By Odiriel Mekwa
When I was eight my late father took myself and a cousin of mine out for our first live professional soccer match. I got to see the legendary Ernest ‘Wire’ Chirwali (later Mtawali) in action against my then hero Doctor Khumalo. The match was nothing but unforgettable.
The day was also unforgettable, but for another reason. Because of the chaotic seating arrangements on that day (no reserved seats and no partitioning of seating areas) I got lost in the crowds when my hand slipped out of my dad’s. So here I was, on one the best days of my young life, on one hand scared that I was lost and would be in trouble and yet on the other hand thrilled at finally seeing the mighty Amakhosi live in action. At the end of it all Chiefs beat Celtic by a goal to nil. Being a young, impressionable and foolish molakaletsi/ molaks (i.e. hater in old Bloemfontein slang) I was mostly happy with the result although a small part of me was saddened to see my neighbour, Ntate Molemela’s pride and joy being once more embarrassed at home.
As an eight-year-old life was pretty simple; I was easily impressed and not as knowledgeable on anything really. My family had just moved from a ‘four rooms’ matchbox house to a ‘bond’ house with three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a sizeable garden. We also got an M-Net decoder. Mandela had come out of jail and according to my dad, we could finally be proud to be an African nation. Sho tymer, if you say so.
You could say as an eight year old my life was blissful. I was blissfully ignorant. Ignorant of what it took for my parents to obtain that loan for the house, and of the social status that living there gave us. I knew that there was fierce, bloody violence in Gauteng and Natal but could not comprehend what a human death meant. I would compare the death tolls from the various massacres like I compare players’ match and goal statistics. Hell, I had not even noticed anything funny with the fact that black and white people lived in different towns and spoke different languages. In hindsight it is then not surprising that in my eyes, seeing Chiefs and Celtic play shoddy soccer on a bumpy pitch whilst getting grilled by the sun in an overcrowded stadium was one heck of a fabulous time.
How a few months can make a lifetime of a difference. In the winter of 1990 Italia ’90 rocked up on my TV screen and my perception of soccer changed forever. I followed the action religiously and could not get enough. I remember so many names, so many of the scenes of the Italian cities, streets, pubs. The stadiums and soccer pitches were just phenomenal. The English hooligans and the team they travelled to support both did well in their respective fields of participation. I would see Roberto Baggio, Roger Milla and Paul ‘Gazza’ Gascoigne fascinate the world in a way I could never had imagined.
Out of all that Italia ’90 presented I would say what was most memorable were unfancied Cameroon’s Roger Milla’s goal and celebration against the then world champions Argentina, as well as Rudi Voeller and Frank Rijkaard’s show down which ended in red cards for both players after they spat at each other. The Argentina vs West Germany final was not the best match of the tournament but by then all who viewed can easily testify that they had been satisfied well beyond their expectations. And that is the story of each and every Fifa World Cup Finals.
Did you notice that South Africa was not represented at Italia ’90? I didn’t even know that we didn’t have a national squad. After a while I did notice and started asking myself how our best would perform out there. I could only imagine; Ace Khuse, Wire Chirwali, Doctor Khumalo, Fani Madida, Tebogo Moloi. Could you imagine? We could only wonder if our best could make it to the biggest stage, and for a few long years all we could do was wonder. Now we don’t have to wonder anymore. In June of this year South Africa will be taking part in their third Soccer World Cup and will be featuring as hosts of this great event. We can only imagine how this event will unfold, but hey, we don’t have that much longer to wait.
What I am wishing for is that with this fantastic opportunity that this tournament presents, South Africa will unashamedly exhibit to itself and the world what a lively and lovely country it is. I wish for the excitement of Italia ’90, the razzle dazzle of USA ’94, the class of France ’98, the exhilarating passion of Korea/Japan 2006 and the efficiency of Germany 2006. Well, here is to South Africa 2010!
Odiriel Mekwa is a father, Bloemfontein Celtic member and all-round sports lover. He is fanatic about South Africa and can’t wait for the spectacle that is the 2010 Soccer World Cup to arrive!
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