A cab sent from heaven

Or hell, depends on who is telling the story.

We have just dismbarked our boat after an early morning trip into the amazon and we have decided that a definite must see during our time in Manaus is the Fan Fest during a Brazil game. I have been lucky enough to see the host nation play, in stadium, only twice. In Korea and Germany. Because of the atmosphere, there is absolutely nothing quite like seeing the host nation play. However, if you can not make it into a stadium during a host country game, the next best thing is to find a Fan Fest site and soak it all in.

Brett, German, Kieran and I have just walked out of an ATM kiosk, although because of the air-conditioning we seriously considered just staying in that little building the rest of the day. We have decided to grab a taxi and head in the direction of Punta Negra which is, under normal traffic conditions a 15-20 cab ride. We have approximately 3 hours until Brazil kicks of against Camaroon in their 3rd and final group match. Because of the # of points each team has in the group, this game means a trip to the round of 16. This being the case, we know that the Fan Fest is going to be a spectacle. We also know that if we don't get there early enough, we might not get in at all. So back into the streets of sweltering Manaus we go. I see a taxi, whistle, get his attention and yell "Punta Negra" as I point directly at him. Wait for a response...and yes...he waves us in. Kieran grabs shotgun, Brett behind him, myself behind the driver and German in the middle with his feet on the hump. 

What comes next was a small bit of foreshadowing not immediatly recognized. The driver hits the gas, releases the clutch and his little car shudders as though it has been rode hard and put away wet more times than Mazatlan ski-do.

All 4 windows are down in our wobbly little chariot and I make the comment, "should've looked for a taxi with the windows up", as this would have been a sure indication of air-conditioning. But we have just spent the past 8 hours on a boat traversing the back waterways of the Amazon and we need to get a move on, so we figure it's best to just deal with the minor inconcovenience of a ride across town in a microwave. 

Our cabby appears at first to be just the type of driver we need, fast! He moves through the crowded downtown streets of Manaus with purpose. I am immediately reminded of my 1st trip to Mexico City where driving is reminicient of a game of Grand Theft Auto. Turn signals are for the weak, and if you get your nose in, you had better get your tail in right behind you or you are going to lose it. I can't help but smile knowing that considering the amount of money we have spent thus far on taxi's, this guy isn't thinking about milking the meter. We agree, after he has cut off 4 of the first 5 cars we have encountered, that he must be determined to get this fare to it's destination so that he can park his hot-rod and get in front of a TV for the game. But traffic is heavy! Seems as though all of Manaus is closing up shop and trying to get to where they have planned to watch the game. Cars are moving slowly...well most cars at least.

Our driver is getting more aggitated as the minutes pass. The other motorists in Manaus must not have gotten the memo that this is HIS roadway today. How dare they be in front of him! We come to a stop. He revs the engine, slams the car into 1st gear, we lurch forward and cut between another car and a bus...hit the clutch...coast...pop the clutch and cut off a truck on our left...the bus is now behind us and we look around at one another is stunned disbelief. This guy is for real! 

Stopped at a light we can see that he wants to turn left at the next light. He puts his hand out of the window to indicate to the car next to us that it is his intention to...AHHH fuck it, he just drives between 2 cars and now we are another car length closer to the light and stopped again.
He has a hanky that he uses to wipe is brow, and his arms, and his neck. It's hotter than purgatory in this little buggy, the engine must be stressed too so he hits the fan to pull the heat from the engine, and pulls it right into the cab with us. German asks Kieran, "is the heater on?", to which Kieran reluctantly responds while aiming the vent out the window, "I believe that it is." 

I think that Kieran and I should have been in opposite seats because I am loving this. It would seem that I am alone in my appreciation of this man's skills because I am the only person encouraging this display of blatent disregard of the rules of the road. From behind the driver I am bobbing my head from one side of his seat, back to the other, saying just loud enough to be heard, "Oh yeah, ariba, haha". German looks as though he believes he's eaten his last ham and cheese sandwhich. 

We are not exactly sure just how far we have traveled, nor how much farther we have to go, but I have no fear because our driver is wearing red and it is indeed the only color he sees. We cautiously point this out that the meter has died and gone blank. His mood is momentarily made worse as it is aparent that he had absolutely no idea what it read prior to it's malfunction. We have grown accustomed to watching the meter like hawks so we tell him it read $20 Real. He jiggles it and it pops back on. We say $20 from here and he gives us a silent shrug of acknowledgment.

Traffic has opened up slightly and we weave through cars like a jet plane on maneuvers when the unbelievable  happens. Our driver comes to a rapid halt at a crosswalk, puts his arm and head out the window and stops traffic. He then waves a young woman through the crosswalk, admiring her slow-seductive saunter until she has completely stepped onto the sidewalk on the opposite side. Like a bullet we are off again and the car is caught up in a fit of laughter and appreciation of his consideration of the farer sex.

We have come to a long line of cars backed up in both lanes. The path we are on comes to a T in the distance. The light is red. There is nothing to do but wait. I look to German and say, "should we tell him that there are 2 open lanes to our left?". This of course is a joke because those lanes belong to oncoming traffic. He inches left. Did he understand my joke? As we cut off the car in our far left lane and come to a momentary stop I look to Brett and say, "this is going to happen". It does. Like a jalopy shot from a canon we shoot into the nearest lane of oncoming traffic. Stradling the dividing lane we race toward the red light be we have come to the end of the line. We need to get back into our own flow of trafic because the light at the T is still red, and there is a raised median. We stop just short of the point of no return. We wait for the green light. As the signal changes cars begin to move forward, but not nearly fast enough for this guy. He hits the gas and we travel through the intersection from the wrong side of the median.

We round another bend and the car seems to loose power, we coast. I look over his shoulder and see that the gas gauge is reading empty. Then I realize that the speedometer is reading zero as well, but the check engine light works like a charm! We stop at the next light, when it turns green he starts the car back up, bolts through the intersection and skids into a gas station.

Leaving the car on he passes $20 Real through the window as 2 young female attendants begin to fuel us up. As the seconds pass it is obvious that his impatience continues to grow. The meter now reads 20 and he rev's the engine and inches forward. The pump is still in the car. The young girl looks to her fellow attendant with a WTF look on her face and cautiously removes the nozzle. As the sound of the gas cap clicks we shoot back into the street nearly clipping a motorcycle. This man knows no limits. When we arrive at the front gates of the Fan Fest we screech to a stop, got out, paid the man his money, and as the doors were closing I gave him and extra $10 Real and thanked him for the best cab ride I've ever had!

Natal

One of the nice parts about the World Cup is that it brings together the finest people from around the world. Okay maybe thats a bit of a stretch. But it does bring a lot of people from all over, right smack dab into one anothers immediate proximity. That usually lends itself to some funny shit.

German and I decided we would test the nightlife of Natal our first full day in. After dinner, the rest of our group headed back to the apartment to shake off what remained of the jet lag that gripped most of them. 

