Reflections From Home

June 30 Day 21

For any aircraft, the gargantuan A380 landed quite smoothly at Paris CDG. Back in the northern hemisphere, the sun was bright shortly after 6:30 am, yet another clear, bright day on this trip. Well, that would be expected: every trip's return home day is sunny.

I had about 3-1/2 hours layover until the Air France 10:30 am flight to Washington. Nice upgrade work has been done at CDG. The original airport was small, strange and cramped. The new terminal I saw was large, pleasant and well-lit. However, there is a touch of old CDG--the only restroom I could find was inexplicably minuscule. The French air passengers have no need for the bathroom?

Security is tight. On boarding, I was designated for carry-on search and a hand metal-detector check, all thorough. Perhaps I was chosen because I was coming from Africa. There did not seem to be much reason for the random search selection. None I saw looked threatening in the least.

Indeed related to security, the plane departed about an hour late. The pilot alleged that USA Homeland Security delayed the flight for security purposes, perhaps a background check on certain passengers. Fine with me--I have no desire for the need to jump on some crazy fool trying to bring down the plane.

In flight, yet again, I was in a strange seat, the head of an extra row. All other Boeing 777's I have seen are 2-5-2; this one was 3-4-3. In my seat location, I had neither the bulkhead nor a seat in front of me. I guess that is what the bumped passengers get. Again, the aisles were very narrow.

Air France food is reasonably good. The service is decent as well, but the flight attendants could use training at Korean Air. The man sitting in my row's window seat had ordered a vegetarian meal. However, his special meal had not been loaded. The man showed a paper with "vegetarian" highlighted, but the young male flight attendant was unapologetic, citing no such indication on the boarding pass and suggesting that the man had not properly requested the special meal on "the website." I wondered why Air France could not load a few extra vegetarian meals, which, if not otherwise consumed among willing passengers, could be crew meals.

Nonetheless, the flight proceeded without incident to Dulles, though the hour late. Well, we got there. Of course the arrival weather at the trip's conclusion was most pleasant.

The USA seemed so serene. I walked out and took a taxi with no concern that the driver was a stranger. I did not give a thought about mistakenly ending up in an undesirable area. Cars drove on the right side, which seemed a bit odd after 2-1/2 weeks in a left-side environment.

Despite its international crime infamy, South Africa is quite manageable for foreigners. Common sense carries the visitor a long way: stay out of unfamiliar, potentially dangerous areas, be more careful at night, do not advertise valuables and lock doors. The truth is, outside the blighted downtown areas of Johannesburg, Pretoria and Durban, the country is relatively safe, and most pleasant. Sure, incidents happen, but rarely overall. Good judgement is a highly effective crime defense.

One questions when South Africa can overcome large segments of desperate poverty, significant street crime and rampant fraudulent activity. I hear South Africa is the most advanced African country, which really makes one wonder about the rest of Africa. Indeed South Africa in many respects is a modern country. However, the evident social problems, which open-door refugee policies have magnified, are a clear brake on progress.

Still, the prospects of an advanced, western-style nation are evident. As South Africa is closer to that goal than the rest of Africa, therein lies a tremendous opportunity for South Africa to be a continental gateway. In my view, more than anything, South Africa needs what all of Africa urgently needs: effective leadership. In my understanding, the unfortunate reality is that rampant official corruption is seriously retarding South Africa, while that reality is even worse elsewhere on the continent.

Interestingly, while corruption is a clear problem, I saw virtually no signs of racial disharmony. More than 15 years after apartheid ended, the 10% white minority seems to accept its minority role, and the African majority does not exhibit, at least to an outsider, hostility to whites. Hopefully, the African majority can recognize that persons of European descent have international commercial ties and a business culture, dating back centuries, which can benefit all of South Africa.

Whether European or African descent, I have found the South African people most warm and friendly. I felt welcome everywhere. I am convinced these traits are not a World Cup act.

Indeed, the billions of dollars South Africa invested in the World Cup will, in my opinion, pay dividends for the nation and the continent, as well. The hundreds of thousands of visitors and the millions and millions tuning in to those wonderful, wonderful globally-centered games, have learned that Africa is a place where people can indeed succeed and prosper. The world's eyes have been opened significantly, in my view. The coming decades will prove whether or not I am right.

