iHooligan

After a snarl in the New York City subway I arrived at Berry Park in Brooklyn just as the Korean fans and a fair amount of American and Argentinian supporters were applauding Korea’s victory over Greece. Still I was in time to see Messi and Company with their mad, scatological captain Ahab, Maradona, start their chase of the white whale of crazy greatness. He had the beard, the scars and command of the ship.

All the while I was thinking of the Thing ahead. In the anonymous space of the internet, terrace chants and insults were being hurled. Sky News had gone on a strange rant the night before that all Americans were blaming England for the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

Sky News belittled us and that good sportsmanship and good-natured rivalry that I usually felt for our cousins across the pond changed.  And I mean that I felt it as an acidic panic in my chest. We could not, under any circumstances, lose.

The sound in Berry Park was murky. The announcers’ words could not be picked up by human ears.  By then the ever present buzz of the vuvuzela’s had been assimilated.  I had to think about them to notice them.   They buzzed like nerve ends when I did though.

Good news for Argentina as Messi scored right away and did not vanish from this game like he had in the qualifications. He had not scored in his last 7 international games but had remained transcendent at Barcelona where he has been playing since he was an embryo.

The Nigerians were outclassed even with a few runs on the Argentinian goal and Maradona running up and down the sidelines as much as anyone. The Hand of God would land on someone’s shoulder every few minutes and pull them aside for a talk before his attention was turned back to the play.

Nigeria had no shape, no style. Argentina could retain possession in front of the Nigerian goal through multiple passes but Nigeria always gave it away immediately.

At the end of the match, before the claps for the Argentina victory had died off the chant, “USA, USA, USA!” began and that has to be the worst fucking chant in the world and we, as a nation, have to do something about that. The Brits next to me fled to another pub but most remained along with Nigerian, Argentinian and Korean jerseys on prominent display.

Then a more professional cheering outfit arrived, draped in flags and wearing tricorn hats. My nerves were off the charts. This was a memory that would buoy or haunt me for the rest of my life. We had to win. They were playing Africa by Toto and people laughed. Then they played Country Roads and the whole place sang along.

Worst fears were confirmed when Gerrard scored before five minutes had passed. The confident American cheering section died for a while, stricken and horrified, while the Brits cheered, “You’re not singing anymore.” And it was true. 85 plus minutes to go and we were down by one already. We were so focused on Rooney, I thought, that we let Gerrard right past us. But still I didn’t think this was going to be a routine ass kicking. Somehow I knew an early goal would tranquilize the British. I had seen it happen enough in the Premier League when teams were playing it safe. We had a chance. 85 plus minutes to get it back. Guts churned in new and unusual ways.

I found myself thanking Capello for not including Walcott in his English squad. That little fucker is fast and would most certainly take advantage of our over adventurous defense, rocketing into those vast tracts of land they left behind them with a stolen ball.

The rest of the half was a story of blown chances for both sides and the US defense gave me small heart attacks as some of them seem to be headed for the Atlantic Ocean when, perhaps, they should have been back defending the fucking goal. But Tim Howard was our defense. He was a beast. But it was quite the opposite story for Rob “Butterfingers” Green when he fumbled a very soft kick from distance by Clint Dempsey that could have been kicked by an anemic runway model but was handled by Mr. Magoo when it reached the goal. Green’s padded fingers went all funny and the ball rolled lamely over the goal line.

The bar exploded. The vocalized objections of the British fans that you knew had to be there were drowned out in their entirety. The Americans were certainly singing again. And after the obligatory USA chant we sang, “O-ver-rated!” The next half I was going to be chewing my fingers off. But somehow I felt certain that over the thousands of miles and farting buzz of the vuvuzela’s that our boys could hear us screaming, the collective roar from all that bars we gathered at, and that they were not going to screw the pooch. Not this time.

Of the second half I remember mostly anxiety. And that I did not know who could win this but I was sure that Tim Howard would not lose this. It ended in a draw, the British fans in the pub downcast and the yanks cheering and singing and marching to the rooftop to drink and laugh.

The next day the New York Post, of all rags, had an uncharacteristically witty and knowing headline. Instead of the usual bombast like HELLFIRE VOLCANO THREATENS TO STOP THE WORLD or VAMPIRE LOVE COP, they had US WINS 1-1.

Maybe later.

The second match of the World Cup pitted Uruguay against Ireland France. The mics were close to the players during the national anthems and that was. . .regrettable. Flat, toneless anthem performances aside, as much as I adore French literature, art and film, this French team does not deserve to be at this World Cup due to Thierry Henry’s Hand of Gaul goal. Even the French, by many accounts, don’t think they should be there.

The match started of without the services of Thierry Henry or Malouda on the French side. Leaving Malouda out of the starting 11 was more mystifying since he has been on fire recently for Chelsea.

Early on Franck Ribery sent a clinical cross to Sidney Govou in front of the Uruguayan goal but he choked at point blank range and sent the ball off to the left.