German and I met for the 1st time in South Korea and have remained travel buddies since. We are both utterly fascinated by the webs the world can weave. We walk up and down the beachside bars and restaurants like a college pub crawl. We would stop, grab a beer, talk to whoever would listen and then depart for the next. The glowing lights, multiple languages spoken all at once like some sort of linguistic menagerie, the smell of foreign foods wafting out of the restaurants and streetside vendors, the uneven cobblestones trying at each step to trip you up and make their mark on you. It is this overload of the senses that continues to call to me like the sirens in Homer's Iliad. We continued. 

We decided that since our apartment was about a mile away from the beach and uphill the entire way, our best bet would be to traverse the side streets and explore. We found that there is an entire neighborhood just off the beach filled with hostels and nightime only bars and restuarants. This can only mean the juicy, tender underbelly of humanity. We were correct. 

As we made our way up and down the streets the sounds of live music, laughter and yelling poured out. People were in the streets, the very dark streets lit only with colored lamps, sitting and talking. Some whispering, some stopping their conversations altogether, as we passed. Some would raise their glasses to us and belt out an indistinguishable vocal acknowledgement, we would gesture the same in return. We stepped into a bar which was dark and dank, the music loud and fast. We made our way inside and were overcome by a crowd made up of shadowy, faceless figures. The atmosphere was very aggressive so we decided to grab our obligatory drink and depart. Back onto the street we approached the corner and headed left, up the hill. On our right we saw a place with an open air balconey/bar and laughter. Our kind of hangout, we entered. On the patio this evening are 2 young men wearing US national team jerseys sharing drinks with a couple of what seemed to be local girls. One is having a normal conversation without issue, rather reserved and without animation. The other however was a completely different story. 

This kid had to be barely 21, bright eyed and ready "to party". He is dancing with one of the girls but it's rather dark so we don't really get a good look at her upon first glance. The music is lively but local so it is nothing I recognize, but it lends itself to the type of up close and personal dancing they are doing so nothing seems out of the ordinary. German and I take a seat on the edge of "the dance floor" and begin to talk about our impressions of the dungeon we just walked out of. We are looking around our new hangout when the dance begins turning into a striptease. However it isn't the girl doing the stripping and it isnt the guy taking off his close. The girl is trying to remove the young mans shirt and he, being somewhat taken off guard, is fighting to keep it on. It's like a train wreck, I just can not look away. The struggle goes on for nearly 2 full minutes. She coo's something into his ear and lifts his shirt up one side. He struggles to keep his drink from spilling, staying in step and pushing his shirt back down. So she changes to a tactic that would make any handsy 16 year old boy proud, she tries pulling up his shirt on his drink hand side. He is obviously confused by what's happening because he doesn't want to stop dancing with this girl but he's not sure how to respond to being on this side of mating game. His laugh seems uneasy but he continues. She becomes slightly more aggessive now using both hands on his shirt and trying to pull it up over his head. He steps back and steadies his glass, takes another drink and moves back in to grind some more. She says something to him that is inaudible to us but he laughs and responds with something along the lines of, "what are you talking about? haha Oh man, haha that's some awesome!". The dance continues. 

As this curious little ritual continues I begin to notice that these young lady's aren't what they seem at first glance. I have had a few beers at this point myself but I am pretty sure my eyes are seeing through the facade. The song ends and the girls depart to the bathroom to maybe powder their noses. The brash young travelers rendezvous back at the bar near our newfound perch and the young dancer says, "Man! this chick is totally into me dude! She can't keep her hands off me man, Were you seeing this?!" At this point I feel it imperative to step in and inform them that, and I may be wrong, these two girls that are "all over you"...you will be paying for that score in more ways than one. "Wait! What! You mean...?" Silence...the realization begins to set in and there appears to be a frantic need to find escape before they return and the music is faced. 

"We are ready to keep moving, you boys are welcome to tag along". They join us, seeming rather releived- we talk about the world for a couple blocks and someone disappeared into the darkness. Who it was, depends on who you ask. 

 

US vs Ghana and a lost ticket

Once we arrive at the stadium we see that the gates are running smoothly and that we have over an hour until kick-off so we make our way around the outside in order to find a place we can buy some beers and avoid paying the usual stadium mark-up. We find a nice little place with outside seating, falafels, pastry's and beer. As we sit and watch the area begin to fill the excitement is beginning to grow. People are talking quickly, making predictions and it is obvious that once inside we will definitely be heard. 

***

 



Now as I mentioned earlier Brett took a taxi to Natal from Recife. For those of you that are not current with your Brazilian geography, that works out to be about a 4 hr cab ride. Even in Brazilian Real's that is a pretty penny. His flight to Natal from Lisbon was cancelled and he was forced to wait until another was available, and much to his dismay the only flight that would get him to Brazil prior to the start of our game was not into Natal but rather, Recife. Now this put him in a very perilous position because ticket pick-up is unavailable at the stadium. Luckily for Brett when I arrived in São Paulo the day before I was greeted by an old friend Johnny Wanda and his lovely wife, Patty. I was equipped with Jimmy Powell and Corey Sanchez' ticket vouchers so when I picked up my tickets, Johnny played Jimmy and I was able to get theirs too. As a result, Brett now has a ticket to the game. 

So we are sitting around the table enjoying our beers and hoping to sell one of the extra tickets that we have and recoup the losses of our friends Jim and Corey when an American approaches the area with a stack of available tickets and is selling them for pennies. Game time is rapidly approaching so it seems as though our best bet is to make some kids day and give them a World Cup experience they will never forget, much the same way we were able to do for 2 young South African boys prior to the US v Slovania game in Johannesburg. I hand off the extra ticket and we make our way to the stadium gates.

As we walk Brett pulls his ticket from his pocket. I have just given the ticket that says Curtis White to some kid and I ask for the 2nd of Jim and Corey's tickets. Brett looks in his pocket and it's empty. I look in my pockets, and they too are empty. An icy hot chill runs up my spine as a fear like I have never known sweeps over me. Look again! Nothing...  I immediately race back to the area of the, until moments ago, good deed. I haven't moved this fast in years. The faces that I am flying past are a blur. Panic is creeping in and my mind is racing. How could this have happened?! WTF am I going to do?! I get closer. I arrive in at the window of the little store where I gave the ticket away and I say, "the ticket I just gave you, I need it back!". I am met with a group of confused faces. I repeat, "the ticket I just gave you, I need it back!", only this time louder and a bit more desperate. I am not sure what I am hoping for with the increased volume, maybe startled sympathy. A woman behind the counter asks me if I would like a coca-cola. You have got to be shitting me. I am in some horrible alternate reality. "No, the ticket...I just gave you a ticket...to the game (I point behind me to the stadium), the ticket, I need it back!" She shakes her head no and waves to the stadium to indicate the proud new owner of my ticket is somewhere amongst the 40,000 other people, making their way to my seat. By this time our group has made it back up to where I am now. I have my hands atop my head and I am standing there feeling more like a painted clown than rabid, travels to the corners of the earth, US soccer supporter that always has a place in the stadium and isn't a complete fucking moron that just lost his ticket. I take a deep breathe, attempt to calm myself, I must think clearly about what I am going to do. I begin to check every possible orifice of my clothing when what do my nimble little fingers run across? Check your back pocket next time, dipshit. 