Yes, I want to return to South Africa one day, when the World Cup does not dominate my existence. The trip was the most hectic and physically challenging I have ever attempted. In 16 days on South African soil, I saw 11 games at six different stadiums, plus I spent two days each in the Kruger National Park region and the captivating Cape Town area.

I have done everything wrong: too little sleep, constant travel, irregular and often poor meals. However, I survived, even fighting off with Zucol, emerging cold symptoms and deep chest congestion. Still, I know I will need several recovery days.

No one should think that such hardship will overcome my World Cup spirit, nor will the likely continued intransigence of the older European men who run FIFA. In summer 2011, we have Copa America in Argentina, and then the Women's World Cup in Germany. Euro 2012 will be in Poland which I have long wanted to visit, plus the Ukraine. Planning for World Cup 2014 in Brazil has already begun.

I have learned Brazil will have 12 venues, more than FIFA's recommended 8 - 10. The reason, I hear, is Brazil is so large. Huh? That logic seems backward to me. Typically, a high speed rail line was planned for completion by 2014, between Rio and Sao Paulo. However, the bidding process is not even complete; no way the line will be ready. Where have we heard this one before?

No matter...next time, in Brazil!! Next time, may all be free of FIFA Foolishness!

The Lost Day at JNB

June 29 Day 20

I made the most of my JNB confinement. By the time I ate breakfast, at KLM expense, and worked on my computer some, the 11:00 am check-out arrived. Fortunately I was put on a 7:30 pm Air France flight, rather than the 11:55pm KLM flight. So, my wait time was substantially reduced.

I made some good discoveries: my 12-hour Internet voucher was good for 12 use hours, not merely 12 clock hours, and the system worked well in the hotel restaurant and bar. Also I had a KLM lunch voucher. So, I spent the afternoon on my computer in the hotel restaurant, and then when the Paraguay - Japan Round of 16 game came on at 4:00 pm, I moved to the bar until departure time. The hours passed far more quickly than I anticipated, but we will never let on to KLM.

When I arrived at the check-in counter, the agent said she could not find my name in the system. I had been told I was already "checked in," as of the night before. I turned my back and looked at the sky. Then she found my reservation to Paris, but not to the USA. I would have taken that, just to get out of JNB, and at least halfway home. Nonetheless, she sent me to another counter, so I could get my actual ticket issued. An efficient African woman,who spoke English with a perfect French accent, quickly produced a ticket for the whole route home. I triumphantly brought the travel document to the check-in counter and received a boarding pass.....finally!

As with entry, South African immigration and customs was very fast. Other nations take note!

The Air France aircraft was an Airbus 380, the jumbo jet. There are two loading bridges, one for the top and one for the bottom level. I did not see much of the plane. As a late add-on I was given one of two seats just to the right of the entry door. The problem was that Air France has crammed extra seats into every possible space. The aisles are very narrow, and boarding passengers dragging their carry-ons had difficulty maneuvering around my seat.

Hey, I was just glad to be on board an airplane!

The aircraft departed reasonably on time for the 10-hour flight to Paris. My seat was adjacent to a very busy crew galley. I could not even stretch my legs out, because attendants were coming and going, often with carts. I did manage to sleep some; I was relaxed. My lost day of JNB confinement had ended; I was airborne and homeward bound at last.

Beware of the Royals

June 28 Day 19

Today I hung around the Pretoria hotel, the adjacent Sunnyside Mall, worked on my computer, packed, and prepared to return home. On the way to JNB Airprort I stopped in Sandton and had dinner with Stana and Angelo in Nelson Mandela square, part of the huge Sandton Mall complex.

Even considering the Monday, the area was far more subdued than when the World Cup was in full swing with 32 teams. By today, 20 had lost and were heading home, with most fans following. I guess one could say the same about me, after the USA's flop last Saturday.