Patrice Evra picked up a yellow card early on for a silly, late tackle.

Diego Forlan made the first shot on goal but Hugo Lloris caught it. Forlan is quite a dangerous striker as Fulham found out in the Europa League final.

Yoann Gourcuff made a brilliant shot at goal from a free kick that was just as brilliantly batted away by Fernando Muslera in the top corner.

Ribery picked up France’s second card in 20 minutes and then vanished from the game right through the rest of the half.

More yellow cards were lofted into the air and tempers began to flare but Uruguay brought on Nicolas Lodeiro who minutes later picked up a red card for a dangerous tackle and Uruguay was down to ten men. However, even with the addition of Henry and Malouda to the French side Uruguay continued to completely shut down all French attacks and Forlan had three viable strikes on the French goal. Wrapping up at 0-0, all the group A sides walked away with one point today.

The players on both sides were tense looking as they mouthed their respective national anthems. The teams huddled on the same side of the pitch on South Africa’s side perhaps an early sign that Mexico was just as jittery as the Bafana. The death of Nelson Mandela’s great grand daughter the night before in a car accident on the way back from the jubilant opening concert the night before added a note of poignancy to the opener and no small amount of extra pressure, I imagine, on Bafana Bafana. So Madiba could not be present at the opening game but as President Zuma said, “His spirit would be.”

Mexico dominated possession in the opening minutes and looked to run roughshod over the South African’s. But every ball and header at the South African goal went high above the crossbar. Blame it on the ball. Blame it on the altitude. But for my money it was nerves.

Possession evened out around 20 minutes into the match but Bafana had a few premature crosses and their offense hesitated too much when space opened up in the Mexican defense. They were, of course, being cautious.

Mexico had their first big chance when Franco, in front of goal, caught a ball in the air on the side of his right foot but South African goal keeper Khune saved the day.

Six minutes later there was a Mexican corner kick that was kicked about in front of goal until it landed at Vela’s feet who put it in goal but he was offside. Only one Bafana player was on the goal line and Khune was well ahead of Vela. This is a good time to mention that the refereeing in this match was top notch by Ravshan Irmatov from Uzbekistan.

Near half time South Africa had multiple chances at goal from several successive corner kicks and, even though it doesn’t seem possible, the vuvuzela noise cranked up noticeably.

Finally the happy moment came for South Africa when Soweto born Kaizer Chiefs striker Tshabalala entered the history books when he collected a pass from the midfield and fired the ball into the goal from the top of the penalty box with a Mexican defender trailing him. Classy shot. Desmond Tutu could be seen dancing in the stands with his Bafana scarf, jersey and knit cap.

Bafana nearly went ahead by another point in the 70th minute with Modise running for the goal but he fumbled the shot as Rodriguez was right on top of him and keeper Óscar Pérez scooped the easily.

Eight minutes later South Africa gave away a cheap goal, perhaps too emboldened as Juarez passed to Marquez who was closest to goal and completely unmarked by the Bafana defense.

About fifteen more minutes of jangly nerves continued and close to the ending whistle Mphela shot the ball in a tantalizing position in front of the Mexican goal but heartbreakingly hit the post.

And so a great, lively match ended 1-1 and happily, really, for Bafana as they flew in the face of the pundits today.

No matter how many people you talk to the South African crime rate is hard to pin down. It is simultaneously rising and falling. You hear that the murder rate has been steadily dropping for 15 years and you also hear that South Africa has a murder rate slightly less than a war zone.

Stories abound of brutal home invasions and gruesome photos are offered to back up the theory that there is an ongoing genocide of white farmers in South Africa. But the Committee of Inquiry into Farm Attacks claim that very few farm attacks involved murder and only 61% of farm attack victims were white. These figures were immediately questioned by the The Transvaal Agricultural Union.  The statistics on South African crime appear to occupy a murky and slippery place in the South African psyche.

During the World Cup 41,000 extra, if corpulent, police are being deployed for the month of the competition. These extra hands will probably be flooding the tourist areas to ensure that South Africa projects the image of safety and security to the world. There are internal concerns that with the world and the South African security forces focused on the World Cup that there will be a huge increase in suburban home invasions, car jackings and kidnappings. Still many tourist have kept away and while a few would like to blame that on the current economy the real issue seems to be people’s fear of crime. Any number of hysterical, almost apocalyptic videos on crime in South Africa can be found on You Tube. The videos are often amateur offerings accompanied by spooky music and fraught with racial tension.

Photo taken by John Knox at O.R. Tambo Airport in Johannesburg

South Africans I meet generally offer up a dire view of how this event is going to go. When they find out I am going to attend they generally look at me with a combination of concern and pity. . .every time. However, people I have met who have recently traveled to South Africa as tourists have nothing but praise for the place. None of them were the victim of a crime (although one was charged by a rhino).