Now that everything is well in the world again we make our way inside the stadium. One of the problems with the way FIFA allocates tickets is that it makes it difficult for lage groups of people to get seats adjacent to one another. As a result, our group of 6 is spread out all over the place. So we decide that the section we would really like to all stand together in isssssss.....that one! We make our way to the first level behind the 1st half US goal. None of us have seats in that section but we know that the group of US supports that will be there will be ready for our kind of party. We were right. The seats in this section, with this group of people, are used for the sole purpose of making us all taller. We greet old friends, most we haven't seen in 4 years. We make new friends, and we sing our national anthem. 

There are no words to adequately describe the feeling I get singing the National Anthem in the stands of a World Cup game. It feels so good.

The teams are on the field and the game is about to begin. We are preparing for the battle when the whistle blows. As we are getting situated there is a deafening roar. Clint Dempsy has put us up 1-0 and it's a good thing that I didn't yet have my camera out because there was a shower of beer raining down from the heavens. Less than 1 minute into the game and we are up 1-0! We dance and we sing and we take in the moment. There is a palpable joy in the group of people surrounding us. It would soon start to diminish. 

Now, watching a game on the television and watching a game in the stands are two very different experiences. We have but one vantage and normally it isn't one with a very clear view. For the next 80 or so minutes of that game we watched as our team seemed to get outplayed in every area of the field.  We had no tempo, no rhythm, no transition or offense. It looked as though Ghana would at any moment equalize. We've lost Jozy, Bradley is getting eaten up, Johanson isn't doing a damn thing, we look like shit, and there isn't a single guy on the bench with a minute of World Cup experience. How can it be that there isn't a single guy to call into a game, in the World Cup, when a win is on the line that doesn't have a minute of World Cup experience?! We yelled and screamed and spit and cursed and screamed ourselves hoarse some more. In the row in front of us stood a man that must have grown up in Mr. Rodgers Neighborhood because he let us know that we should yell positive things to encourage our guys. We were forced to tell him to shut the fuck up. There were no children present and if Klinsman was going to hear me from all the way over here I had to give it everything I had. I was caught up in the moment. So much planning, saving and hours traveling to reach this moment. I was leaving it all in that stadium! Ghana equalized. Despair was the feeling rushing over me. How could this happen again? They've dashed us the past 2 Cups and they have just broken through the gate we have been trying so desperately to keep closed. The remaining minutes passed like hours. I felt as though the momentum Ghana had been building toward all game had finally reached the point that would allow them to turn the tide and strike the dying blow. In an instant we were able to create a push toward goal and earn a corner. As my old coach George Gorecki used to say, "that's half a goal!". The cross came in and Brookes headed it into the back of the net. Pandemonium. The Ghanaian thorn has been removed from our side, and we have won. My voice was gone for days.

No hands! Be a man.

One of the things that I heard more than normal during the buildup to this Cup was how dangerous Brazil is, and how it was absolutely necessary that we be overly cautious. The dangers involved in events like this are always there and it is prudent to have a certain attention of your surroundings. But it is also a very good idea to try keep the boogyman in the closet. There is a very intense military presence on the streets. All the streets. What's somewhat amusing is that many of these Brazilian police look a lot like "The Rock", but with automatic weapons. I say amusing because to see these gigantic men dressed in black uniforms, armed to the teeth, standing in the sun acting like glorified crossing guards- when they should be in NFL pre-season training camps.
As we headed for the stadium to face Ghana, our 1st opponent of the group stage, we saw an ever increasing show of the Brazilian military presence. It had been announced that our Vice President would be attending the game so the path to, and perimeter around, the stadium was quite the spectacle.
The day before I had attempted to get a photo with a large truck full of very stern looking fellows and their "take no-shit" man in charge. It seemed as though a number of them were fully willing, and rather eager, to pose for a photo with someone brash enough to approach the 5th Battalion with a smile and a camera. The front line looked back at a man who was, I'm certain, quite steely-eyed if not for the jet black glasses he had attached to a face that looked as though it hadn't cracked a smile in days. He was tall and lean, though obviously hadn't been doing the same number of push-ups those looking for his approval have been doing. My request was met with an immediate and universally understood "NO!" which caused everyone within earshot to snap back to attention, including myself. I hopped back into formation with my own troops figuring I must have just caught them at a bad time, the World Cup.

So, back to the march to the stadium. As usual I am adorned with my face paint, flag, US flag shorts and a red US National team jersey that was purchased for me as a gift from my friend Shane Carver. Shane and I have seen a bit of the world together and for 2 short weeks in '98 Shane was with us in France. I have worn that jersey to every US match since then and will continue to wear it until it falls tattered from my back. A somewhat common occurrence during the World Cup is the trading of jerseys between people of differing countries, just as it is common for players to trade jerseys after the game. I have been offered a trade for that jersey numerous times, but the answer has always been, "no thank you, it is too valuable to me". 

As we have grown older the number of my clan that applies the war paint for these games has decreased to one, me, but I wear it proudly and it still gets plenty of attention. In France we applied our paint for the 1st time and I have always had some variation of that first application. A white star with a blue outline and red & white stripes going out. Unfortunately, on this occasion I have no cowboy hat. I've been looking here. 

As we get closer to the stadium the festival atmosphere begin to grow. We see that the number of US fans has increased and it is nice to see that there are so many people beginning to make it a point to come and support our team. As usual we are asked to stop for pictures and we trade stories with strangers on the path. Everyone seems very excited about our chances against Ghana and we sing our songs louder as we approach the stadium. As we round a corner I again see a large truck with police standing guard, so once again I ask for a photo. Perhaps it is the paint because this time I get an affirmative. I excitedly move into postion amidst the 3 of them and when I attempt to put my hand on the back of the man who is obviously in charge he calmly turns his head and says to me, "No hands! Be a man.". That my Brazilian friend is an absolute classic! No hands, just a big smile, no problem!

The year of the Cat.

So our 1st full day here in Natal, as we waited for Brett to arrive in his taxi from Recife, (that story a bit later) we decided to hit the streets and find the FIFA ticketing center. The walk from our apartment to the Ciudad Jardim, a little strip mall with shops selling the usual mall fare in 3 colors; yellow, blue and green is probably about 4 miles. Along this path we found the roads were decorated, as would be expected, with the flags of the nations represented here this month. There were also vendors everywhere selling coconuts, crepes, plates of lobster and shrimp, knock off jerseys and, unfortunately, a Brazilian version of the vuvuzela. It's a pretty simple little annoyance- blow air into a little hole on the side and the sound of a waterboarded duck comes out of a larger hole on the end. This is a toy normally found in the hands of either young children or drunk adults. Neither of these parties are seemingly aware of just how grating the sound is on the ears of those in their proximity but I am convinced that there must be some addictive substance somehwere between those 2 holes because once they start blowing, they just can't seem to stop.