Following goodbyes with Angelo and Stana, who have truly made my South Africa experience immeasurably better, Angelo showed me a new way to JNB. I arrived at 9:55 pm, two hours before flight time. However, the car rental return that would take two minutes in the USA took about 20, mainly because there was no First Car representative in the return area when I drove in. In any event, overall First Car was an excellent find.

After finally completing the return, with a cart I hauled my stuff a long way to the KLM check-in counter, a combined operation with Air France. I arrived more than 90 minutes before flight time. I was one of the last passengers on one of the last flights out. I did see several departing passengers carrying vuvuzuelas, as they are difficult to pack (unless you buy as Brian did for Sadie, a tw0-piece). Also notable was the last departing die-hard among the many thousands of Mexico fans, who hung his Mexican flag as he was checking in. Yes, the party was over, but Mexican fan spirit lives!

The other boarding passengers on my flight melted away and, except for a few stand-bys, I was left alone with the counter agent. After many minutes, I received the bad news: I was officially bumped. I protested I had purchased my ticket in January (at a premium World Cup price), I obtained had a seat assignment in March, I was less than 5000 miles away from a Sky Team million miles flown, and who else had attended every men's and women's World Cup since 1999?

"What about business and first class?"

"Fully booked, sir. All I can do is put you on the next flight."

"Twenty-four hours from now?"

"Yes."

At first there was no mention of putting me up in a hotel, so I do not know whether they would have voluntarily mentioned that subject or not. They did hand me a voucher worth about $400, of course for air travel only. I had three airline employees accompanying me to the City Lodge hotel, which is connected to the airport terminal. They tried to be nice, but they knew I was steaming. Their boss will hear from me. I am not accepting bumping people from an international flight all the way to the USA.

Fortunately the City Lodge is a very nice hotel. They even have CNN! The Internet system is the best I experienced in South Africa, though the World Cup price was about $3.50 per hour.

I noted that, as before, the TV was mounted to the wall, not resting on furniture, and there was no mini-bar, as I have seen everywhere else I have been in the world. I suspect the reason is that all the aforementioned items would likely be stolen in South Africa.

Ironically my room overlooked the Gautrain tracks. My South African World Cup life would have been so much easier had the Gautrain system been completed for the World Cup, as intended.

I finally fell asleep after 1:00am, with the next day fully dedicated to wandering around JNB. I should have known: KLM Royal Dutch Airlines/Royal Bafokeng Sports Palace. I felt royally screwed.

Germany Versus England: The Last is Best

June 27 Day 18

Germany 4 England 1 Bloemfontein

There is little rest for the committed (or is it “committable”?) World Cup fan. After getting to bed at 4:00 am I was up at 9:00 am. I wanted to eat one decent meal, since I did not know when the next decent meal would be. Also, I wanted to get on the road, as I had to pick up Angelo in Sandton and then travel 250 miles to Bloemfontein in central South Africa. I was pumped: Germany versus England in the World Cup.!! This match-up does not often happen (the last time was 1990), and I had two tickets!

The weather, as always in my South Africa experience, was clear and pleasant. I had learned the streets and highways around Pretoria. I smoothly found the N1 expressway and had motored several miles south, when, fortunately, I had a sudden troubling thought. I had safeguarded the tickets in my room safe. There was nothing more valuable. However, I had forgotten to take them out before I left. I knew the reason: raw fatigue. I have attended hundreds of sports events in my life. Never, ever had I forgotten the tickets, until now. I was physically ground down, and making mistakes.

I lost at least 50 minutes circling back, retrieving the tickets, and heading out again. Even worse, after I picked up Angelo, and we returned to the expressway, traffic was unusually heavy. “Want me to drive?” asked Angelo. “We need to take the back streets to get around this traffic.” I pulled into a gas station and Angelo took over. He moved slickly through the Johannesburg streets and emerged on the expressway south of the city. By that point it was after noon, and we had more than 200 miles to go before the 4:00 pm kick-off.

Angelo drove South African style, fast…really fast. Fortunately he is a capable driver, and Sunday traffic was thin. We began going in excess of 95 MPH. The speed limit was 75 MPH. The whole way, only one car passed us, a big Mercedes.

Many miles south of Johannesburg, we suddenly saw two traffic policemen beside the road. One beckoned us to stop. Caught!

