I remember sitting at what you know as the Bidvest Stadium when it was okay to call the team that uses that stadium as its home Wits University and watching them purposefully lose to some team from Mozambique in what is now known as the CAF Confederations Cup. After the the loss the team officials present did not even bat any eyelid. It was like the team had just lost some irrelevant High School training match. It was simply not worth it for South African teams at that to use the abundant resources at their disposal to go into an African club competition and make look like they cared.
I was one of the few, very few, that would ask about African competitions at press conferences. Very vague answers would be muttered by coaches when we ask if going to compete 'in Africa' was part of the motivation to win the Nedbank Cup. Those in the cushy seats of football governance called on CAF to change the calendar so as to suit the South African one which runs concurrent with our past colonial master up in the cold continents. The performances of the teams and the disdain which CAF club competitions were being treated was more like a message to CAF to say 'conform to our ways or we will not treat your competitions seriously.' South African clubs participated mainly because CAF came down hard on clubs and Football Associations that failed to fulfill fixtures. Kaizer Chiefs had been made a perfect example in the early 2000s.
So for a good ten or so years, we made to watch clubs enter and exit both the Champions League and the Confederation Cup.
In the media circles, we had a handful of journalists that actually reported on African club competitions. I remember being the only journalist with any connection to the South African media circles when Supersport United played Gaborone United. Coach Cavin Johson even brushed me off after the match, quipping 'Come on Dube, I`m always talking to you. You know what I`ll say maan'
Then came Orlando Pirates, led by the very same Roger De Sa who had overseen the exit of Wits(Bidvest Wits now, if don`t to receive correctional tweets from the team`s media nerds). The team traveled far and wide across the great continent of Africa. Each time they would come back with stories. Heroic stories like how Senzo Meyiwa saved countless dubious penalties while officials and media were being harassed to no end in Kabila's Democratic Republic of the Congo. All and sundry in the great rainbow nation of South Africa came to know about that pesky little nonsensical toy called a laser. We saw the great Aboutrekour up close and personal at the Orlando Stadium.
From that time the very same Orlando Pirates has been back in the hunt, the well funded Mamelodi Sundowns has won it and now Eric Tinkler will seat on the bench for another Africa club competition final. Supersport now broadcasts Champions League and Confederations Cup matches. The journos with more than just a handful of followers like us now also spread the news and travel the continent. The tide has turned.
What brought about this change of attitude form South African clubs?
Well, firstly, under the leadership of that rather stubborn and biased man from somewhere in the West of Africa, Issa Hayatou, CAF did not give a hoot what South Africa wanted in terms of African football. CAF were not going to change the calendar to suit South Africa. South Africa were not given super power status in footballing Africa. So sulking and treating club competitions with disdain did not work.
Secondly, Supersport broadcasting the games meant being seen by the over-critical fans of South Africa. Kaizer Chiefs still get ridiculed for being beaten by a ASEC Mimosas side that had not won a single match in their own league. Being seen on continental television being beaten by teams from Africa is no-no.
Orlando Pirates' feats withstanding, it has being more a case of South Africa failing to get its way on the continent than anything else. If can`t beat them, you have join them.
Its just sports
Sunday, October 29, 2017
Monday, October 23, 2017
Deaaaarby oh Derby.
Casting my mind back to Saturday afternoon inside FNB Stadium I distinctly remember Mathoho dribbling Kutumelo after just about 4 minutes of play. I remember Thabo Qalinge going for a rather fancy shot and hitting the crossbar rather ferociously when a tap in looked spot on. Morrison took me back to the Hand of God incident involving the now extremely chubby Maradona when any other part of his body could have resulted in a 1 nil lead for Orlando Pirates. Trying to remember any other notable footballing moments during the Soweto Derby has resulted in a notable headache.
It`s like the two teams get together the night before and actually brainstorm on how to make the match exciting BUT make sure it ends in a draw. How does this fixture end up in so many draws.
Granted it`s not that difficult to get over 80 000 fanatics into a state of excitement. A routine save by the one dubbed 'The Humble One' gets roars. Thabo Rakhale dribbling himself is an event that attracts thousands of whistles and cheers.
Actually, off the field is where it all happens when it comes to the Soweto Derby. By the first 21 minutes, security details had all but failed to keep the isles between the seats devoid of people. On the field Pirates had all but failed to fashion a shot on target despite having Chiefs camped in their own half for 19 of those opening 21 minutes.
For those 21 minutes I had thought that the majority of the Pirates fans were seating directly opposite the player entrance tunnel as it a small sea of red t-shirts over there. Tholukhuti it was some lucky fans that were wearing the WozaNazo tops handed out by Absa.
Creativity has to come to the fore for the journalist that have to pen a match report for this game and it is also a must for those that choose the man of the match. Qalinga did hit the ball towards the opposition`s goalkeeper more than any other player on the day so I suppose he was an obvious choice.