So as we are walking we talk about all the events of our lives the past 4 years when I notice along the fenceline a pair of stray cats. The fenceline runs a couple of miles uninterrupted and seperates the street from an open space overgrown with native trees and bushes. From the fence to the shore of the ocean I guesstimate to be another mile. Then I see another cat. And another, and another. If what I saw along that fenceline was indicative of what was behind that fencline, Natal is a ferel cat lovers Utopia! 

This is completely different from what has been the case in my other travels. Normally when you travel to an area that is rather "economically depressed" it is over run with stray dogs. I've never seen anything quite like this, cats are everywhere. 

So yesterday Brett and I decided we would take another walk down to the shopping center so he could retrieve his other game tickets. The rest of group had made their way down to the beach for some fun in the sun and we agreed to meet up for the games that afternoon. Now allow me to paint a little picture. Here in Natal we have come to understand that there are two forecasts for the weatherman to choose from. Sunny and boiling, or torrential rains. Chicago and thereabouts I call home have seen very little of the sun since some point in early 2013. Brett's natural snowflake complexion has been hiding under the perpetual cloudcover of the British Isles for years. Of course we feel that it shouldn't be all that big a deal to bare our chests and backs to absorb some of the warm Equatorial rays of sun while we walk. We were both wearing sunglasses so the reflection of the sun and the magical orb of light that must have been radiating around our stretch of sidewalk was of no consequence to either of us. Then at about the 2 mile mark it became painfully obvious that we had made a dire mistake that will haunt us for days. We must have looked like a couple of freshly boiled Gulf Shrimp because the moment we stopped to look for a cab, we had one available. Now the use of Spangortugueslish will not only get us where we are going, for the most part, but it also provides ample opportunity for tales of intrigue. After a little small talk I ask our local Magelin whats up with all the cats in Natal. "Hay muchos gatos aqui...porque?" He looks at me quizically so I say,"cats...gatos...mucho gatos aqui." He is obviously deep in thought we he replies, "meow-meows?" Yes, that just happened. I confim that it is indeed the meow-meow's of which I speak. He nearly hits the car in front of us as he looks at me like I am a mad-man. 

At this point we are at a stoplight across from our destination so I say "this is good" and attempt to exit the vehicle. In reaction to my move our fearless driver very, very quickly says no! This is obviously a bad idea but I don't yet understand why. He proceeds to produce a whistle with so shrill a sound that it must be used to call in whales from the deep blue sea and blows it right there in the car with Brett and I looking straight at him. This is what the police will do to HIM if WE try to leave the car anywhere but along the sidewalk. Fair enough, keep the change. Every cat in a 2 mile radius must have been startled by that whistle though I am sure they immediately went back about their business. 

      

Red meat and a Shebeen!

One of the crazy things about the World  Cup is the emotional roller coaster that every fan is taken on from the very beginning. It doesn't matter who you are a fan of- the USA, Ghana, Mexico, England- Germany might not counted in this because of the ice that seems to run through their veins- okay that's a joke, but seriously I sometimes wonder.  Honestly though, I say this because as I read through my last post I realized that as high as we felt the other day, we felt as low last night. Our guys are done. It's that simple. It's clean- there are no hanging chads, no reviews of the "tape", no costly legal wranglings aimed at a reversal of the outcome. Pack it up- we going home! But 30 other teams and their throngs of fans worldwide will feel, if they haven't already, the disappointment, despair, and an overall longing to still be a part of it. Brazil 2014 is already on my mind, though I wish it weren't, at least for another week or two.

Yesterdays game is the cause of much discontent for not just myself but for everyone still remaining in our group. We started as a "wolf pack" of 7, but lost Ryan (bottom) after the second US game. This isn't to say that Ryan didn't make the most of his short time here. In his 8 days here the guy made it to 5 total WC games. Now THAT is a sprint! Then we lost Clint taking our numbers to 5. Clint being a foriegn soil World Cup sophomore this trip tallied his 14th World Cup game game in 3 overall WC's. But it was this reduction in numbers made us think that we could change the way we went to last nights game. Our previous trip to Rustenberg was the USA's 1st game against England. We had only been here in South Africa for little more than 48 hours, we had two cars and not a clue where we were going so we found a nice bus that promised to give us a comfortable ride to the stadium. That trip left us with a poor taste regarding the overall efficiency of the public transport here in South Africa. So for this game we determined that if we left early enough in the day we could drive ourselves up to the stadium and meet some other US fans at  local pub for some pre-game and the application of our face paint. We made it to Rustenburg without a problem, although I was licking the wounds of a major night out the previous evening. Unfortunately for me it was extremely difficult to find a comfortable position in which to feel miserable because we put 5 people(3 of which are in no danger of death by malnutrition)  in a car meant to transport 4 pygmies . We looked like a clown car for sure!

When we arrived in Rustenberg we were told by our trusty GPS to take a left and head down to "Lucky's" where we were to meet the others. We pulled up to the intersection and were told by a cop, no parking permit, no left turn Clyde, so on we drove into the heart of Rustenberg. What we saw is hard to describe and Brett didn't feel it was good idea to slow down to take pictures. It looked like what I imagine Watts looked like after the riot. Trash everywhere, locked down deserted shops, and a "taxi stand" that looked to be about the size of a football field, packed with people and lined with stands selling who knows what. In the end we figured our best bet would be to utilize a park and ride that had been seen on the way in, so off we went. The park and rides are set up to take people from their vehicles, in buses, to the stadium. The idea is simple, there is nothing about this system that would leave a person to think that it could be FUBAR. They get us parked, we jump on a bus and make our way to the stadium. We are dropped off on the complete opposite side of the stadium that they will let us enter so we walk. We are told that Lucky's is about a 1/2 hrs walk but there is a shebeen just across the way. A shebeen is a house that has been turned into a bar and frequented mostly by black South Africans after being unable to enter normal pubs during apartheid. We wondered what these would be like so we were excited to get in and check it out. We walked in the font door and were greeted with a cloud of body odor and loud, aggressive drunk dudes. It wasn't a hostile aggressive, more like "Holy Crap! Look what just walked in here! I wanna talk to THOSE guys!" I had a conversation with a guy that lasted a good 3-4 minutes and I didn't understand a single word he said to me! 3-4 minutes of worrying whether I should be nodding yes or no is an extremely long time. So I said a lot of things like "definitely" and "right?" and "ohhh, you know it!". He kept trying to shake my hand and I kept trying to counter with fist pumps and hitting my chest above the heart. I think I turned away after a proper goodbye was made. I had my beer, a $1.00 40oz to freedom, and I was making my way back out into the welcome fresh air, which says something about the smell in that place because the air here SUCKS! I turn to see German being accosted by a young man that was extremely proud of his US Army cargo pants. He has his arm around German and talking very excitedly about something- probably similar the the conversation I had just excused myself from, and it is extremely obvious that my friends comfort zone is on  the other side of the universe at this moment. I move in an attempt to get my boy out of this mess when I am spotted by GI Joxi. He greets me with an enthusiastic roar while holding firm to his newest American buddy, when from his mouth I see a large gob of spittle exit and fly in super slow motion across the distance that separates us and land square on my cheek just below my eye. Inside I screamed like a 12 yr old girl in a horror flick. We leave.

