Impressions and Notes

Stylish Africans (or the Sartorialist goes to Johannesburg). They don’t ape American or European styles, it is not an H&M culture of watered down runway fashion. They take the cast-offs and hand-me-downs from the US and Europe, things we donate to charity and make them their own. It is not so much altering the garments or tailoring them, just wearing them in ways Westerners would never think of. And looking good, stylish, proud. Cool.

Lovely warm afternoon sun.

Long walks through the lonely, wealthy and white suburban neighborhoods. Electric fence and “armed response” fortresses. An army of black security guards protecting the white folk from their poor black brothers and sisters. Odd.

Japan wins.

Shopping mall culture. Sinister motives.

Jo'burg

Adventure of the day

I woke rather late and missed the breakfast here in the guest house. I decided to go into the city, to one of the official FIFA “Fan Fests”. I don’t know if these existed before, in the 2002 or 1998 Cups, or if the Germans invented them in 2006. The concept is simple: take a large public square, set up a stage with a jumbo-tronTV for fans to watch the matches, provide food and drink and…voila a “fest” or party. In Germany these were well attended and loads of fun. The one in Newton, a district of Johannesburg, was almost empty. So empty in fact I felt a bit ill at ease. I ate some chicken, drank a beer and watched the match (Ghana v. Serbia)

I’m not going to make any socio-political comments now about Johannesburg or South Africa, having been here just over 48 hours. I want to keep this as much about my football experience as possible. But as the sun was beginning to set I became increasingly aware that I was being checked out, not by attractive women, but by some shady characters. I decided it was time to leave and asked an event staff where I could find a taxi. He graciously offered to walk me to where I could find a taxi, explaining that I would have to take a “local” taxi to a rank where I would find another taxi to take me to Sandton where I’m staying. He flagged down a mini van full of people and told the driver where I needed to go. What the f*#%?! I climbed in.

I have to point out this is not about a rich white guy sitting in a van full of poor black people. It is about the huge reputation Johannesburg has for crime. That is what made me uneasy. I wanted to take a photo because I thought a) this is totally absurd; and b) this may be the only authentic Jo’burg experience I’ll have. I decided against it.

The minivan drove deeper into the city and dropped me off literally in the middle of the road. Someone pointed in the direction I needed to go. I was quietly nervous, but laughing to myself at the same time. How do I get myself into these situations? It was Sunday and still the street was buzzing with people and cars. I made my way into what looked something like a large, open bus terminal or parking structure. There were dozens of battered mini vans much like the one I just got out of. I was looking for a taxi, the sort of taxi we know in New York or London or Paris with distinct official markings and lighted signs. No. There was another minivan with a skinny young kid driving. He’d customized his gear shift with a colorful, lucite knob. I piled into this van with a dozen other people and we headed off into the dying sun. It felt oddly like a family vacation though no one spoke or smiled. Money, our fare, was passed from the back to the front and change was returned the same way. Eventually we passed another FIFA Fan Fest not far from my guest-house. I jumped out and wandered down the street looking for another taxi.

USA v. England

Disappointing

I'm not going to begin to analyze the US - England match as this sort of journalism is not my strength. You will find more qualified and intelligent reports of the match in the New York Times and elsewhere. I will however say I am disappointed, for several reasons. Our national team has improved greatly over the years since we first returned to the World Cup after a 40 year absence. They have improved enough and our fans are sophisticated enough now to be disappointed with a draw against England. This is not 1990 with Bob Gansler managing our side and his "that's all right boys" attitude towards success and failure. From my perspective in the second tier of the American end (first half), it was a fairly evenly played match; the Americans had as many chances on goal as the English. We made a horrible defensive blunder in the opening minutes, but never stopped chasing first the equalizer and then the winning goal, which sadly never came.

I was disappointed with the stadium. Not for the design or age or that is was located deep in the wilderness. I was disappointed with the fully integrated fan blocks. This I will blame on FIFA, not South Africa. When it comes to football I believe in full apartheid. Opposing fans should be separated. I am not the CEO of Adidas or Coca Cola sitting in the first tier on the midfield line. I buy the cheap seats behind the goal for two reasons: 1) they are cheap; 2) this is where the real fans are. There were almost as many English fans in our section as there were Americans. You all know that I love the English, especially their football. Manchester United is after all my favorite club. But on this particular day I felt a loathing for this nation I can only imagine our forefathers of the American revolution felt. It is their arrogance, that we-invented-this-game arrogance that inspired this rage in me. We all know their World Cup record before and since 1966. They are the great under-achievers of World Cup football. Along with our football the American fan has come a long way since the politely clapping days of 1990. We are a loud, colorful, feisty bunch. We stand and sing for 90 minutes. I suppose this surprised and infuriated the English, because they invented that too.

Anyway, all part of the game I suppose.

Impressions and Notes

You can spot the fans somehow, whether they are wearing some national kit or not. And suddenly I get the feeling everyone is going to the World Cup. Indeed this flight to Johannesburg is probably 95% football fans.

American football fans are decidedly clean-cut and good-looking in an apple pie, Chevrolet sort of way. They are not stylish like Italian fans, or menacing like English fans, or sexy like Brazilian fans.

There are entirely too many dudes in T-shirts, cargo shorts, and chunky white running sneakers with girl socks.

The World Cup is the one occasion when I am tolerant of loud, obnoxious Americans abroad.

Longest, most uncomfortable flight ever!

The airport is quiet except for the odd blast from a vuvuzela horn. I can tell immediately these things will be getting on my nerves.

I ask half a dozen airport employees where to pick up World Cup tickets. I feel as though we are speaking different languages.

I have no idea where I am.

The Source

Albert Kaiser 1905 -1984

In 1922 a young man from a small village in south-west Germany arrived in America. He left everything behind in the Fatherland except for his love of a game called fußball. This is not the tale of an early football hero. His playing career in the semi-pro American leagues, if he had one at all, was short-lived. He was the president of the Los Angeles Kickers Soccer Club in the 1950s, but other than that his name is not one most football fans would recognize.

In 1966 at the age of 61 he saw his first World Cup in England. He was hooked after that. He would follow the game around the globe, every four years a different country - Mexico, Germany, Argentina, Spain. Each time he came back with a World Cup pennant or badge for me. While he certainly loved the game played at every level from AYSO to the top European leagues, the World Cup was always his thing, those were the matches he was most passionate about. I was a baby when he went to Mexico in 1970, and still too young to know of his trip to Germany in 1974. Argentina in 1978 was the first time I really understood where he was going when he disappeared for four weeks beginning in June. By then I was a real soccer-head; it was my life just like it was his. I couldn’t wait to hear all about his trip. In 1982 he was going to Spain and I wanted in. I got as far as Germany with him, then he left me behind with his family. It is too crazy for a kid he said. He was 77! An old man was telling me football fans were crazy. I think the World Cup was something he just had to do alone. It was a special event every four years when he could get lost in the game he loved so much. He didn’t want any distractions, anything to make him lose focus. Sadly, I never saw a World Cup with him. He died before the 1986 tournament. And I wouldn’t see my first World Cup until it came to the US in 1994.

If I inherited nothing else from my grandfather I will always be grateful for the gift of fußball he gave to me when I was a boy. For me this was his greatest footballing accomplishment, introducing me to “the beautiful game”.