It was my aim to dispatch a report from some bar full of Uruguayans before the match in Cape Town yesterday. But in age old football supporter tradition, I was late.
South Africa is a serendipitous place. And proper South African football supporters tend to be late too. Before I could figure out my next move, my name was being called. It was Shirley out on the wing (across some Dutch named street I could not pronounce), waving at me, asking for the pass, and gesticulating toward the rest of the girls in the box. Shirley was going to whip one in. “We are to going to help Bafana score a goal”, she said. Yebo, Ladies! (*Shirley and Co. have been my regular healthy lunch spot hosts in Cape Town. It was only proper that I be in their company during their afternoon off.)
But first must come the pre match bevy. The Banyana like their cider. And I was honoured for it to be my shout. Shirley claimed to know just about every manager and cashier in the corner Spar. We jumped the queue. Eventually a large lady in a tracksuit, a sort of South African Fatty Foulkes, stepped in to ensure democracy at the entrance to the Spar. I won’t share what Shirley had to be say about her. It was X Rated Football language!
Three six packs of Savanna Dry South African hard cider and one six pack of some sweet girlie get-pissed-quick beverage were eventually procured and we set off to find a place to drink. That the game was minutes away seemed irrelevant. Typical football supporters, these ladies. It was like being upstairs in The Salisbury pub at the back of the Kop, Anfield, 10 minutes before kick off, where the focus is on the next round of ale, rather than the match.
I had trouble opening my cider, but behind Shirley’s beautiful smile was a bottle opener.
Eventually we found our spec, about 11 minutes after kick off. Another classic football supporter tradition. I could only see about 45% of a television screen, while standing on a chair outside some random restaurant.
I was getting my cider opened when Tshabalala scored the opener, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need to see it, I could “FEEL IT”.
Props to Shirley and Co. I doff my Makarapa to them!
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