A this point I am still not feeling very well from my rock star evening the night before and as a result the beer is slightly bitter. But, we are outside the lions den and back in the dusty front yard. Cory and I are thinking that it might be worth while to go check out what sort of food is on the menu over at the local Tuck Shop. Corey and I walk up, we are greeted by a very friendly young lady and the following, almost unbelievable, conversation follows: Me- Hi!, She- Helloooo my handsome friends, Me- So, whats on the menu tonight? She- Well you are going to have to wait 15 minutes because the meat is cooking. Me- Okay, so what kind of meat is it? Beef? Chicken? Pork? She- Well it's like beef yeah, its red meat. Me- Well I prefer my "like beef" medium rare. She- 15 minutes honey and I will make you a nice plate! I then look at Corey and say "I will definitely be back at this spot in 15 minutes to try me some 'like beef'!" She winks at us as we walk away. True to my word, 15 minutes later I bought a plate of that delicious "red meat". I have no idea what it was and I don't care, it was delicious!

We made our way back toward the stadium and found that once again there was absolutely no order to be found in any way for anything. We have begun to refer to the WC2010 as the "Ghetto Style World Cup". The line for beer is about 45 minutes long, and this is not at all an exaggeration. We have also found that once again there is no US section. We paid for Category 3 tickets because in each of the last 3 WC's the US supporters sections were together in this category. I would have been happy to spend an extra $20 or so per ticket for better seats if I was going to be peppered in with fans from who knows where, and not in support of my team. For instance, there was a young English kid, perhaps 17yrs old, wasted with his dad standing in the isle near our section. He was taunting us and repeatedly telling us that we were going home. Never before have I wanted so badly to throttle someone! It was only made worse when it looked as though this kid might be right. Things were righted in some ways at the half when another of the US contingent saw from around the stadium that our section was the only section in the stadium that refused to sit down and shut up. We were approached by the security staff to please sit down. This request was met with a cheer of "Stand up for the USA, Stand up for the USA, Stand up for the USA..." Security quit trying to make us sit down. So for the 2nd half our numbers doubled and we did what we could to be heard over the now loathed vuvuzela.

Once the game was over we headed back to where the buses were to pick us up and return us to our car. This is just another example of the complete and total lack of anything resembling organization at these events. There is no fan parking within probably 2 miles of the stadium so all 35,000 people in the stands this night were waiting for these buses or trying to find the specific bus that brought them from some other town. Rather than have an organized line-perhaps a system of ropes, nothing fancy just something to fill these buses in some sort of orderly fashion, they have fencing that runs along the edge of the bus pick-up area and the funnels toward a pick-up point. The result is people pushing like cattle toward an exit about 5 ft wide. Thousands of people, trying to get through four 5 ft wide exits, in the middle of a dusty field, miles away from the cars. To make matters even more utterly surreal, some people think that blowing the vuvuzela in the midst of this utter Cluster F%&k is not only a good idea, but something that must be done the entire time. At one point I just fell into a fit of laughter asking "are you serious?!?!", but in a much more colorful way. At last we made it to the car, and we find that it is obvious here as well that there is no method to the madness. There were cars parked facing every possible angle, there are 2 exits that are being approached in exactly the same way as the exit to the buses and to make the night absolutely, perfectly unbelievable one of the parking attendants is patting his belly asking Brett if he can have $20 Rand. Dude?!? Quit begging and start working because this isn't!! Look around! Unreal.

We finally made it home at about 4am.

The Yanks went marching in...

Is there a word that can be used to describe the feeling that I, along with the hundreds of people in my immediate vicinity, felt last night when Timmy, Landon, Jozi, and Clint teamed up to score a goal that could very well go down as one of the most important goals in US Soccer history? I would like to say "speechless" but that wouldn't be quite accurate, we screamed until the vessels in our heads felt as though they would burst. We may not have said anything that would be considered a coherent "word" but there was a joyous, defiant, victorious sound coming from everyone I could see. I might try to use the word "awe" but although this was an extraordinary moment, I never once thought it to be impossible. Every fiber of my being was confident that we would make it out of the 1st round but I swear to all things greater than I am, I didn't think it was going to be such a crazy road to the second round! A word like "redemption" comes to mind. We have had 2 of our 6 goals taken away- both of those were game breakers and both of them have been proven to be taken away without proper justification. Try as I might, I can't come up with the words that would do the feeling justice. Spectacular, marvelous, tremendous, wondrous- they are all, I suppose, close to the combination of emotions that coursed through me at that moment and the following few hours. I was utterly exhausted when the high of all that energy came down. I woke up this morning feeling calm.

We started the day like we have for most of the days we've been here with a quiet breakfast discussing the plans and time lines for the day. We broke off into different groups and ran some errands or lazed around the house writing. A few hours before kick-off we met back at the house and began getting ready. Some of us put the face-paint on and got our gear together. I have found that agreeing to take pictures with more than 1 scarf, needing to carry extra paint for touch-ups ( feel a little girly just saying that), my camera, house key, money, I.D., and an extra coat because of how cold it gets here at night, I feel like the little kid from the movie "A Christmas Story". I am carrying around way to much stuff to these games, but as promised I have a couple pics with the Fire scarf and the Byki scarf.

So upon departure we took what would end up being the first of countless pictures with strangers. Something about the face paint makes people want to put your image into their collection of moments not to be forgotten. Since Korea I would imagine that I am in such collections of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people from around the world. Okay maybe "thousands" is a stretch but being stopped for photos on game days has become something to be expected. But that's part of the fun of it. The number of people that have begun wearing more and more extravagant costumes is growing and it makes the experience and atmosphere all the more festive. I am thinking I may have to step things up in Cups to come because my "get-up" is getting dated! I am still wearing the same shirt that Shane bought for us in France in '98. I wear the same design on my face, more or less- I carry the same flag I bought prior to Korea in '02, flag boxers and a cowboy hat because I have met so many people in my travels that relate Americans to cowboys. But, since Korea and the "original" Elvis Trio, the costume has become a novelty. Our friend Skate April who we met in Korea also, made the Evel Knievel World Cup costume famous, as is evident now that we have seen Evel make a reappearance, albeit not the original as he is not Skate and he is not accompanied by the beautiful Mrs. Kenievel- Skates wife Siouxie. There was little drink poured out last night for the "homies that couldn't be here"- you were one of em.

Speaking of people no longer here, our man Ryan was forced to leave after the second game and our group has been forced to carry on minus one. Plus, it is just as unfortunate that we lose another tomorrow as Clint is forced to return home. It is a shame that we can't all just stop the clock and spend the entire tournament here having fun, supporting our team, and pickling our livers, together. Ahhh togetherness!

A little catching up!

