There are many ways to define “best player.” The most talented; most influential; most in-form; the best player on the best team are all common definitions of the term. And for the 2009-10 season, they all define Wesley Sneijder.

While there are myriad ways to define the best player in the world, there is one clear way to know you made the wrong choice: When the three finalists are selected, they are all on the same club team. And that team did not win Champions League.

The finalsts are, in order of probability that they will win, Xavi Hernandez, Leonel Messi, and Andres Iniesta. The latter is there because he scored the goal that won the World Cup. Messi is the most talented player in the world. But Xavi is the odds-on favorite to win.

Xavi

Why Xavi? The reasons seem to topple over one another. They call him the maestro. His orchestra is the most talented group of footballers (assembled at considerable expense) in the world. Xavi completes more passes per game than any other player, over 100 in 90 minutes on many occasions. He is the offensive engine of a team that was built for him. His club manager, Pep Guardiola, occupied Xavi’s role on the Barcelona squad before joining its coaching ranks. Modern soccer is a business, and star players are always moving between teams. Xavi has stayed in the Barcelona system his entire career, and when Deco was hit by injuries and began his decline, the Barcelona team was molded to Xavi’s style of play.

Xavi trots around the midfield, moving the ball and changing the angles of play until they line up for him. If you didn’t know better, you might think he was trying to check off every player on his Passing Bingo card. What he is really doing is playing God with the universe of the field, moving players like a deity arranges planets. Xavi’s success has garnered such respect from his teammates, that he almost always receives the ball when he checks into space, and his team rarely tries to start an attack without the red stamp approval of a Xavi forward pass.

He plays the same role on the Spanish national team. And Xavi benefits from the unique TV rights system in Spain that allows each team to negotiate its own deal. Barcelona and Real Madrid, flush with television money, own almost all of the Spanish national team players. This makes the transition from club to country easier for the Spanish than for most national sides.

Sneijder

In contrast, Wesley Sneijder is the only Dutchman on Internationale Milan. He arrived before the 2009-10 season after an ignominious spell at Real Madrid. When he signed with Inter Sneijder said, “Leaving Madrid is not a defeat. They have treated me very bad, but I prefer not to speak, really.”

Sneijder arrived at a club that had just sold its top striker, Zlatan Ibrahimovic, to Xavi’s Barcelona. Ibra was more than a goalscorer for Inter, he was the hub through which the offense flowed. His unique blend of size, skill and speed had been nary unstoppable in Italy, and Inter could only replace him with aging sniper Diego Milito and Barcelona reject Samuel Eto’o. Both players were more traditional strikers than Ibra, and Sneijder was asked to become the central playmaker after spending a year as an afterthought at Real.

There is little denying that Sneijder was joining a talented team. Inter was looking for a fifth straight Serie A title, but the true goal was Champions League. President Massimo Moratti had recruited Ibrahimovic and manager Jose Mourinho with the European crown in mind. Acquiring Sneijder was something of a coup, but after a season in which he started less than half of Madrid’s La Liga matches how much could Inter expect from their tiny Oranje?

A lot. A Golden Ball’s worth of a lot. Sneijder had 4 goals and 6 assists in 26 Serie A matches, and his exceptional free kicks made opponents wary of committing fouls within 30 yards of goal. In less than one season he became to Inter what it took Xavi a career to become for Barcelona. In fact, he was more. Sneijder did not have the benefits of Ballon d’Or winner Messi or Xavi-level creative force Iniesta for assistance. Instead, Inter lined up with some combination of the elderly Cambiasso, the limited Thiago Motta, the sullen Muntari, and the out-of-position Zanetti behind their Dutch attacker. With an offensive complement like that, who needs strikers, right?

Yet, Inter had strikers. Milito may be getting up there in years, but he was a force for Genoa in 2008-09. Eto’o may have been unceremoniously dumped by Barcelona, but he was still one of the best three African footballers on the planet. But as Rooney and Heskey, Higuain and Benzema, and Berbatov and anyone besides Robbie Keane will tell you, just putting two forwards together doesn’t guarantee goals. A striker’s job is to finish. This definition necessitates a start, or in soccer lingo: Service. Barcelona has about ten players on the pitch at any given time that provide better service than Sully Muntari. Inter relied on Wesley Sneijder to bring Milito and Eto’o into the game and force opposing defenses to respect the Inter counterattack.

So Sneijder pulls on the blue and black shirt and in his first season turns provider for an entirely new strike force. He leads them to victory in Coppa Italia and keeps them on top in Serie A. Meanwhile, Xavi takes Barcelona to the top of La Liga but cannot prevent a Round of 16 exit against Sevilla. While both players are deserving of high marks, they will meet twice more before a Ballon d’Or verdict can be rendered.

