Opoto's Guide to the World Cup (Part III)

First of all, this will most likely be my final World Cup post, unless something seriously dramatic happens in the three remaining games.  I’m not sure what the news situation is in America, but around here it is nearly impossible to get any updates on things that are not the World Cup.  Even CNN International felt it was necessary to do a full story on Ronaldo’s new baby and Dunga’s firing, while less important stories like “JFK evacuated due to bomb” “Poland elects new president” and “Hundreds feared dead after oil tanker explodes in Congo” were relegated to the ticker at the bottom.  We heard the Ronaldo update 3 times before there was any follow-up on the JFK story.

The reason I’m done writing about the World Cup is that after Friday, I don’t really care anymore.  I made a prediction for the final two in my last post: Brazil and Ghana.  As is typical for teams I have selected, both teams were promptly eliminated that afternoon—Brazil to Netherlands and Ghana to Uruguay (“Uru-gone”, see below for explanation).  The Brazil match was surprising, but other than a passing desire to keep watching their distinctive style, I had no real attachment to their team.  Brazil is definitely not an underdog in the competition, and who can really dislike the Netherlands, even if they made the inexplicable decision to make their uniforms orange, a color which looks good on nobody, but is particularly bad on the Dutch coloring. 

Then it was time for the Ghana game.  It had rained steadily through the afternoon, so we called a taxi and rode down to the NP (yes, it’s a bar at a gas station), our home for the Ghana matches.  We arrived as the players made their way to the pitch and the space was packed.  Eventually we found seats and exchanged pleasantries with those squeezed around us, winning friends by explaining that we were for Ghana and resented Uruguay’s tactics.  The first half of the game was troubling: nobody scored, but Ghana looked tired and outmatched.  When they had the ball, they played frantically, often losing passes or missing shots in their rush.  As stoppage time wound down, literally as the announcer commented, “If Ghana is going to score, they only have twenty seconds left to do so”, something clicked and the ball sailed into the net.  1-0 at the half.

The momentum had clearly shifted by the beginning of the second half, with Ghana regaining the team work and ball-handling that got them this far.  In contrast, Uruguay had one player who looked incredible (Forlan) and the rest of the team was just there.  And then the power went out.  The lights returned within seconds, but the projector and cable would need to reboot, and we waited in uneasy silence for what felt like twenty minutes, but was probably under two minutes.  When the tv returned, they were replaying a shot.  Uruguay had scored.  1-1.  Despite Ghana’s efforts, and Uruguay’s acting talents, the game finished 1-1, bumping us to extra periods (2 periods of 15 minutes each).  Luckily there is no break before the overtime starts, but by now we were all overly invested and our hearts were racing.  As time drew down on the final period, the announcer reminded us “If nobody scores right now, then we’re going to a penalty shoot-out.”  And Ghana connected with the ball and it flew past the goalkeeper, over players heads, and straight into the goal.  Except it didn’t, because one of those players (Suarez) decided to leap up and stop the ball.  With his hands.  He received a red card, granting Ghana a penalty kick.  And in that moment, Ghana looked like they had in the first half, as the ball careened wildly toward the goal and ricocheted off the top bar. 

By now, everyone was on their feet screaming in outrage, in disbelief, in pain.  The players lined up for free kicks: five of them, alternating between teams, Uruguay, Ghana, until Ghana missed a shot.  But then Uruguay missed, and hope lived again.  But then Ghana missed again and Uruguay made it and the game was over.  And everyone sat down with a thud, silently realizing what had just happened.  Suarez was carried around the field like a hero, even though he did little more than cheat and try to fake penalties.  One of Ghana’s players was carried off the field from where he had collapsed in tears, devastated that he had missed the penalty shot that could have ended the game.  And the collective wailing you heard was Africa’s last chance for a home victory in this World Cup. 

The story has a happy ending, however.  Uruguay advanced to play the Netherlands, who gained the support of much of the world, simply because they weren’t Uruguay.  During the match, Ghana fans carried signs that said “UruGONE!”  And following several brillant goals, including a timely skip to avoid an offsides call, the Netherlands emerged victorious.  The headline in the Toronto Star read: “Netherland Advances; Defeats World Cup Bad Guys.”  Ghana and South Africa were avenged, at least in part.  And while I will probably watch the final game (Netherlands v. Germany or Spain), my heart is no longer in it, at least not the same way.  So we’ll wait again, for another four years.