In all there really aren't a lot of differences between the people we know and talk to everyday back home and the people we have met here. But, this of course comes as no surprise. People are people. They may not speak the same language all of the time but that doesn't change the fact that wherever you are from you can't be mad when you're laughing and it is impossible to whistle with a smile on your face. So, some random observations thus far:

The air quality here is horrible! There is no way to sugar coat this, the air is full of smoke and exhaust. This isn't changed by the city center to the suburbs- you walk outside and you smell smoke. I walked with a local S. African black named Tendai on the street after the US match at Ellis Park the other night. We spoke about the World Cup, S. Africa, Ben Harper, and why the side of the hill off in the distance was completely ablaze at 11pm. He said it was probably people trying to stay warm. At first this seems like perhaps he was trying to be funny, or he was clueless- this certainly wasn't meant to be a cozy little fire. The side of the mountain was on FIRE...FIRE...fire-fire-fire- ohhhh- yes it was on FIRE! But that probably makes Tendais point, it is cold here and there are a lot of people without the kinds of luxury's we are accustomed to so they burn whatever they can get their hands on to stay warm when the temps drop to about zero overnight. This bigger fire was probably just one of those little ones that got out of control. Plus, there are obviously no emissions standards here, and if there are, they are not enforced! If there is some posititve to be found from all of the pollution in the air, it does make for some pretty amazing sunsets. And I was happy he had heard of Ben Harper.

The music here is mostly trance, house, hip-hop! I made a terrible mistake prior to leaving on this trip. I tried to add a bunch of my brother-in-laws music to my I-pod. In my rush to get everything done before taking off I made the mistake of adding his music from my net-book. This of course erased all the music I previously had on the I-pod and added all of his. I am finding out that our tastes in music don't always jive. I miss my music!

There are advertisements everywhere here. The local newspapers put what look like front page story headlines in display cages on lightposts and and street signs. A couple favorites so far have been "FICK FUFA", and "Portugal Nukes Korea". Diesel has been running an ad campaign that I haven't been able to figure out just yet and that sort of scares me. "Be Stupid"! There are signs all over the place about things that are stupid and I just can't figure out what they are trying to say!

We have been unbelievabley lucky in terms of getting out to see other teams play. Never before have the tickets to games, or access to stadiums been so available to us. In the past we would always travel from city to city and stay for a night or two- check out the local happenings and then move on to the next place. This time around we have stayed in just one place. This has had its advantages, we have been getting a regular full breakfast with coffee and tea, eggs made your way, veggies and bacon, toast and jam. The lodge owners Ian and Larysta have been doting hosts with Dorothy and Yope making sure that we have whatever we might need or desire. The local stadium, as I have said is but 10 minutes walk from our front door. We have become familiar with shortcuts to the local fan fest so we can get down there without any trouble. We are becoming pretty good at navigating the streets in and around our neighborhood should we need gas for the cars, do some shopping at the mall, etc. It is nice to be able to get some descent sleep when it is needed. We have found what could be considered a paradise in the desert except for one minor detail- there is some construction going on here in Nirvana and they begin at about 7am. It starts relatively calm, with some early moring conversations and opening of tool boxes, placing of tools, maybe some remeasuring. This is the type of soft noise that you can easily work into your dreams. Ahhhh tapping, the sounds of muffled voices...ohhh dreamily warm and comfortable, secure and soft- dreaming of beaches and palm trees....BBBRRRRAAAHHHAHHAHHAH Circular SAWS and jackhammers, THWAK THWAK THWAK GRRRRRR THump THump! What The F%$K?!?! Is that dude hitting the wall above my head? I am waiting for the dust to start falling on my bed from the cieling above me. Oh yes, they must be pulling a 200 year old tree from the ground just outside my door. Ummmm yea, I am pretty sure I have heard that sound in the past, yep that is the sound of a funny car drag racer at the starting line exploding just after take off! But in the room next to me? Good morning! It must be 7am, don't want to waste the day!

We have seen four stadiums thus far; Pretoria (our home), Rustenburg, Ellis Park in Jo-Burg, and Soccer City in Jo-Burg. In these stadiums we have seen 5 games. Our first game was in Rustenburg and it was The US vs England. It was a pretty great experience watching what was a very surprising number of Americans show and support the US in what I thought would be a very one sided display of fans. The English fans were very brash and gave our team very little chance of competing with their beloved England! Looks like the English team had over looked us too.  Because we live so close to the stadium here in Pretoria I was able to go see the mighty Danes play against Camaroon. I have an affinity for the Danes having played for a team there 52 or so years ago. They didn't disappoint and gave an effort equal to the task of getting 3 points. To all my fellow danes out there- you are DYNAMITE!   

Revenge of the Zela!

The past couple of days have been a bit of a blur. We went on what was possibly the coldest imaginable African Safari, then to Sun City- a Vegas style oasis of gambling and hotels for some lunch and a game. Jim, Ryan and German all won a little cash while the rest of us just loitered around and commented on the number of pregnant women we saw hanging out in casinos which just so happened to be the only smoking sections in the place. In their defense we didn't see any of them smoking but they weren't playing either so I am not sure what the point of their being there was. By the time we decided to leave it was well past dark so we were left with no alternative than to do what we were warned not to do and that is to drive in the rural areas after dark. But we made it without incident but will try not to do that again as it was a little sketchy.

The next day we tried to spend as normal a day as possible by heading down to the gym for a workout and then to the mall to do some shopping- the staples of beer, wine, sandwich makings, chips and trail mix. Bought some local soy milk...interesting. After returning we all had some snacks, a shower and prepared ourselves for the evening. South Africa was playing Uruguay and this type of an event is something that must be seen to be fully understood. The day of a host nation game is a pretty special thing to be a part of. Everyone was decorated with small S.A. flag stickers or face paint on their cheeks or foreheads. Some have gone the route of full on fanatic face paint. The horns and flags are common sights too, but it is the energy in the air- the overwhelming feeling of anticipation that becomes the buzz. This game is being played at the stadium down the street so we don't have far to go to be a part of it all. When we left the house in the morning to head over to the gym we could here the unmistakable sound of the vuvuzela in the distance. We didn't have tickets to this game but in our experience thus far there have been ample amounts of tickets outside the stadiums- the question is always, how much will they be charging? Either way we felt confident that we would be getting into the stadium for this game.

When we arrived at Hatfield Square, which is the official Fan Zone for this stadium we say for what is probably the first time the type of environment that we have become accustomed to and honest have come to expect at the World Cup. Finally the streets were blocked off to allow for foot traffic only and the streets were full of the colors of the days teams. Perhaps things are different in the stadiums of the towns in which have not yet been but in Rustenberg, Jo-burg and here in Pretoria this is really the first time we have seen this type of atmosphere and it was long overdue. The World Cup frenzy was now obvious and the world is finally as it should be; happy, lively and anticipating great things. The shops are full, there are vendors lining the sidewalks and everyone is consumed in the festival-like atmosphere. People are smiling and laughing; posing for pictures and wishing strangers a good day. The World Cup should be everyday! But I suppose that such a thing would diminish how special it is and the effects of goodwill it is responsible for.