Some tourist are going to get robbed during the World Cup. They are probably going to be very drunk. Some might even die if they manage to fall off their hotel balcony or stagger into oncoming traffic. Of greater concern for the tourist would be the question of how South African authorities are going to handle crowd control. 16 people were injured at a Makhulong stadium near Johannesburg during the warm up game between Nigeria and North Korea. Off course that this event was free and right at a national fever pitch for soccer could go a long way to explaining why a stampede happened.

It could be that when we, the fans, travel to South Africa we will be safer than we have ever been in our lives – and after we leave that safety will be unsustainable for the people of South Africa. And that is really my concern; that all this money and infrastructure improvement will not actually benefit the people of South Africa in the end. I would hope that pulling off an event of this magnitude will instill a national confidence that greater tasks can be undertaken by this historically troubled country.

As Simon Kuper points out in his book, Football Against the Enemy, “. . .in Soweto the crime-rate dropped to unprecedented levels during the Italian World Cup. The idea that sport might help build a nation is less wishful than it sounds.”

If you are worried – you can always just concentrate on the good news.

Acid Cow has all 32 team posters that take their style from African street signs. I have seen a lot of these up on the New York Subway.

And a very industrious couch potato has created a pretty awesome spreadsheet for the World Cup that “will work on Mac or PC or in OpenOffice (in Ubuntu). It works in all versions from Excel 97 – 2007.”

The Guardian sports blog has a list of great World Cup goals that are outside the canon (no hand of god here).

Andrew Guest, who is a social scientist with first hand experience in Africa has written a great article on South African soccer and the historical revisionism of Invictus.

And all you Yanks can sign the petition for the US World Cup bid but what effect that would have on the mysterious machinations of FIFA I do not know.

In many ways both Inter and Bayern Munich are dull if successful teams. While the German national team appears to be playing a more loose, dare I say, more flamboyant game, Bayern remains reserved in a style traditionally associated with German teams. Inter never appears to display any pyrotechnics but like the kudzu growing over the flora of the southern United States, they win.

You can knit your brow often over Inter; you watch a game and nothing appears to happen, your attention begins to stray from the TV screen to something else, anything, and suddenly the announcer explodes with a goal announcement in Inter’s favor. What? Oh. . .

Watching the Champions League final you could not help but thinking that maybe it should have been Barcelona and somebody else. This final played out almost as an afterthought.

In fact, we kept switching bars (my wife was in search of a pool table and I recognized this match was in no way a great introduction to the beautiful game) because nothing was riveting us to the screen. And a friend had a new puppy we were carrying around with us and pool and puppies were definitely more of a distraction than Inter and Bayern.

Even later in the day on the pub crawl I found myself fascinated with a captioned Mathew Borderick movie called Project X, paying more attention in between wretched pool shots to the plot than I was able to muster for the match.

Good thing there is the World Cup this year otherwise the European season would have ended everything with a “pfffffffffft.”

Thankfully though, puppies are cute.

The day is nearly upon us and while there is not widespread rioting in the streets or buildings burning I expect the World Cup to have more of a presence this year in the US than in years past. Certainly with ESPN showing all the games and many of the World Cup tickets being picked up by Americans there has been more of a media blitz this time out.

The provisional squad list has been released by FIFA so armchair managers can begin dreaming up tactics and fans can react with fury or delight over who is in and who is out. I’ll miss Riquelme’s dour countenance and languid style for Argentina. I still find it a joy to watch as a weird anachronism – almost a window to the past. And considering the safer play of World Cup matches Riquelme isn’t all that out of context.

If you need a little more hyping up Nike managed to wrangle Academy Award winning director Alejandro González Iñárritu to direct their flashy World Cup video. Iñárritu is responsible for the films Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel and recently got a big standing O at Cannes for his new film Biutifu.

It’s official. Chelsea take the double after winning the Premier League and now the FA Cup. This is the first time Chelsea have won the double and the 11th time it has happened to a team in the 129 years of the FA Cup.

The  final between Chelsea and Portsmouth was surprisingly contentious with hard fouls and fights almost breaking out. There were no less than two missed penalty kicks by each team and the game’s only goal by Didier Drogba came from a free kick. Certainly was not the pasting that Chelsea gave Wigan last week.

Still, sadly for Pompey they get relegated from the Premier League after a bad season not to mention they are in great financial difficulty.

I have been meaning to add some music to this site since music goes with just about anything including football. And while not an article on how terrace chants affect the mating habits of frogs I will instead simply kick off with a concert I recently attended.

On May 6 I went to the benefit concert at Le Poisson Rouge in Manhattan for New Zealand musician Chris Knox who suffered from a stroke last year. The event started around 6pm and went on until nearly 2am. Chris Knox most famously helmed the band the Tall Dwarves and has been on the music scene since the late seventies. This event raised 37, 500 dollars for him and sold out in 20 minutes.

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