The soccer world cup is huge and while I am not an ardent soccer follower, I’m being caught up in all the excitement. It’s like having Christmas in midyear. Just stroll down your local shopping centre and marvel at all the colourful balley goods on display in virtually every shop. And there is of course a deluge of soccer mania in the mainstream media. Yes indeed, let’s have more of those cloying, wall-to-wall, feel-good advertisements depicting politically correct and demographically weighted mixtures of jubilant South Africans celebrating in Bafanaic delirium the national side’s relentless march to victory.

Well, let’s be positive, it is an ideal, a dream that we all share, isn’t it? It’s the least we can do. Dream, I mean. So, like every patriotic South African, I’m getting in the groove, I’m gathering some gees, I’m buying a car flag from my local Nigerian street vendor and I stand fully tempted to spit in a vuvuzela. More importantly, I’ve got my ticket. It is, after all, a bit like playing the lotto – if you don’t buy a ticket, you definitely won’t win. Gotta buy a ticket. Actually, it’s a lot like the lotto – even if you buy a ticket, you definitely won’t win.

I can’t wait to witness the glorious spectacle of the opening ceremonies and have every confidence that our event management and BEE staging companies will sting us proud. All the stadiums are completed on time and from what I have seen, we won’t have to stand back, not even for Dubai’s extravagant architectural brashness and excess.

I am not going to join the chorus of cynical critics who have made nasty claims that many of the stadiums will be white elephants after the World Cup. The mischief makers suggest that these ghost stadiums should be outrageously demolished rather than have the state throw good taxpayer’s money after bad in trying to maintain them as decaying monuments of folly. Really, you would think the cynics might show a bit more imagination. They should be rounded up and, as in Roman times, fed to the lions. That should fill the stadiums.

I am a trifle concerned, however, by the selection of local celebrities cited to make guest appearances at the opening ceremonies. I have not seen the programme but feel sure the political who’s who in the Zuma zoo will be trotted out to mesmerize and enchant the international community. Fair enough, they are our elected leaders. But there is a worrying rumour that Steve Hofmeyer, in the absence of Mal Emmer (who is attending halfwit remedial classes), might be called upon to sex up the show by clutching his crotch while delivering a Rap version of the Ancyl’s risky tune: Kiss the Hoer. I beg your pardon, that should read Kiss the Boer. I’m also really apprehensive about the possibility of Puke Watson being hailed to the podium by Septic Bladder to execute, in the full glare of international adulation and admiration, the cheeky art of vomiting on the national team jersey.

Halala Bafana Bafana!

 Zander Heeger

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