It was well and truly the morning after the night before. Actually, make that the month before. South Africa woke on Monday to the greatest hangover imaginable – and not just because there were no more games.
Yes, this was a month that was meant to be about football.
But this tournament was about so much more.
Given the debate on the actual quality of the play, 2010’s World Cup will be remembered as much for the event itself as its football legacy.
This was Africa’s World Cup.
There will never be a tournament quite like it.
From the very first “Africa United” billboard in the airport, to the newspaper lift outs, fan parks, vendor merchandise and general chatter on the street, this tournament united a nation. You could not escape it, whether you were in Jo’burg, Cape Town, Durban or any other city.
This tournament brought the world images of dancing spectators, colourful outfits, unbridled passion, African song and of course, the vuvuzela.
The vuvuzela was a crazy noise – it swamps your thought, your speech, your head. If you’re not going to bed dreaming of it, it’s because you can still hear someone blaring it in the street.
It was all part of the fabric that made game day unique to the African world cup. Sure, each continent brought its own flavour, but the vibe and excitement (and traditional food stalls! Good to see FIFA didn’t ban them too, from outside the grounds) was all part of the match day experience that was unique to this tournament.
I don’t know how it scrubbed up on television, but in the midst of it all, the event as a whole was truly magnificent.
We spent the opening day crammed like cattle into Sandton’s Fan Zone, where South Africa’s diehard fans came in tens of thousands to watch their beloved Bafana Bafana. And we were there for the final whistle, where 84,000 were privileged to watch Iker Cassilas hoist the trophy.
While Sandton danced, sung and lived and breathed every kick of the ball, most of those passionate fans were priced out by FIFA. The most passionate fans tended to serve us our food, or drive us to matches. Instead, we watched the final with those who probably know goals to be worth three-points, and were already talking up the prospect of the Tri-Nations being held at Soccer City later this year.
That was a real shame, but the point is still that the World Cup provided four weeks that united South Africa.
From the wealthiest compounds in Johannesburg to the most primal, basic townships across the country – the people truly seized the moment.
And they know what the tournament has given their country.
Not only will tourists report home with positive stories about their time on tour, but FIFA (despite the criticism for ruling with an unbearable iron-fist – to the extent of having eager eyes looking for rival brands entering the stadium, even simply on plastic bags) has left legacies beyond potential the much criticised white elephants.
For a country that lacked infrastructure, there was only one major incident – the parking debacle at Durban airport that saw commercial airliners left circling the skies while private jets hogged the runway on the night of the Spain/Germany semi-final.
Otherwise, Durban’s beach front received a spectacular modernisation; roads and highways across the country were finally fixed; Sandton became a true hub for Johannesburg and a world class city centre; Cape Town now has a modern train station. And they’re just the things I encountered personally, there are surely more.
If Sydney 2000 was Australia’s showcase to the world, the 2010 World Cup was South Africa’s excuse to get its act together. To do it for themselves, as much as anything.
Now, the warm and affectionate locals who embraced us and looked after us are left with a gaping hole.
“We are so sad to see you going, we have had such a great month. South Africa will never forget it”, we kept hearing, as we said our goodbyes to the staff or shop keepers we visited during our 35 day stay.
But once the backslapping in the newspapers runs dry (there’s only so long they can keep churning out the “Spain takes the trophy, but South Africa are the real winners” story), what is going to happen? As a friend from Johannesburg told me: “this is all we’ve been thinking about for six years, what the hell do we do now?”
As I left Johannesburg in frighteningly cold and depressing weather on Monday, traffic had cranked back up again as school returned. Newspapers have already begun fretting about the potential resurfacing of xenophobic attacks by South African workers, looking for “revenge” against those neighbouring foreigners who took up the increased work available during the past month.
Can the country maintain the goodwill? The government has urged locals to keep their flags waving from their cars and offices for at least another month, but what about deed, rather than symbol.
What will happen when the excessive police presence disperses?
How will the economy utilise the GDP boon from millions spent over the past five weeks?
It might sound like rhetoric, but it is true. If South Africa can put its energies into its future, as it did into staging the tournament, then 2010 will be a turning point.
We had the time of our life. The highlight was the “fan walk” from Cape Town’s fan zone to Green Point Stadium, which was a 2.4 kilometre bottle neck of colour and excitement ahead of the Germany v Argentina quarter-final – all under the awesome shadow of Table Mountain. We’ll never forget jumping on the African bandwagon, dissecting the matches with passionate locals, or the hours upon hours spent travelling across the country to get a glimpse of the world’s very best. Crime exists, you can’t deny that, but for a month, we felt comfortable and welcome.
South Africa is vast and varied. The disparity and interaction between the people was eye-opneing.
It left a lasting impression on me.
Let’s hope the World Cup leaves a lasting impression on their country and South Africa never turns back.
