Football (it's not called soccer!!!) again!

After a whole week of no World Cup news where most of us had to get used to that nuisance called 'work' again, a silver lining is coming up on the horizon! The International Football (see that's how it's called!) Association Board will be meeting this Thursday to discuss the use of goal-line technology!

Only a couple of months ago in March the Board decided against the technology. But FIFA has learnt from the EU: You let them vote until you like the result! A heated debate between opponents and supporters of the technology re-emerged at this year’s tournament when a crucial English goal in the match against Germany was disallowed because the referee had obviously forgotten his contacts and was to vain to wear his old-fashioned glasses.

I personally believe that the FIFA gathering will once again yield the same outcome as in March – and not only because the Board is meeting in Wales. Let us be honest: Football is one of the simplest sports internationally played. There are only a handful of important rules and there is beauty in simplicity. Goal line technology would set an end to this simplicity. The next steps could be to introduce TV re-plays and rules penalising a bunch of cheating bastards with an immediate goal (and not just a penalty). Some people might think this would make football fairer and therefore improve it. The truth is life is unfair, and no one wants to see a fair but boring game.

Football is about drama, it’s about those hands of God and disallowed goals, which could have… would have… if only… changed the outcome completely. The FIFA World Cup lives of those crucial, but accidental moments when the referee bends down to tie his shoe laces while all of the 90000 stadium watchers and a couple of millions in front of the television saw the ball go into the goal. When the referee decides to repeat the penalty because his attention was distracted for a second by a hot Latina behind the goal. Admit it! We all live for the drama because we love to think our team just lost because of an inept referee and the other team being a bunch of cheating bastards. That’s why there won’t be goal line technology and the English will keep on losing against Germany.

Durban – the City of the Rich and Famous

or Why Germany lost the semi-final

I have to admit that I planned my Durban semi-final trip with a good portion of German efficiency regarding my timing. I made plans to leave work as early as possible at 3 pm and then rush 50km to the airport to catch my flight at 5.15pm, latest check-in 4.45pm. I thought that was the weak spot of my genius attempt to get to Durban at half past six hurry to the stadium and make use of FIFA’s inability to eliminate the black market.

I made my way quickly to Joburg airport – those of you who live in Gauteng or have ever been to this black whole of a metropolitan city know that this is far from granted – just to see that all flights to Durban were delayed. Expectably you could say. It was just few hours until the cracker game Spain-Germany. Trusting in fate and good karma I relaxed and waited for further announcements. And karma seemed on my side. Slight delay of 45 minutes, but we were boarding the aircraft and ready for take-off at 6pm. The plane was full with football fans in white or red and yellow colours. ‘Do you have tickets for the game?’ Hesitating: ‘No, I’m just going to the fan park.’ The girl gave me a pitiful look. In fact, I was debating buying tickets for more than 200 dollars a piece just the night before. The once-in-a-lifetime propaganda of South African media finally got to me and I click on the order button for my online application just to receive an error message and the suggestion to try again later. Everything sold out. Was that also fate? 24 hours later and on the way to Durban it turned out it actually was. Ms Karma and Mr Fate still on my side. 150 football fans were on their way to Durban when the captain announced that because of congestion above King Shaka airport and our limited fuel reserves we had to divert back to Johannesburg International Airport. This was surely a joke wasn’t it? The cabin crew had cheeky smiles on their faces. This had to be a gag! They couldn’t just send us back, a plane full with angry football fans?! I didn’t believe we were landing where we departed until glancing out of the window. Indeed, we were back where we left just an hour earlier. What to do now? The English football fans behind me started shouting that they want to be in Durban. NOW! Since this obviously didn’t improve our situation they started to call the captain a wanker. Most people got up from their seats. The realisation spread that we might not make it for the game. Tears and screams started spreading. ‘I’ve spent 7000 Rand on my tickets. Thank you for ruining my life!’ Dramatic phone calls all around me. And I was just happy that my crappy internet connection gave me an error message the night before.

A group of German fans started steering up the crowd. ‘How can a plane leave an airport without enough fuel?’ ‘Why hasn’t anyone made sure there was a landing spot for us when we departed in Joburg?’ Heated discussions. In between I listened to the German conversation of my fellow countrymen. ‘Something like that would have never happened in Germany.’ By the way, this is the ultimate Germaness test – and this is how I know that I only have a German passport but I am not truly German – if something goes wrong, the first thing a German says: ‘That wouldn’t happen in GERMANY!’ Good for you my friend, but this is not Germany and that’s why this an amazing, exciting and vibrant place. I kept quiet and was not willing to join in the German winging, far too embarrassed to reveal myself as German-speaking. There were at least 100 reasons for why the German World Cup and its organisation was so much better and when the gentlemen dressed in Lederhosen and particularly the one with the SS-haircut got to the end of it, frustration called for more drastic rhetoric. ‘I will call my friend from the public television channel. This will be on the news tonight. Well done South Africa, you’ll make it into German news.’ I was not sure whether I should point out that surely even those Germans who have stayed back home in cosy, neat Germany have heard of this far away and dark place in Africa where the World Cup was hosted! The Lederhosen left outraged the plane to watch the Spain-Germany encounter in the airport while those of us with some hope left stayed on board for another 90 minutes. We finally made it to King Shaka after some turbulences and more chaos at the Durban airport and landed there just in time to see Germany lose in the second half of the game.

Germany only lost one game before, the Serbia-Germany one. And that was when I was walking through the streets of New York City and missed the first 30 minutes or so. Hence, correlation is not causality, but the two games that I didn’t watch in full the German team lost 1:0. I decided that from now on I had to watch all the European and World Cup matches to ensure that the boys win. Obviously they couldn’t make it without me. I’m not sure whether it means that I also need to be in the same country or even same city (at least in the later stages of the tournament), to strengthen the powers I possess – as proven by a 100% sample. Well, Brazil 2014, prepare yourself!

And as to Durban. I have to say: I love you! There is no city like you in all of South Africa and maybe even in the world. Weather is brilliant, beaches are stunning and the people are as easy-going as you would expect it from a bunch of surfers. Oh, and just to explain to my Lederhosen Germans: South Africa hosted an amazing World Cup, it’s just that your f***ing Chancellor alongside a handful of celebrities arriving in private jets for the game couldn’t be bothered to move their planes once landed. Therefore there was not enough space to accommodated planned commercial flights. Durban, this rich and famous touch of the semi-final, that’s not you! Next time make the celebs come by VW van or kulula last minute flight, just like the rest of us mortals.