Angelo complied and pulled over to the right of the roadway. A rotund, pleasant-looking African traffic policeman approached. Angelo said. “Let me handle this.” I replied, “Of course!” The traffic cop politely informed Angelo that he had been doing about 95 MPH, and that the fine was the equivalent of about $160 US.

Angelo said, “That’s a lot! But, let’s make a plan.” The policeman said, “Quickly!” Angelo pulled out the equivalent of $11 US and handed the bills to the officer. He rolled them up in his hand, out of sight and then expressed his appreciation by informing us where the next speed trap policemen were waiting. Things can get done in Africa!

As we pulled back on the road Angelo informed me that one cannot buy out of substantive offenses, such as drunk driving. Also, the regular police do not usually accept “appreciation money.” On the other hand, the regular officers do not concern themselves with speeding drivers; they leave that duty to the traffic policemen.

As Angelo and I pressed on, once again in my experience, the farther we traveled from the Johannesburg – Pretoria region, the less the road quality. The road changed to four lanes undivided, then three lanes, then two lanes with frequent passing lanes, then simply two lanes.

As to the surrounding terrain, that remained constant. Think Central and Southern California, east of the Pacific coastal region.

Thanks to Angelo’s astute driving, we entered Bloemfontein about 3:20 pm, ahead of the 4:00 pm game. The medium-sized city is pleasant. Bloemfontein is in Afrikaner territory. The venue is way ahead of Royal Bafokeng, as the stadium is centrally sited in a park and recreation complex.

I had a good idea of the stadium’s location, but had never been there. We eschewed a park and bus ride location, since we had no knowledge whether it was great or horrible. We pressed on, driving into the city center. I spied a shopping center and advocated parking there. Angelo said, “Let’s get closer.”

We found a small lot, where an African man was parking cars, who knows if authorized or not. As game time was approaching, I suggested we park there. Angelo said, “Let’s get closer.”

We pressed on, a little farther, almost as far as we could drive before reaching the security perimeter. There, on the left, was a beautiful parking spot, on the sidewalk, between other cars parked there. We took it!

We walked quickly toward the stadium. After a hundred yards, again a bad realization struck: I had left the tickets in the glove compartment! No question I was not myself. I ran back, pulled them out, and rejoined Angelo, who was buying England scarves and knit caps for us. We had decided we would pull for England today, since Germany has enjoyed so much more World Cup success.

The approach to the stadium is the best I have seen: a shopping mall bordering a small man-made lake. Sure beats the dusty fields of the Royal Bafokeng Sports Palace!

Bloemfontein stadium is another old rugby facility like Pretoria and Johannesburg Ellis Park. Still, with renovations and no track, those old rugby stadia are pleasant soccer venues with good viewing all around.

Angelo and I made our way to our seats, about half way up the second deck, right at the half line, fine Category 1 seats. The weather was in the low 70’s, with pleasant sun. England fans surrounded us, and dominated the stadium. Pro-England banners were hung from the second deck all around. Seems Bloemfontein stadium officials are far more laid back about fan signs than the Soccer City folks.

Before us were the England and Germany teams. England wore all red, not common, while German attire was traditional white jerseys and black shorts. Wow, Rooney, Klose, et al—there they were before me, in the flesh! England versus Germany in the World Cup! The atmosphere was pure Europe; the venue Africa. The teams, and tens of thousands of us had traveled so far and with such effort to reach this point in far southern Africa, to clash, yet again, on a soccer pitch. It was worth everything!

The game itself did not disappoint. The teams came out attacking, among the world’s best, throwing all they had at each other. Wow, it was all wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, worthy of being there in the brilliant southern Africa sunshine, just for that one game.

The English fans chanted “Roo-neee,” “Roo-neee.” Rooney is known as a rugged and physical player, so it was a bit odd to see how deftly he handled the soccer ball. Indeed, watching those two teams, just hours after observing Team USA, I could see our boys are simply not yet in the class of either Germany or England. The ball skills these guys display are impressive, damn impressive. Team USA can get there, but not today.

