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!
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