South Africa in disbelief

Watching movies, we are taught in Film Studies, involves suspending your disbelief. Neglecting that what see isn't real. That normal rules do not apply. I have found that the suspension of disbelief is evenly important when supporting Bafana Bafana in the World Cup.

In the weeks leading up to the first match I was about as hopeful about a South African success as I was about a solution in Copenhagen or world peace in the next century, but the atmosphere in the country has been so excessively optimistic that the Bafana fever crept in between he lines. By the time Friday morning swung around I had joined the ranks of millions of yellow-clad pop-up soccer fans. It all culminated in Tshabalala’s fantastic opening goal in the 57th minute, leaving a nation breathless suspending their disbelief for some 20 minutes.

But Mexico provided an equalizer, SA didn’t manage to get a win, but combined with the nil-both result of France-Urugay, the draw was enough reason for a nation to take to the streets, and the Cape Town city bowl buzzed with excitement until the early hours of the morning. Even though the rain moved in, the sound of vuvuzelas did not subside, and on our icy drive to Port Elizabeth was furnished with garage personnel kicking balls around and the ever present South African flag flying from mirrors and antennas.

When South Africa – Uruguay the kicked off last night the disbelief was still was still very much absent in the fan park in rain and wind plagued PE, where thousands had filled the cricket stadium to watch the game on big screen and cheer on the home side. The atmosphere was amazing, flags were waved to Nkosi Sikelel’i, Waka Waka and the Coca Cola theme song alike, and the sound never let up. Not when Forlan’s shot hit the roof of the goal, giving the Uruguayan side an edge. Not when Suarez eagerly fell to the floor, and not even when saviour of the first match Khune received a direct red card. We were sure that substitute goalie Josephs could repeat the trick he had shown earlier in a win over Guatamala by stopping a penalty. But Forlan’s shot whistled past, touching but his finger tips and hugged the net. Then silence hit the stadium and the fan park. After hearing the constant blear of horns for hours in a row, there is no sound more impressive than that of a silent crowd of thousands.

Bafana did not deserve the fans leaving the stadium early, but it seemed as if the spell was broken. The disbelief that so many had kept up brazenly started to crumble like a sandcastle at rising tide. Me and my friends rooted for a draw in the France – Mexico match earlier this evening, cheering on the goal-evasion techniques of the lofty Jabulani ball, but saw France helplessly being butchered by the eager Mexicans on their way to the round of 16.

With a 5 goal difference with Mexico in SA’s disadvantage, we must now believe in a 3-0 win against France, and a 3-0 win by Uruguay over Mexico, where either of these teams can do with a draw to proceed. It is a long shot. But the ball is round. France isn’t that impressive and Uruguay has shown their goal-scoring abilities. And even though I know the odds are stacked sky high against Bafana Bafana, on Tuesday I, and with me the rest of the country, will readily suspend our disbelief once more.

My thesis on the World Cup

A little thought experiment. Picture writing a thesis. Not the easiest of jobs, but with the right mix of concentration and endurance it is doable. People have done it before, people do it all the time. So, theoretically speaking: No biggie.
Good. Now add being bombarded for months with slogans like “Live it! Love it! Louder!” and “Feel it, IT IS HERE!”, screaming and cheering people in advertisement for products ranging from soap to insurance and a 1/3 of every news bulletin dedicated to the FIFA 2010 Soccer World Cop. Things build up.

Ok, we’ve got it so far. Now note that the things mentioned above start influencing the direct everyday world around you. People start asking you: “Can you feel it? It is here!”, people rock up to formal work meetings in football jerseys, strangers stop you in the street to discuss the chances of the home side. Soccer becomes the norm.

And then the final blow: the structure of the outside world changes accordingly. Roads are blocked off, bands of foreign nationals, recognised by their flags and colours, roam the streets. On familiar places unfamiliar things arise, like stadiums, fan parks, marimba bands and the never ending supply of paraphernalia. And the vuvuzela’s. Morning, midday, afternoon, evening. And night. Oh, the piercing sound of a vuvuzela penetrating the confines of my bedroom at five in the morning.

There’s a limit to what a person can handle. And the meaning of some words gets lost in the above process of transformation. Like the word ‘thesis’. It rings a bell. Somewhere. But it is drowned out by the trumpeting sounds around me, the enveloping madness of a people unitedly excited. So I don’t know what you are going to do with your day, BUT I’M OUTTA HERE!