Rooney seemed more active than I had seen him against the USA. However, it was an old (32) and wily World Cup master, German Klose, who struck first. Amidst heavy traffic in the top of the penalty box, Klose slipped a clever shot past the English goalkeeper. That is Klose’s expertise, scoring goals in the World Cup. I heard he had not dome much this season for his German club team. In the World Cup he is another player.

Likewise, the second German goal scorer, Podolski, had not done well for his German club team this past season. All he needed was the World Cup stage to shine again.

To me, it is no accident that Klose and Podolski are on the German World Cup team. I have long admired the German national football organization, how they consistently produce such strong teams, yet do not have a national talent pool with the world’s fastest, quickest nor the most clever ball handlers. These Germans know what they are doing; the rest of the world can learn something.

After Klose and Podolski did their World Cup thing yet again, the English fans around us sagged. In world class soccer, a 2 – 0 lead is huge. On the other hand, the true German fan numbers emerged. Though there were many thousands, they had been mostly invisible, until Klose and Podolski brought them to their feet. Curiously, I had seen no German banners at all around the stadium. In 2006 I had learned that following World War II, expressions of German nationalism had been self-suppressed in shame over the atrocities. That feeling is changing, but slowly; thus, perhaps the reason for no hung banners.

England, however, did not give up. Indeed, “The Three Lions” team as they are known, began attacking like lions. Within five minutes, England got back one goal. England continued attacking in waves, even hitting a cross bar. The fierce battle was on! Then another England shot hit the cross the bar, but this time the ball bounced down, apparently over the line, even from my mid-line vantage point. I turned to Angelo, “That ball went over the line!” The referee, though, signaled, “Play on; no goal.”

The English players on the field gestured wildly; the English fans howled in protest. Andrew flashed an SMS, “The ball was a foot over the line!” I could see other English fans looking at their cell phones. People around us began murmuring, “It was a goal!” “Robbed!” “We were robbed.” The entire English fan contingent began chanting, “The referee is a wanker!” “The referee is a wanker!”

I did not know it at the time, but a huge international controversy had been spawned. The entire world knew a goal had been scored but not FIFA’s referee. The irony was stark: worldwide technology enabled fans in the stands to know the ball crossed the line, but FIFA, which has steadfastly resisted technology nor any change for that matter, chose a referee who could not see the fact from yards away.

I wondered the referee’s identity. Later I learned I had seen this same man before, in 2006, in Germany. When I heard the referee was Uruguayan, I wondered, “Oh no, could it be????” Oh, YES! He refereed the USA versus Italy game, a 1 – 1 draw. The USA played maybe its best World Cup game ever. The Uruguayan ruined the game, repeatedly calling fouls against the USA on the Italians’ obvious dives to the ground in response to aggressive American play, and ultimately issuing an almost unprecedented three red cards, two to the USA, one to Italy. That performance was one of the very worst I have ever seen at any level.

Yet, old FIFA brought him back, only to see him make one of the worst referee gaffe’s in World Cup history. Surely this blatantly bad call will be conversation fodder for decades to come.

Nevertheless, old FIFA has a strong hand in this World Cup's many serious referee errors. Reasons: 1) improper instructions 2) referees are forced to make calls in an instant, which FIFA has made game-changing and even tournament-altering 3) the gross imbalance of defense over offense makes each goal critical, thus magnifying the referee’s impact 4) rules such as offside are too complex 5) the rules are set up as “all or nothing” extremes, so the referee has no in-between disciplinary choice 6) poor referee selection process 7) one referee is asked to do too much, the same as FIFA ignores the players’ human limits.

[Side note: of about 100 head referees and assistant referees (who serve as linesman and have other duties), not one is American. There is a guy from Uzbekistan There are several Mexicans and one Canadian. I confess I somehow missed the all-powerful Canadian professional soccer league in which that official works. In my opinion, our American referees are eminently qualified to blow World Cup game calls.]

Concerning the missed goal, I am in the camp which believes the error had a profound impact on the game, as undermining the English players’ morale. They should have achieved an inspiring tie, just minutes after going down 2 – 0. Make no mistake: Germany deserved to win, but we will never know IF they would have won had the English been credited with that goal.