So off we go toward the stadium after a couple beers and a bite to eat. We have become pretty comfortable with the different routes to the stadium and where fishing for tickets is likely to be most successful. However, purchasing tickets on the street is frowned upon here even if the purchase is made at face value or cheaper. But we are left with little alternative as the only ticketing centers have nothing but the high priced premium seating, if any, and the stadiums here have yet to be seen, at least by us, at capacity. So there are tickets out there and we are going to find them! Even so it is a sellers market so we head to a corner at which we have been lucky finding tickets before and almost immediately we are approached by some white S. Africans and an Englishman with available tickets. They are asking greater than face but, as I said earlier, seeing the home nation play is something that must be done at least once. I was able to see Germany play Sweden in the knock-out stage of the last Cup at the new Allianz Stadium in Munich and it was simply thrilling. So 3 of our group decide that they are willing to pay the asking price which leaves 4 of us choosing to wait a bit longer to see if the prices fall as the start of the game gets nearer. Our groups part and the 3 with tickets in hand happily make their way toward the giant bowl of vuvuzelas. The sound where we were standing at this point, still 2 hours prior to kick-off and nearly 1000 yards from the nearest corridor that leads into the seats of the stadium was so loud it was almost laughable!

At this point the remaining four of us decide to return to Hatfield to enjoy a couple beers and the feel good vibes that were soaking the square. We found a nice little reggae bar called The Stone Lion Cafe which invited us in with live music filtering out of the darkness and into the street and a somewhat surprising "Joey's tailor" type of weapons frisk. WHOA! Actually for such a large man he was surprisingly gentle. So in we walked with wide eyes and honestly a little confused by what just happened. I think we need a beer! Not but moments later we find ourselves faced with bottle beers that are less than $2.00, very nice! Good beer, lively music, great company and yes...here it is...live entertainment!

There is a young white S. African stallion with two young ladies on his arm who are obviously taken by his fearless swagger and noticeable unpredictability. They order 3 beers from the bar beside us. They turn away, then stop. He has had...wait, I think...yep, he's had an idea. The vuvuzela he has been carrying around blowing like an elephant trumpeting to potential mates, and like an annoying jackass oblivious to startled passers-by and patrons enjoying a conversation about the potential legal implications of an international incident involving a large plastic horn and the non-fatal placement of it in the only other place such a device could be inserted in the opposite end of this fledgling musician, looks as though it could be used as a beer bong. Yep! It's large at one end and narrows down to a little nozzle...perfect! Bottle up, vuvuzela down, flip it over, guzzle-guzzle-guzzle. Uh-oh, I've seen that face before. This guy is going to get sick. He's fighting it, but inevitably he is going to lose this battle. Eyes watering, short breathes and cheeks puffed out like Louis Armstrong he makes his way to the bathroom. I am once again a fan of the vuvuzela.

A day worth remembering!

This morning like most others we are all slowly doing our own thing. Brett and Ryan have gone down to the ticketing center at the Brooklyn mall in hopes of securing some tickets to today’s Denmark/ Netherlands game at the flagship stadium in Jo-burg, Soccer City. While Jim and Corey lay in their rooms, Clint and German type on their computers, I write.

Not yet knowing what today will hold I can pronounce with confidence, “Yesterday was a great day”! After lunch we decided to walk to the stadium down the road from our house to check out the scene around the stadium on a game day for an African nation- Ghana vs. Serbia and it did not disappoint. We ended up getting some tickets from some guys that seemed to be representing the Ghana Football Association- at least that’s what our tickets say. The scene around the stadium was, as expected, full of Ghana supporters with a couple, and I seriously mean very few, Serbian fans mixed in between the Italians, Argentines, ourselves, and the S. Africans. This is of coursed assumed based on the jerseys present. One guy wanted to trade my brand new US jersey for his old beat up Argentina jersey. This potential opportunity of an old school barter seemed a no brainer to me. The dude didn’t look as though he’d had a shower in days so I can only imagine how long it’s been since that shirt has seen the inside of a washing machine. “Sour apple” was the only thing that came to mind. I walked on with my new US jersey freshly laundered and about my front and back.

With our new tickets in hand we approached the stadium gates hearing the buzz of the vuvuzelas from deep within the belly of the stadium. First place we hit, it was our liquor store…they will sell you as many beers as you can carry. At one point they sold just German and I seven $2.50 beers. Yes the beer is that cheap and the largest number of beers I have seen one person walk away from the counter with is 5. I guess bigger hands, means more beers. So we grab our fizzy fun makers and make our way to the seats. The tickets we have purchased turn out to be all over the place, but at least they are in the same section of the stadium so we all pretty much just found an open section of chairs and called it home. Two of the most noticeable aspects of this Cup, which is in stark contrast to other Cups I have been to and sporting events back in the States. First, the level of organization is a bit lacking. Those who would be considered ushers are really just people who stand at the opening of a section and answer questions if you have them. For those of us that know the “I own this place” rule, the stadium has been our playground. For those who may be unfamiliar with this method of seat selection it is done by finding the section that we feel will provide us with the best experience, walking up to the usher with ticket in hand and if they try to stop you from walking through, (knowing the section) say something like “104, row K” and then point to the left or right and they will enthusiastically point to where you are not actually ticketed. They feel as though they are being helpful and you get to see if there are any open seats where you would like to sit. If there are not we move along, if someone comes to find us in their seats we courteously move along and find a new vantage. But this can only be done because of the less than capacity crowds that have been seen for this opening round of games, which is the other aspect of this Cup that differs from those in the past. Korea also had a small issue filling the stadiums but rather than allow them to look ¾ full they gave tickets away to youth groups and community organizations which ensured a stadium at almost capacity. There seems to be no attempts at filling these stadiums, at least the couple that we have been to thus far. There are ticketing kiosks that do sell any available tickets but these ticket centers are not in or around the stadiums. They are often miles away from the stadiums so there is no way of accommodating walk-up ticket sales. There have been some ticket holders selling their tickets, but these options have been few in our experience. So after attempting to purchase tickets via the ticketing kiosk at the mall a few miles from our house we hit the street and walked down to the stadium to find a way into the game.

The tickets we ended up with cost us about $35 each. To put this in perspective, the seats we ended up in would have cost about double that for an MLS match and hundreds more for any of the other major league sports in the states. This, I think, says a lot about the affordability of great seats in MLS and just how great the cost was for us to see a World Cup match on level 1 at about the top of the penalty area!



So the scene inside the stadium here in Pretoria was fantastic with the drums and flags, dancing and singing, and of courses, the vuvuzelas. As a little side note, I was chatting with my friend, and fellow Fire volunteer, Jenn Jarmula and she had mentioned that the vuvuzela is a bit much for those of you back home. Now I realize this might not ease the nightmares of swarming African killer bees, inside the stadiums it is not at all like on the TV. The group of Ghana supporters next to us were actually using them as musical instruments and blowing them in rhythm in such a way that the different horns complimented one another and was, to me at least, rather entertaining. However, I have also watched the games on television and it would appear that every single horn being blown at any one time is picked up by the broadcast. Sorry about that! It really isn’t as bad as it might seem.