Champions League

Inter and Barcelona met in the semi-finals of the 2009-10 Champions League. The first leg was played at the San Siro in Milan, and Sneijder was the star of the show. He opened the scoring in the 30th and moved the ball with ease and precision in the face of relentless Barcelona pressure. One of the reasons it’s so hard to defeat Barcelona is that their defensive pressure is as good as their passing. Only a player of immense technical ability can run an offense in the face of such disciplined and aggressive zonal marking. The 3-1 scoreline in favor of Inter Milan shows that Sneijder is such a player.

In the second leg at the Camp Nou, Sneijder was asked to carry a heavy defensive load after Motta received a first half red card. Inter survived and went on to win their first Champions League trophy since 1964-65. Sneijder had the assist on the winning goal. It was one of six assists and three goals Sneijder picked up during his eleven games of the tournament.

World Cup

The next time Xavi and Sneijder met was the World Cup final. Xavi’s Spain was the favorite. And although he has been given immeasurable credit for their success, it can be argued that Xavi was only the third most important player on the Spain squad. David Villa scored five of Spain’s eight goals (eight goals in five games? That’s it?) Meanwhile, Sergio Busquets was reinventing the holding midfield position by dropping deep between the center backs and starting the Spanish offense from deep in his own half.

Spain got to the final despite an underwhelming cup performance from Fernando Torres. The Netherlands got to the final despite stilted performances from striker Robin van Persie and winger/striker Rafael van der Vaart. If only a tiny leader would step forward to lead the Oranje through this difficult period…

Sneijder had five goals and an assist in seven World Cup matches. He scored with his feet and his head and was the most dangerous player on the Dutch team.

The Facts

Remember: The Ballon d’Or is awarded for performance over the course of one year; it’s not a lifetime achievement award. Xavi: Same team his whole career, team built for him, La Liga title, no league cup, World Cup title.

Sneijder: New team, new strikers, jettisoned by his former club, no Iniesta at his side, no Ballon d’Or winner in front of him, Serie A title, league cup title, Champions League title.

Nobody can say that Xavi is anything less than a brilliant footballer. But nobody can look at these facts and say he deserves the Ballon d’Or over Wesley Sneijder.

2018: Russia.

2022: Qatar.

For supporters of the US bid, a tweet from Sports Illustrated’s Grant Wahl describing the scene before the announcement said it all: “Qatari delegation members getting handshakes & some hugs from FIFA voters. Hmmmmm….”

Hmmmmm, indeed.

Here’s how the voting went for 2022:

First round: Australia 1, Japan 3, USA 3, Korea Republic 4, Qatar 11
Second round: Japan 2, Korea 5, USA 5, Qatar 10 votes
Third round: Korea 5, USA 6, Qatar 11
Fourth round: USA 8, Qatar 14
Qatar win.

Here’s how the voting went for 2018:

First round: England 2, Holland/Belgium 4, Spain/Portugal 7, Russia 9
Second round: Holland/Belgium 2, Spain/Portugal 7, Russia 13
Russia win.

Here are some fun facts about Qatar from the State Department website:

Qatar does not allow individuals with HIV/AIDS to enter the country. Medical exams are required for all long-term visitors and residents. Individuals who have HIV/AIDS may be subject to deportation.”

Incidents involving insults or obscene language/gestures often result in arrest, overnight imprisonment, and/or fines whether the incident occurs between private parties or involves officers of the law.

Insulting someone in public is considered a punishable offense.

Drunk driving, public intoxication, and other alcohol-related offenses are treated with severity and will result in arrest, heavy fines, imprisonment, or expulsion from the country.

Homosexual activity is considered to be a criminal offense, and those convicted may be sentenced to lashings, a prison sentence, and/or deportation.

Local and third-country-national young men have been known to verbally and physically harass unaccompanied, expatriate women.

Criminal offenses are punished according to Qatari laws, which in some cases are based on Islamic law and sometimes more severe than in the United States for similar offenses. Persons violating Qatari laws, even unknowingly, may be arrested, imprisoned, deported, or subject to a ban from departing Qatar.

U.S.citizens in Qatar are strongly encouraged to maintain a high level of vigilance, be aware of local events, and take appropriate steps to bolster their personal security at all times.

After an opening 20 minutes of play that saw the US stymied by an energetic Guatemala side, Rodriguez opened the scoring when she pounced on the deflection from a shot by Heather O’Reilly.

Less than a minute later, Megan Rapinoe made it 2–0 with a long-range shot.

Abby Wambach made it 3–0 in the 29th minute with a powerful header off of a free kick from Rapinoe. Wambach netted her second goal of the match—her fifth of the tournament—three minutes later. Receiving a pass from Carli Lloyd, Wambach cut to the middle of the box and powered a shot that the keeper got a hand to but could not stop.

A pass from Lloyd in the 40th minute was received by Rapinoe who then scored her second goal of the match with a hard left-footed shot from 18 yards out.

In first half stoppage time, Lloyd completed her hat trick of assists when her bouncing shot from the top of the box was redirected by Rodriguez for her second goal of the match.

Alex Morgan, in for Wambach, made it 7–0 in the 49th minute. When Morgan was fouled in the box in the 55th minute, Lloyd converted the penalty kick to add her first goal of the tournament to her five assists.

