I thought I was getting away from politics for a while. But I now realise that the vuvuzela is to these World Cup blogs what Julius Malema is to my politics columns: a noisy, but sadly unavoidable irritant. With both Malema and the vuvuzela, their importance is far overstated. Malema: South Africa’s Robert Mugabe? I think not. The vuvuzela: an archetypal symbol of “African culture?” For African civilisation’s sake, I seriously hope not.
Both are getting far too much airtime than they deserve. Both have thrust themselves on to the world stage through a combination of hot air and raucous bluster. Both amuse and enervate in roughly equal measure. And both are equally harmless in and of themselves — though in Malema’s case, it is the political tendency that he represents, and the right-wing interests that lie behind his diatribes that is dangerous. With the vuvu I doubt if there are such nefarious interests behind the scenes; it may upset the delicate ears of the middle classes, both here and at the BBC, but I suspect that South Africa’s democracy will not be imperilled by a mass-produced plastic horn. Nor is the World Cup itself greatly diminished. For the record, the vuvuzela is not my enemy — and I even have, for reasons of self-defence installed a mini-vuvu with surprisingly powerful performance levels around my neck — though I miss hearing the crescendo of noise from the crowd that should accompany a promising attack on goal or a goal itself. Instead, of course, there is the monotone drone — a constant that belies the ebbs and flows of a game. Not that there has been an overwhelming tide of ebbs and flows (if you can have a tide of such things). The games have thus far been somewhat sedate. It’s as if all the teams, bar the Germans, have been populated with sons of Ray “Butch” Wilkins, the Chelsea and England midfielder of the 1980s who was infamous for his addiction to the crab-like squared ball, however many inviting opportunities presented themselves for an incisive attacking through-ball. Or, that the teams (except Germany) are all being managed by Arrigo Sacchi: quietly efficient, better in defence than attack, but tactically predictable. You have, however, to be especially naive to expect a string of 3-2 thrillers at this stage of the tournament; cat and mouse stuff is the imprimatur of the group games, as the better teams hold back anxious lest they “peak too early”.
No, the real target for our discontent should neither be the lack of thrills, spills and goals, nor the vuvuzela, but the wretched Jabulani ball. What did Fifa instruct adidas to do — go down to the local Spar and buy one of those smooth plastic beach balls as a model for the 2010 World Cup ball? It is absurdly light: none of the players, including Cristiano Ronaldo, can get the necessary side spin on it to get it up and over a wall. The harder you kick it, the worse the drift is. Quietly it is crushing the skill of the players and could yet be the death-knell of this tournament. Cross-field balls are almost out of the question: they float then land and like a Steve Harmison (at his best) delivery, bounce off a good length way over the head of the unsuspecting wing-back into touch. If it was a group of ambush marketers threatening their cherished Budweiser sponsors Fifa would be as a quick as John Wayne to pull the trigger. But on the Jabulani they will, alas, ignore the complaints until it is too late.
A prince with dignity and determination
Prince Ngarambe’s goals are to become Rwanda’s first transgender model and to uplift the country’s youth
The EFF’s principles are unshakeable
Unlike the ANC, the core values of the freedom fighters do not change with each leader it elects
