When grown men cry

Crazy things can happen at a World Cup.  The US team had already packed their bags, ready to hop on the next flight home.  Only injury time was left....4 minutes.  Landon Donovan somehow found the back of the net as the crowd went wild in disbelief.  It wasn’t a pretty goal - just a putback after the last of several close shots.  but it was a goal.  1-nil.

I went into the stadium with George, a tall soccer fanatic from California who made me ashamed to admit my limited knowledge of the US players - their club teams, hometowns, strengths, etc.  We met just minutes before the game when we combined our extra tickets to make a pair to sell to a father and son.  This, naturally, occurred just minutes after my hour-long scalping debut in South Africa culminated in two police officers escorting me behind a police truck to interrogate me regarding my extra ticket.  I was trying to sell it for under face value, but I quickly learned this still can get you arrested.  They didn’t accept a simple “I didn’t know” nor an apology.  They kept me for a long 5 minutes, looked through my bag, and ended by saying “I am a man, you are a man.  We can arrest you right now.  You must not sell that ticket.”  I asked if I could give it away, which became my plan as they let me go, shaken up and on the verge of tears.  

There have been no reports of arrests for scalping, so I figured it was just a scare tactic.  Mission accomplished.  It was only by chance that I ran into George and sold the ticket in under a minute for a crisp ben franklin on my way to the gate.  He was a fast-talking, beer-drinking, blackberry addict that could not have made for better company for this game.  After the game he was not the only fan who broke down.  Across the aisle was a man clutching his son, crying uncontrollably, tears smearing the red, white, and blue face paint.

George took my number and may use my extra ticket with me in Rustenburg.  which reminds me.... i’m headed to Rustenburg.  ugh.  It should be another amazing game, with the US to face Ghana, the only remaining African nation in the first World Cup on African soil.  I didn’t want to go back to Rustenburg.  It’s cold, ugly, nearly impossible to get to/from the venue, and it messes up my travel plans for the next 10 days.  But the US advanced with the most exciting boring goal I have ever witnessed.  It's impossible not to be high on victory right now.

Race relations continue to fascinate me here.  Soweto 2 days ago and all-white gatherings last night are also worth their own entries, but I’m trying not to write a book here.