There is an increasing number of fans that come to the stadium dressed in full playing kit and then get up every few minutes and go through a whole warm up procedure. A couple could actually put up a better footballing performance that what was on display from those actually paid to put the full kit.
Tshabalala`s right leg once again reminded all and sundry that it is not weak but dead.
Morrison, the diminutive striker that Pirates were hoping would score bags of goals, had the ball in the net twice. Both times he thought the ref would be be duped. Both times he was wrong. Even Katsande pointed out the striker`s lack of use of the space between his ears.
All in all it was a rather woeful game of football that was saved by the great atmosphere created by hoardes of football loving humans who still believe that Kaizer Chiefs versus Orlando Pirates is the only game worth attending on the Premier Soccer League calender.
It`s like the two teams get together the night before and actually brainstorm on how to make the match exciting BUT make sure it ends in a draw. How does this fixture end up in so many draws.
Granted it`s not that difficult to get over 80 000 fanatics into a state of excitement. A routine save by the one dubbed 'The Humble One' gets roars. Thabo Rakhale dribbling himself is an event that attracts thousands of whistles and cheers.
Actually, off the field is where it all happens when it comes to the Soweto Derby. By the first 21 minutes, security details had all but failed to keep the isles between the seats devoid of people. On the field Pirates had all but failed to fashion a shot on target despite having Chiefs camped in their own half for 19 of those opening 21 minutes.
For those 21 minutes I had thought that the majority of the Pirates fans were seating directly opposite the player entrance tunnel as it a small sea of red t-shirts over there. Tholukhuti it was some lucky fans that were wearing the WozaNazo tops handed out by Absa.
Creativity has to come to the fore for the journalist that have to pen a match report for this game and it is also a must for those that choose the man of the match. Qalinga did hit the ball towards the opposition`s goalkeeper more than any other player on the day so I suppose he was an obvious choice.
There is an increasing number of fans that come to the stadium dressed in full playing kit and then get up every few minutes and go through a whole warm up procedure. A couple could actually put up a better footballing performance that what was on display from those actually paid to put the full kit.
Tshabalala`s right leg once again reminded all and sundry that it is not weak but dead.
Morrison, the diminutive striker that Pirates were hoping would score bags of goals, had the ball in the net twice. Both times he thought the ref would be be duped. Both times he was wrong. Even Katsande pointed out the striker`s lack of use of the space between his ears.
All in all it was a rather woeful game of football that was saved by the great atmosphere created by hoardes of football loving humans who still believe that Kaizer Chiefs versus Orlando Pirates is the only game worth attending on the Premier Soccer League calender.
Of Mangobe Derby
Due to a major technical fault in my Financial Machinery I did not have a single monetary cent to resource my transportation to the FNB Stadium. Metrorail in it`s wisdom had not provided special trains from the East Rand or from anywhere else for that matter(except Prak Station). I did not know this for I had magically forgotten to check the email facility for any press releases regarding such matters.
Having lived in close vicinity to train stations for quite some time now I decided to use the method used by many of my African brothers and sisters to get to and from work everyday....the Mangobe ride. Simple really, you do not use the prescribed gates to get onto the train platform and by so doing you do not partake in the ticket buying ceremonies.
I planted myself on the platform at the almost perfect time as I only had to sit for 7 minutes before the gong sounded and a perfectly sounding woman announced that the train to Johannesburg would be arriving shortly. The only worry now was the dreaded white flag. A white flag meant that the journey would end at a law enforcement office somewhere or I would have to put my train cleaning skills to good use. The lack of Pirates or Chiefs regalia on this train also worried me. The Soweto is supposed to bring all of football mad train users out! This one clearly didn`t. A very noisy group jumped on the train a few stops after to bring down my worry-meter. In their midst were two gentlemen wearing Kaizer Chiefs tops. They clearly had not seen a Metrorail cashier too. No white flag.
At Park Station Orlando Pirates and Kaizer Chiefs tops were clearly more visible and they were all heading towards one platform, I duly followed with a great weight lifted. One part of this all important journey done. Down to the platforms I went. A large group of SAPS` finest and fattest occupied a few benches at the same platform. I was criminal at this point so I did my best not to look at them. This was not easy for they were holding a rather impressive array of take-away foods. I made myself look organised by a taking a few paces in all directions and looking at my cellphone and making the odd fake call.
The gong sounded and the announcement was made that our special train to the stadium was arriving imminently. A small group wearing PRASA bibs duly arrived and starting whispering and pointing...this was not good. The train pulled up and the cops got up from their seats to also get into the train. Panick! Two of the blue wearing gents situated themselves on the door. This was not going to end well. Those PRASA people gave each other final instructions and hoped onto the train as whistle went, how I wished it the kick off whistle and I was already seated inside the Calabash. When two of those wearing PRASA bibs starting a discussion with the cops in our section I had thoughts of all the lies I would tell them about what happened to my ticket. I made a few more fake calls and sent countless fake messages. Turned out nobody wanted to check my ticket.