So as we sit and watch the game we have noticed that there is the usual 10 ft space between the stands and the field boards but there is no gate blocking the end of the steps of our row. Not only is there no one really guarding this space between the field and the stands, there are Ghana fans doing a sort of conga dance in it. It’s halftime so I look to German and give him the “you wanna go down there” head point and eyebrow raise, to which he responds as I thought he would with the “hell yeah!” facial expression head nod. Armed with smiles, our cameras, and a fearless sense of adventure we ran down the aisle and dipped into the river of drums and song. After a few minutes we the 2nd half begins and we all return to our seats. Our seats are in an area just a row or two above a section of fans that are mostly women dressed in gowns, scarves and headdresses of the most brilliant reds, yellows, blacks and greens. They sang and danced and clapped without pause for the entire game as I stood in awe of what I was so lucky to be a part of. The Ghana attack is moving toward the goal directly in front of us so every attempt at goal has an added sense of electricity. With each charge up the field toward goal, in this scoreless match, the Ghana fans and us as well become a little more rabid. The whistle blows and a Serbian defender is called for a handball in the box- penalty kick. From where we sat it looked as though it was a poor tackle from the Ghana attacker so hearing the whistle was not a surprise but seeing the referee point to the spot made us think that perhaps Serbia had just been served a cold, stale portion of bad luck. But that’s the game and the kick is taken, goal scored and we witnessed this little stadium split at the seams.

This is the type of experience that makes the World Cup such an amazing event. Being a part of, and surrounded by what can only be described as pure joy felt by so many people. Each country brings with it a different style both in the way they play the game and also in the way the fans take part. From a cultural viewpoint it is an incredibly wonderful experience. I danced with the people of Ghana in celebration of their win at the World Cup. Even the vuvuzelas had a charming appeal which may be as rare a thing as my opportunities in life to share, with a people who were before yesterday strangers to me, something so special. Will I recognize these people on the streets tomorrow? Probably not, but the memory of the moment will last forever.

US vs. England 1-1, and the new luxury vehicle - “Elephante”!

Below is the picture of our group just prior to taking off for the game in Rustenburg.

Upon departure, as you can see, the sun was shining and the temperature was in the upper 60’s to low 70’s. So we left with long sleeves and high hopes, and that would become something we will be sure to remedy the next time we leave the house for any evening jaunts into the African wild. It got cold!
So off to the buses we went with smiles abound and the talk of the evening focused on the potential line-ups our man at the helm Bradley might employ to stifle the English effort at making our debut at the 2010 WC a long and painful one. Will it be Buddle or Findley? Will Gooch get the start? Where might Deuce be most effective? 7 armchair managers on the steps of City Hall waiting for a bus that appears to be running late. Surely they have this all under control I mean we did buy our tickets in a trailer on the grass of a courtyard between the City Hall and a museum, it must be legit!  Our bus is scheduled to depart at 3pm, travel 65 miles and we should be partying with the rest of the contingent by 5 for an 8:30 start. Yes, foreshadowing!
Schedules! We are finding that here in S. Africa, that which is scheduled is really just considered a possibility. If something is scheduled it might just happen, so don’t be late! So at about 3:30 we are patiently waiting for the doors of the bus to close and the journey to begin. We are sitting with about 30 or so others from the US, England, Australia and Denmark- when who should appear at the top of the steps? A very unofficial looking man wearing a red beanie- he says that our bus will not actually be departing until 4:30 but we should not worry as the bus will “fly there, no problems, no problem”! Some of the English aboard the bus begin to cry about a refund, “this is absurd, we should have a full refund”, yet no one steps off the bus as it is known that the drive to Rustenburg is not one for the faint of heart. The US squad missed the opening minutes of the S. Africa/ Mexico game after being caught behind a rather large, slow moving vehicle known, at least in these parts, as an elephant which had found the level terrain of the 2 lane highway to be far superior to the vast areas surrounding the road. We believed the bus to be a much better idea than trying to drive our rentals and force 2 of our crew to be DD’s. So when we finally depart we are in good spirits and we watch as the sun begins to set on the day that we hope will bring us a victory in our first WC match!
                                                               
I LOVE my new camera!
So as the sun sets we find that the pace of our chariot has begun to slow, and then come to a complete stop. As we snail toward the horizon we see that cars are beginning to pass us on the shoulder. Our driver starts to become as annoyed as we are by being put behind more and more cars so he moves the bus to the left to block the shoulder. This move is countered by the mass behind us with a pass on the right. Now there are officially 2 lanes of cars on a single lane side of traffic and we are in a bus on the shoulder of the road…Africa! This is the pace of our journey for the next 2 hours. We can see the glow of the stadium off in the distance but we are moving toward it in such a way that every person on the bus is fearful that we may not make this game on time. When we finally arrive at the stadium it is about 45 minutes before kick-off (65 miles in 3hrs 15). But we weren’t late, we didn’t miss anything and we left the bus happy and ready to get inside the stadium that was buzzing with the sounds of the Vuvuzela.
The vuvuzela is something that will not go away during this Cup and it shouldn't necessarily considered a bad thing, though it is a very unpleasant sound. Each of the past 3 Cups we have attended have had their common, overly repeated themes. In 98 it was Ricky Martins song “Cup of Life” heard in every coffee shop, club, bus, and car passing on the road. I felt as if I heard “Goal, goal, goal- ole, ole ole” one more time I would fall into a madness induced coma. In 02 it was the Korean chants of “Be the Reds” and “Korea Team Fighting” that rolled over us in waves from the seas of red shirts that filled the streets and parks, and buses and trains. In Germany 06 we couldn’t walk 10 minutes without hearing the song “Stand up for the Champions”. This time around it is like an invading hoard of locusts created through a long plastic tube. This is not to be outdone though as someone has taken it upon themselves to include what can only be described as a sort of duck call. A much smaller version of the vuvuzela that sounds like a furious baby crying, or perhaps a really pissed off duck. They suck just as bad as the vuvuzela. But, again it is the theme of this Cup and every Cup has its own flavor. I can only look forward to Brazil and hope the theme for that Cup is naked girls dancing in the streets, and restaurants, and buses, and trains, etc. Just kidding, but really, that would be kind of cool- really cool!
So we found our places in the stadium and kick-off was just minutes away when the teams hit the field and and the national anthem began. We sang as the flag fell over our section and we were ready. Unfortunately so was England. They came out strong and scored on us quickly but we were seeing from our boys grit and fight. We felt confident that our team was going to stay in the game and they didn’t disappoint. What was disappointing was the number of English fans in our section. In the past the US contingent has been packed into the Category 3 sections behind one of the goals but this was not the case here. But one benefit to the helter skelter organization here is that it wasn’t hard for the guys with seats away from ours to make their way over to our section. Now there were many highlights to the game but when Dempsey scored the goal in the 40th ish minute we went absolutely mad. I can hardly talk today and I am sure that the 2 or so minutes of screaming like a 12 year old girl after that ball went in is likely the major cause. But oh so worth it. That goal was another shot heard around the world and we saw it live. Brilliant!
A few of the pictures of the stadium and game.
  

Today we have plans to walk down to the stadium that is less than a 1/2 mile from our house and see if we can get some tickets to the Serbia vs. Ghana game on the cheap!