By SKIP BANDELE features@algarveresident.com
Skip Bandele moved to the Algarve 10 years ago and has been with the Algarve Resident since 2003. His writing reflects views and opinions formed while living in Africa, Germany and England as well as Portugal.
Gary Linneker once claimed that “a game of football lasts 90 minutes and at the end the Germans win on penalties” – that was not quite the scenario last Sunday afternoon when England’s finest once again faced the old enemy in the second round of the World Cup, but, at the rate the ball was flying into the back of the net, it might as well have been.
It’s funny how this great tournament stirs up emotions in the strangest quarters. Self-professed football haters such as my mother and sister suddenly become glued to the television screen urging their favourites to score because, for them, it’s all about goals.
A quick brace from the Germans in either half, an England reply and a ‘1966 moment’ where the clearest of equalisers at least a yard inside Jorg Neuner’s goal was not allowed to stand by the Uruguayan referee went a long way towards satisfying that bloodthirstiness.
The 4-1 defeat confirmed earlier suspicions of England’s ordinariness and it will be Beckenbauer’s heirs that go forward to meet Messi-inspired and Maradona-coached Argentina this Saturday.
During week one in South Africa, Portuguese and English television commentators managed to confuse me with constant references to German 1960’s idol Uwe Seeler, who enjoys even greater popularity among the older generation than your Mullers or Klinsmanns.
It took me a few days to realise that all the talk was about the Vuvuzela, responsible for the infernal din reminiscent of a swarm of killer bees accompanying every kick of the ball. According to the Sowetan newspaper, these deafening trumpet-like instruments, which I have christened ‘the widow maker’, appear to have their origin in the Shembe Church community.
Prophet and founder Osaiah Shembe introduced its use during all religious ceremonies since 1910 thus indirectly sparking today’s controversy which, among other aspects, accounts for claims by players that the wall of sound prevents them from communicating with each other on the pitch.
As the tournament limped through its opening group phase, this lack of understanding seemed to spill over and off the playing field. Confusion reigned briefly in the England camp as John Terry, Frank Lampard and Steven Gerrard failed to understand first each other and then manager Fabio Capello following two disappointing draws with the USA and Algeria.
Only apologies all round over a beer, in what must have been a soundproof drinking hole, resolved the problem producing a vital goal against Slovenia. In contrast, 2006 runners up France refused to listen to each other or anyone else for that matter. A Gallic outburst by long misunderstood Nicholas Anelka led to the Chelsea striker boarding the next plane to London.
His remaining team mates refused to train, pleas from their hastily dispatched Sports Minister falling on deaf ears as a group concluding defeat to South Africa spelt out the premature end to their campaign – the Vuvuzela has a lot to answer for. In fact, the whole tournament resembles World War Two at this stage: France surrendered tamely, the Italians ran off early (the holders ended their sequence of two draws by losing to Slovakia) and the Americans arrived late on the scene (a last gasp injury time goal against Algeria secured progression) leaving England to fight the Germans albeit unsuccessfully!
With reference to the female members of my family, it is always entertaining to watch with someone not fixated on the pure footballing aspects of a particular game. One such occasion was Portugal’s opening encounter against the Ivory Coast. I had arranged to meet Carol and Brian at the Calypso bar for plenty of local flavour.
True to form, the place was decked out in flags and I spent the first 10 minutes following my arrival defending three seats at the counter against all comers. My friends got there as the match kicked off and Brian, who is an expert, remarked that it was “like watching
Blackpool in disguise” on account of the African team’s bright Tangerine strip. Carol, on the other hand, became less and less enamoured with Drogba & Co’s choice of colour as the action became more heated.
“The sweat stains are showing up really badly and their underwear clashes” was her terse comment. She was also not impressed by Ronaldo’s contorted features resembling those of a spitting llama following some imagined wrong promptly rewarded by a yellow card.
While Portugal were “too busy not losing” (Brian), Carol’s attention shifted upwards as she delighted in the colourful collection of exotic hairdos on display. The figure-hugging jerseys likened to male versions of wonder bras next came under scrutiny before flying pieces of turf prompted severe criticism of both pitch and ground staff.
“Why don’t they have the same colour boots to match their kit?” a girl called Celia chimed in from my right, obviously animated by Carol’s running commentary which now took in ‘The Purple People Eater’ in the Ivorian goal successfully thwarting every Portuguese effort to score.
As a very animated two hours drew to a close, a late substitution throwing Simão into the fray for Danny, I was stumped by Carol’s demand to be told those players’ surnames. Not so the pundit on my left. Skilfully side-stepping the pitfalls of attempting a satisfactory answer, Brian merely surmised that “there are not enough Benfica players on the pitch”.
There was still time for Carol to marvel at the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium evoking memories of a particular South East London council estate made famous by the exploits of the Trotters in Only Fools and Horses before the final whistle struggled to make itself heard against the rising crescendo of Vuvuzelas.
My personal conclusion is that even a 0-0 draw can be fun to watch in the right company – especially when it serves as an aperitif for a subsequent 7-0 goal feast which left even my mother and sister swooning once more ‘sans’ penalties.
As you are reading, we still have another nine days to enjoy this rich tapestry of varying emotions, and I for one expect that by next Sunday’s likely all-South American final, ‘the war’ will have been long forgotten!
Skip Bandele can be contacted by emailing features@algarveresident.com