I was one of the first to alight and therefore became one of the first to see the bevvy of ticket checkers that were stationed at the gates of Nasrec Station. I made half a U-turn, started to frantically press my cellphone as I thought of how I should have jumped off at one of the many stops the train made in the velds around the stadium. The obvious getaway was the toilet. As I made my way to make answer a non-existant call of nature I heard a man announce that the first train back to Park Station would be at 6pm. I would probably have to wait in the toilet until then...
Then divine intervention, one those nice people from PRASA told those pesky ticket checkers to let the people go! I didn`t quite catch this glorious announcement as I was `busy on the phone` pacing up and down.
One of the ticket checkers saw me going up and down the stairs with cell to ear and tried to catch my attention with very little success. When she did finally catch up to me I gave a detailed account of how my `wife and kid` had left me behind and was a bit lost as to how to get into the stadium. Of course the wife had carried the train tickets with her.. I was also trying to get hold of a colleague who had my accreditation. This last part was true. The colleague in question just happened to be unavailable on his cellphone. It was not going well. If I had heard the call to allow people to go out of the station without tickets I would have avoided all this but I didn`t. I made a real call this time to try and get the guy with my accreditation to come rescue me but a man on the other end welcomed me to voicemail yet again.
My journey to my first Soweto Derby after two years had seemingly come to end only meters away from the entrance.
The female ticket checker then took back upstairs and directed me out the gate. All that pacing for nothing!
Having lived in close vicinity to train stations for quite some time now I decided to use the method used by many of my African brothers and sisters to get to and from work everyday....the Mangobe ride. Simple really, you do not use the prescribed gates to get onto the train platform and by so doing you do not partake in the ticket buying ceremonies.
I planted myself on the platform at the almost perfect time as I only had to sit for 7 minutes before the gong sounded and a perfectly sounding woman announced that the train to Johannesburg would be arriving shortly. The only worry now was the dreaded white flag. A white flag meant that the journey would end at a law enforcement office somewhere or I would have to put my train cleaning skills to good use. The lack of Pirates or Chiefs regalia on this train also worried me. The Soweto is supposed to bring all of football mad train users out! This one clearly didn`t. A very noisy group jumped on the train a few stops after to bring down my worry-meter. In their midst were two gentlemen wearing Kaizer Chiefs tops. They clearly had not seen a Metrorail cashier too. No white flag.
At Park Station Orlando Pirates and Kaizer Chiefs tops were clearly more visible and they were all heading towards one platform, I duly followed with a great weight lifted. One part of this all important journey done. Down to the platforms I went. A large group of SAPS` finest and fattest occupied a few benches at the same platform. I was criminal at this point so I did my best not to look at them. This was not easy for they were holding a rather impressive array of take-away foods. I made myself look organised by a taking a few paces in all directions and looking at my cellphone and making the odd fake call.
The gong sounded and the announcement was made that our special train to the stadium was arriving imminently. A small group wearing PRASA bibs duly arrived and starting whispering and pointing...this was not good. The train pulled up and the cops got up from their seats to also get into the train. Panick! Two of the blue wearing gents situated themselves on the door. This was not going to end well. Those PRASA people gave each other final instructions and hoped onto the train as whistle went, how I wished it the kick off whistle and I was already seated inside the Calabash. When two of those wearing PRASA bibs starting a discussion with the cops in our section I had thoughts of all the lies I would tell them about what happened to my ticket. I made a few more fake calls and sent countless fake messages. Turned out nobody wanted to check my ticket.
I was one of the first to alight and therefore became one of the first to see the bevvy of ticket checkers that were stationed at the gates of Nasrec Station. I made half a U-turn, started to frantically press my cellphone as I thought of how I should have jumped off at one of the many stops the train made in the velds around the stadium. The obvious getaway was the toilet. As I made my way to make answer a non-existant call of nature I heard a man announce that the first train back to Park Station would be at 6pm. I would probably have to wait in the toilet until then...
Then divine intervention, one those nice people from PRASA told those pesky ticket checkers to let the people go! I didn`t quite catch this glorious announcement as I was `busy on the phone` pacing up and down.
One of the ticket checkers saw me going up and down the stairs with cell to ear and tried to catch my attention with very little success. When she did finally catch up to me I gave a detailed account of how my `wife and kid` had left me behind and was a bit lost as to how to get into the stadium. Of course the wife had carried the train tickets with her.. I was also trying to get hold of a colleague who had my accreditation. This last part was true. The colleague in question just happened to be unavailable on his cellphone. It was not going well. If I had heard the call to allow people to go out of the station without tickets I would have avoided all this but I didn`t. I made a real call this time to try and get the guy with my accreditation to come rescue me but a man on the other end welcomed me to voicemail yet again.
My journey to my first Soweto Derby after two years had seemingly come to end only meters away from the entrance.
The female ticket checker then took back upstairs and directed me out the gate. All that pacing for nothing!
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