After the incident, the highly attractive attacking play carried on, but no one could score. Suddenly, with about one-third the game left, the Germans unleashed a flying counter-attack, just like the wonderful ones we used to see from Nigeria. German forwards dashed at top speed up the field. English defenders hesitated, a fatal error. Muller, a 20-year-old speed burner, finished the thrilling run with a goal. Not satisfied, Muller repeated his exciting dash to success, just a few minutes later. Everyone was stunned at what they had witnessed.

Wow!!!!!

The English were deflated, down 4-1 with a quarter left to play. Still, while the score was brutal, the difference was only the missed goal call and several struck cross-bars. England lost 4-1 but was not beaten 4 -1.

The English throngs streamed out quietly, now in the darkness. The German fans were ecstatic of course, but not obnoxious. Angelo and I were in the departing crowds. Somehow a metal railing was in our down ramp path. People slipped under it and kept walking. I decided to do a duck walk under the railing. I was so exhausted that occasionally I felt somewhat dizzy. Indeed, I toppled over. Before I could move to arise, numerous fans around grasped my arms and lifted me to my feet, like some magic force.

This incident not only represents my South African experience, it also represents the amazingly good sports fans I have seen in attending more than 30 World Cup games in four countries. Ugly soccer fan incidents are commonly reported in the media. My experience, however, is World Cup fans occupy higher levels of sportsmanship than partisans at other games. Surely unruly fans can be found at World Cup games, but one must look very long and hard to find such ruffians.

Angelo and I walked on. We found our car, intact. We decided to stop for dinner to allow the traffic to thin, although the flow was much better than Royal Bafokeng. Nothing could be that bad.

We found a place called “Jimmy’s,” which specialized in prawns. We had to wait at the bar for a table, with the World Cup crowds. Suddenly Angelo began speaking in Greek to a restaurant manager. His parents are Greek immigrants to South Africa. Within a couple minutes, we had our table, just like we had found our sidewalk parking spot. Angelo is a handy companion.

After the excellent dinner, we headed out to the highway, back to Johannesburg. The time was 9:00pm but we had the Argentina – Mexico game on the radio to entertain us. As I warned Angelo, after my experience the night before, traffic was slow out of Bloemfontein on that two-lane road, with toll booths on the route ahead.

Ultimately I arrived back at the Pretoria hotel close to 3:00 am. I was beyond exhaustion, but I did not care. I had seen Germany and England, in one of the most stirring attacking games ever played in the World Cup, right before my eyes. Indeed, my last game was the best.

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.

A Rest Day, For Once

June 25 Day 16

Today was unusual. There was no game. I did not charge around the South African countryside.

I worked on my computer most of the day, and hung around the hotel.

I picked up another rental car, again a Chevrolet Aveo, of course an automatic. With teams' losing and going home, many fans are departing as well.

In the evening I drove down to Sandton and had dinner with Angelo at a buffet restaurant, with more food than I had ever seen. I am eating well here, when I eat. Of course we watched the evening's game, Spain v Chile. Angelo is an easy-going companion, a really good man to know.

Driving back to the hotel in Pretoria, I had failed to study the map, and that failure cost me. I wandered around for about 45 minutes, looking for the hotel.

My bed felt really good when at last I joined it.

Italian Blues

June 24 Day 15

Slovakia 3 Italy 2 Ellis Park


Today’s challenge was getting from Pretoria to Ellis Park Stadium in Johannesburg without a car. I thought about taking the train to Johannesburg’s Park Station, and hopping a local commuter line to Ellis Park. However, my new friend, Nathabiseng, at the hotel front desk, discouraged such venture as unsafe. Again, had it been completed, the new high speed Gautrain would have solved the problem….for the most part. There was still the issue of getting to and from the hotel and Pretoria’s train station in a safe taxi. However, Nathabiseng and Lloyd could have solved that problem

I decided not to attempt to prove I could make the train trip without incident. Nathabiseng called Lloyd again, and he agreed to drive me the 30 miles to Ellis Park, wait for me and then drive me back, all for $130. Anyway, it sure was a lot more convenient.

