rabid as, say, the Hokie football fanatics who would follow the team to Zimbabwe, if Tech played there. These USA fans stood the entire game. It seemed a little strange to be around so many Americans. Even though there are more Americans than any other foreigners at this World Cup, I have seen mostly people from somewhere else, especially English, Mexicans, Brazilians and Argentines.

Along the way, when people learned I was from the USA, they often would say things like “I love America” or “I want to live in America one day” or “My brother lives in America.”

Speaking of foreigners, there were a surprising number of Algerians supporting their team, more than most other teams I have seen. I have also seen Algerians out on the tourist trail. I suppose after waiting 24 years since the team’s last World Cup appearance, the fans were starved. In addition, as an African continent team, the South Africans supported them as well. Except against Slovenia, USA supporters have been in the distinct minority.

Algeria showed up in light green uniforms, with white trim, different than any World Cup team I have ever seen. They are a plucky lot, who play with energy and play well, for the talent they have, which is not so much. They really did not test the USA defense, though the USA started a new defensive back line combination, and without mainstay Onyewu, who was benched.

Coach Bradley was not afraid to make changes.

He also drastically reduced the long, high passes into the attacking zone, which proved close to useless against Slovenia. The new strategy produced some chances, and Dempsey scored on one in the first half. My fellow fans cheered. However, I had learned to watch the referee, who stood in the penalty box. No goal: offside, allegedly. The stadium screen flashed for some seconds the electronic shading system TV viewers see. That was a mistake, as we stadium fans were not supposed to see the truth, but the instant was enough to determine that Dempsey was not offside. Brian sent a message to my Blackberry, “Dempsey clearly not offside…” Surely many other USA fans received the same message. Murmurs abounded in my section, “Robbed,” “Again!”

Half time came; still no USA goal. I knew we needed a win to advance. Truthfully though the team was playing better than against Slovenia, I was not inspired, as I made my way to the mandatory half time visit. Men crowded into both entrances, while others were exiting both. The result was a slow-moving mob. All that was needed was just one of the hundreds of stadium attendants to funnel men into one door only, and out through the other door solely. No one showed up.

Once inside, I heard a man say to his son, about 10, “We’re in trouble.” Then the man said to me, “I lost my wallet in this mess.” I did not know what to say. I felt for my own wallet, and resolved in the future only to carry what was necessary. I wonder what happened to the man and his son.
In the second half, minute by minute passed, and no USA goal, with few good chances. Things were getting more desperate. We had to have that goal. With less than 10 minutes to play, I began nervously looking at my watch. The minutes quickly ticked down, 7….6….5….4….3…2…1. As the 90-minute mark approached, I lost hope. “Not going to happen,” I thought. Three extra minutes were added.

The USA team pressed on. Suddenly, there was a scramble in front of the Algeria goal, just to my right. This was our big chance! However, the ball bounced away. No goal. Still the USA team forced the action. Just over a minute into stoppage time, again, there was a scramble in front of the Algeria goal. The ball bounced and spun wildly, as men tried desperately to control it. Then I saw the ball dribble straight out in front of the goal. Someone in white, a blur, raced in and slammed the ball into the net!!!!

Only later did I learn that man in white was none other than Superman himself, Donovan.

My section exploded in ecstatic celebration. I was afraid to utter any sound, until I saw the huge white-clad pile of USA humanity in the far corner. Only then did I start yelling. My fellow fans were screaming, and jumping up and down.

The Algerians sank to their knees on the field.

Still, there were about two minutes to go. The Algerians arose and attacked desperately. How could two minutes go so slowly? Every precious second was another chance for some crazy ball skip, while any Algerian goal that would be a dagger in Team USA’s chance to advance to the next round.

Again the Algerians attacked. And again. The American fans kept shouting and hollering, arms waving madly. Vuvuzuelas? Who could possibly hear them now?

It was the longest two minutes in World Cup history. Finally, finally, the whistle blew. USA 1 Algeria 0. We did it!!! We escaped to the second round!

The Algerians collapsed to the ground, with hands covering their eyes, surely hiding tears. Clearly their hearts were set on earning a point in a draw with the USA. Superman crushed that dream. Such is sports.

Now the USA fans went truly berserk, jumping up and down, screaming, waving flags and banners, blowing vuvuvzuelas. Americans are blasé about soccer? Not this group! Even ten minutes after the game ended, my fellow fans were still celebrating wildly.

Darkness had fallen. The mad celebration continued without let-up. I had had enough. I made my way out of the stadium. Even outside the gates, people were shouting, dancing and waving flags and banners. Who said Americans are blasé about soccer? Who?

In the darkness and amidst the boisterous crowd, I could not recognize where I was. I walked around a bit erratically, and ultimately made my way out to a familiar street. Now I had to call Lloyd in the dim light, noise and confusion.

I did reach Lloyd. Then he had to find me. I wondered how he would do so amidst the tumult. I knew he had a white VW Jetta. I scrutinized every white car. No Lloyd. I never knew there were so many white cars in Pretoria. No Lloyd. Where was he? The crowd began to thin. I decided to stay put. So many white vehicles. My phone rang. It was Lloyd! He had pulled up and was looking at me. I had not seen him. I suppose I was rather recognizable in that South African throng.

Lloyd steadily drove his way through the crowds back to the hotel. I saw people walking back to the same neighborhood. I could have walked as well. Oh well, I made it safely. Starting in Durban, another day, another World Cup game, this one with a very special attendee….Superman!