United States Blues

Woke up in Limpopo early to make it back to Joburg in time for USA-Slovenia at 4pm at Ellis Park. David’s gone to the Greeks so Sergio and I take the people’s taxi to the park-and-ride facility at Wits University.

Everything is well organized and relaxed. Parking lot is nice and full at 2:15. 20-something shirtless Americans with USA painted on their chests are tailgating (!) to very loud Rage Against the Machine. The making of American fandom.

A long line (a queue in SA English) snakes down several hundred yards. People draped in USA flags, SA hats and scarves, and a veritable UN of football accoutrements. ‘Serbia scores!’ ‘Germany down to 10 men!’ News travels up and down the queue.

We board the double-decker bus, sit with Japanese fans in Japan jerseys. Bus glides through Braamfontein and into gritty Hillbrow before emptying us into the labyrinthine streets of post-industrial Doornfontein—the home of Ellis Park. 45 minutes to kick off. Hard to believe we were close to Zimbabwe just a few hours ago.

No sign of heightened security. SA Police working security after Stallion guards walked off the job in a wage dispute. No hassles despite the usual lines at the metal detectors and bag search area. Everyone seems in a good mood, particularly several drunken, flag-waving Americans chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A!” Sergio and I go through the turnstiles and ascend through the circular ramps (memories of WC ’94 at Giants Stadium) to the upper level of the main grandstand, the media and VIP section to our far left.

The steep gradient of Ellis Park means we are right on top of the action, at the corner flag of the end where every major action would later unfold. We chat with a jolly middle-age couple draped in Slovenian-American-South African paraphernalia in front of us and get acquainted with a Johannesburg family and a trio of Americans from LA (Orange County). It’s chilly, but not freezing.

Vuvuzelas make it impossible to hear anything but the chorus of the wailing goats. National anthems are drowned out except that the American fans are belting out, almost belching out, the “Star Spangled Banner.”

The game begins. The Americans are looking strangely out of sorts, while Slovenia’s 4-4-2 is working well, easily thwarting any US attacks and threatening Tim Howard on the other end. Torres and Findley look way out of their depth. Donovan and Dempsey are hiding on the left and right midfield flanks. Slovenia scores a nice goal from 25 yards out and a few minutes before halftime they do it again, beating the offside trap.

“Father Bob needs to sub Torres and Findley and light a fire under the lads,” I say to Sergio. He points to the empty ring of corporate seats, a familiar sight in every WC stadium; Sergio asks why those tickets weren’t given to South Africans to enjoy the tournament they paid dearly to host. Good question.

The second half brings the needed substitutions and immediately we see the results. Donovan breaks on the right (he had been on the left in the first half) and scores with a powerful blast in the roof of the net from a close but tight angle. USA back in it. But the game then enters another dull, guarded phase of shadow-boxing.

Then pressure builds in the last 10 minutes. Altidore finally makes his presence felt; nudges a header into the box, Michael Bradley believes, spurts unguarded from the top of the box and toe-pokes it into the net! 2-2!! 15,000 Americans in the 45,000 crowd explode with joy. Another couple of minutes and Edu scores off a Donovan free kick . . . a miracle! But no, the ref calls off our celebrations for a mysterious infraction not even the Slovenians appeal for. That’s how it ends: 2-2. ‘We wuz robbed.’

It’s night as we leave Ellis Park. We quickly make our way to the bus that takes us back to the Wits park-and-ride. Algeria’s 0-0 dinnertime draw with England ends an exhausting but thoroughly exhilarating two days of road-tripping through South Africa. Nelspruit is two days away.