Final Draw, Final Straw

Friday, the 4th of December 2009, will go down in history as the first time that FIFA broadcast a World Cup event from South Africa to the entire world. As luck would have it, the honour of hosting the Final Draw was bestowed on Cape Town – my home.

It was no small endeavour, but South Africa rose to the occasion and shone. I even heard that our President Zuma’s first comments aired to the planet were that we’d made it on time. I suppose that would be a strange opening statement to countries like Germany (whose citizens are uncannily punctual), but it was an observation of a remarkable feat for a nation, or perhaps even a continent, notorious for taking their own time!

All week long, I’d been listening to Nigel Pierce of the Nigel Pierce Show on Good Hope FM (radio, 94-97FM) encouraging his listeners to be a part of the historic event by turning up to support the City’s street party. The Final Draw would be broadcast live via big screen to the crowds.

Guests on Nigel’s show, Danny Jordaan (CEO: 2010 FIFA World Cup Local Organizing Committee) and Tokyo Sexwale (SA Human Settlements Minister) both added their cents by dropping titbits of inside information about international celebrities that had flown in for the occasion and tipping the event to be the first taste of the World Cup to come in 2010. As the actual Draw at 7pm was only for the crème de la crème of the who’s who, Nigel kept telling listeners that the street party festivities started at noon and that huge crowds were expected so go as early as possible. I should have known what I was in for.

The train ride at 4:30pm from Plumstead (my suburb) to the city was a story in itself. The train was packed with passengers of all sorts with an overriding feeling of anticipation. The excitement however could not be cut by a knife like a good cliché, because the noise of non-stop chatter, vuvuzelas, singing and laughter rising above my i-Pod playing at top volume was way too dense – even for a chainsaw!

At Cape Town station I could already tell that it was no normal peak time human traffic, but that something was astir. By the time I reached Wale Street and Long, the festivities were well underway. At that junction, we (a throng of wannabe historic party-goers) were greeted by a formal row of horse-mounted policemen who sat silent and stone-faced watching the waves of heads beneath them. I was slightly anxious that those huge horses would be frightened into a stampede by blaring vuvuzelas, and trample the sea of flesh and bone beneath their hooves. At that point there was still the belief that the most amazing time would be had by all.

The kind of amazement I experienced started taking on a different hue within minutes of arriving at the party. I could certainly see that something was going on because the crowd suddenly stopped moving forward and stood still in front of the gates. Hands sprouting cameras of all types and sizes were hoisted into the air as a muffled announcement was made.

Like the game Telephone Tag, I managed to pick up bits and pieces of what was going on. I was able to figure out that the gates at my end of the party had been shut and that people were instructed to enter via the side streets. I didn’t want to miss out, so I quickly and expertly wove my short, squat self through the wall of people like a trained rat in a maze. I could smell the cheese!

The realization that a few other hundred people had just smelt the cheese too became rudely evident as I dodged, ducked and dived through the growing, anxious crowd. We were met in no uncertain terms by law enforcement and big, shiny metal barriers that started chipping away at our dreams of being part of the biggest party to hit Cape Town.

Over the loud speakers and the cheers of the colourful, noisy Long Street revellers, the wishful gate crushing outsiders – South Africans and foreigners alike – started cottoning on to the bruising fact that the games had begun and we had missed the proverbial boat.

Some sly Capetonians thought themselves clever (myself included) and skipped over to Victoria Street to approach the party from the lesser known side roads, alas, to be met by super efficient security crowd control. Just as some green and yellow people started using their mouths instead of vuvuzelas to get really loud with the officials, my cellphone rang.

In frustration, and just about to break into a patriotic toyi-toyi with actual football fans, I answered my phone. It was my sister, calling from Trafalgar Square – not in Cape Town, but in London – to tell me that she was having a jol with thousands of people watching the draw broadcast live in the United Kingdom!! I nearly had an apoplexy! All the while, the cheering and celebrations abound the world over… and I was right there – missing it all!

The one consolation I have is that I was only one of thousands of wannabe jollers who wound up feeling like a Hobbit at a rock concert with giants. The excitement could be heard, felt and smelt… but there was no way to actually see what was going on just metres away from us.

A lesson learnt though, as noted by President Zuma, that to enjoy this World Cup, South Africans are going to have to work on turning up on time with the rest of the world!!