As we approached the expressway turnoff for Ellis Park, I pointed to the familiar yellow World Cup direction signs and suggested Lloyd could follow them. “I have been there three times,” he said. He ignored the signs, and drove on. He soon exited the highway and began driving through the downtown Johannesburg streets….and driving…and driving He stopped to ask someone how to get to the stadium. As Africans speak to each other in tribal languages (and I understand that Zulu is widely known among Africans), I did not know which stadium was discussed. Lloyd drove on. The neighborhoods became more and more seedy.

Ultimately, the environs became more wide open, looking more like the Soccer City area. I said, “Lloyd, do you understand we are going to Ellis Park, not Soccer City?” He replied, “Oh yeah, oh, Ellis Park, that is what you said.” Well, only about 20 times. This too is Africa. All told I lost about an hour. Yet again, I had to hustle through the FIFA maze to get to my seat; my destiny here, it seems.

There were legions of Italian fans, as expected. I wondered why I had seen so few Italians anywhere else.

I sat around the 35-yard spot, about 20 rows from the field, opposite and to the right of the player benches, as they look out. Two pleasant-looking male Italian fans sat to my immediate left. In the rows in front were many of the several thousand Slovakia fans, of course well out-numbered overall. I heard Slovakia’s population is only about 5,000,000.

Italy wore the blue uniforms for which they are known as “Azzurri.” Slovakia wore white.

Italy came out displaying its usual “play not to lose” game. In its prior two games, Slovakia managed a tie and a loss, with one goal total. Today they stepped up to another level. Where were these guys before? Slovakia played as a good European-style team, allowing Italy very few scoring chances. When Slovakia had its own chances, they finished well. Today belonged to Slovakia.

Slovakia scored in the first half. One of the Italian men looked at me and shook his head. I nodded sympathetically. A Slovakian fan in front of me wanted to slap my palm, in celebration. I complied; no discrimination.

A bit later, Italy put a ball into the net. The two Italian fans leaped to their feet and began cheering. Once again, I had learned to watch the referee, who stood in the penalty box, arm outstretched, pointing up the field. I made a “no good” motion with my arms. The Slovakian fan in front of me made the same motion. The Italians sat down. No goal.

In the second half, Slovakia kept hustling. With a quarter to go, they scored to go up 2 – 0. My two Italian fans looked totally disgusted. If Italy lost the game, they were out.

The Azzurri decided to play. They began attacking furiously. Where had these guys been? Within a few minutes, Italy scored. The fans came to life; the stadium turned very loud. The Italians kept attacking and attacking. They scored again…apparently. The Italians to my left jumped to their feet. I sat there, shaking my head “no.” The Italian nearest me said, “No goal?” “No goal,” I replied. No goal.

Still, the Italians were unrelenting. They kept coming and coming, more and more desperate as time ticked down to the final whistle. Slovakia managed, somehow, to fend them off. Then, with minutes to go in the game, on a throw-in play in the Italian zone, the usually astute Azzurri went to sleep. Slovakia’s Kopunek slipped free down the right side, and struck his shot home. Slovakia did not miss its chances today. For Italy, it was a wonderful final quarter, where indeed they scored a second time, to close within one, in stoppage time. However, the clock ran out on the Italians. Their fans slumped in despair. Failing to make the World Cup second round does not happen to the Azzurri…. until today.

Following the game, the Slovakian fans were delirious, while the Italians marched out sullenly. My only thought was how to find Lloyd in that post-game tumult. In the dark, the environs looked so much different. Walking several blocks, I made my way to the security barrier, many blocks from the stadium. There were numerous cars and people at that point, as no vehicles could proceed any further. I could not get Lloyd on my cell phone. Was I standing in the right place?

Suddenly, from the crowd, out stepped Lloyd. He told me he had parked his vehicle a couple blocks away. The area was dark and dilapidated. He led me to a short side street, which was particularly dark, with few people. Lloyd showed no trepidation. He was my protector, a slight, bespectacled African man around 30 years old, who exhibited all the ferocity of a junior CPA.

No matter, Lloyd knew the territory. We made it to his car and back to Pretoria without incident. Another good World Cup day, since I do not speak Italian.

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!