Having started off the scoring, Rodriguez finished it in the 88th minute. Morgan raced down the left wing, beating two defenders before laying off a pass that Rodriguez finished with a left-footed chip into upper right corner to record her first career hat trick.

“I was fortunate enough to find myself around the net and score three very unique goals for me,” Rodriguez said, “but at the end of the day, it’s more about reaching the semifinals and making it to the World Cup.”

The US will now play Costa Rica on Monday. Costa Rica are also undefeated in Group B and have secured a place in the semifinals. If the US wins or draws against Costa Rica, they will secure first place in the group and face the as yet undetermined second place team in Group A. Canada and Mexico are undefeated in Group A and will meet on Tuesday.

Costa Rica has not conceded a goal in its last four matches. The US and Costa Rica have met twice before in CONCACAF World Cup qualifiers, five times in all competitions. The US won both qualifying matches with a combined score of  15–0, all five matches with a combined score of 27–0.

You can view the match live at 9:30pm via a free video web stream on CONCACAF.com.

On Sunday, Brazil secured a historic double, winning both the Women’s and the Men’s 2010 Homeless World Cup. The women secured the title in the first of the day’s matches, beating Mexico 7–3. Later, the men’s team cruised to a 6–0 win over Chile.

The Mexico men’s team won third place after Portugal fought back from being down 4–1 to force the match into a penalty shoot out.

The USA men’s team finished 20th in the tournament with five wins and eight losses, including a massive 7–0 win over Slovenia and a dramatic match against Italy that stood at 6–6 at the completion of regulation time and was won on penalty kicks.

The USA women’s team, the Lady Salmanders, finished 11th in the tournament. They had four wins and five losses, including another match that ended at 6–6, this time against Norway. The US also won that one on penalty kicks.

A USA player prepares to strike

USA v Italy. After regulation time ended with the score at 6–6, the US won on penalty kicks.

The USA putting on the moves against Russia.

USA 3–5 Russia

Warming up before a match

A player on the Haitian women’s team

Costa Rica v Mexico

Costa Rica v Luxembourg

Holland v Romania

Cooling off

Team New Zealand perform a haka before a match

The Spanish are the best team in the world.  They are European Champions and World Cup Champions.  They play beautiful, free flowing football.  They have the best midfielders in the world.  There is not a team in the world that can compete with them when they are on their game.  So the Dutch went with the strategy that they thought would win them the game, beating the crap out of the Spanish side.  Was it pretty?  No.  Was it dirty?  It’s arguable.  But it was effective.  And it should have won them the game.  Sit in.  Defend stoutly.  Foul if you have to.  Counter attack when it’s on.  It worked for over 110 minutes and really, Arjen Robben should have scored in regular time to win them the game.  As far as I can tell, the goal of the tournament is to win. And I’d imagine the Dutch would have liked to win pretty, but sometimes it’s not possible.  And when that’s not possible, you have to do it what it takes.  I would use this same argument to defend Luis Suarez’s handball.  The World Cup only comes every four years, and only once in a career for some footballers.  You have to do what you can to win while you are there.

My preference is for entertaining, free-flowing football.  Barcelona, Arsenal, Spain (or is that the same as Barcelona) are all amazing to watch when they have their game going.  But playing quick, one-touch passes, requires skilled players willing to work to maintain that style for 90 minutes.  And most countries and clubs don’t have these players.  For every Arsenal there is a Stoke City or Bolton Wanderers, just waiting to punish you for wanting to impose that flowing style.  Is it their preference to play that way?  Maybe, but I assume it’s not.  But you have to work with what you have.  Stoke is never going to be able to bring in the talent that Arsenal or Barcelona can.  So they have to do what they can to win games and stay in the Premier League.  And what they can do is make themselves difficult to break down.  To make themselves physically imposing and just no fun to play against.

I am glad the Union has put a team together to play positive soccer.  I was afraid we were going to become the Stoke City of MLS, because, hey, this is Philadelphia.  And I was willing to let it go, because with a young expansion team, it might have been the only road to getting points.  But we’ve been able to enjoy some solid possession soccer from our hometown boys.  But if it comes down to winning the game, or when it comes down to getting points, you have to do it the way that you can and not the way that you want to sometimes.

Locust from 15th to 16th St. on Sunday June 11th.

Four years ago, all you could do was bemoan the lack of outdoor viewing opportunities as you continuously saw clips of thousands of fans huddled together in outdoor fan parks in Germany, let alone in Times Square and Boston’s Government Center.

Things were a bit different this World Cup. In addition to The Piazza’s continuous communal picnic feel, there was Fado’s two massive block parties, the first being held the day of the USA v England match.

With 25ft screens you can get a little creative. Well done.

On Sunday for the final, a packed Fado was abutted by a sea of fans stretching from 15^th to 16^th St. on Locust. Vuvuzelas blared. Spanish flags danced on the air. Orange clad Oranje supporters showed little care for their team’s underdog status. Other fans, elbow to elbow, watched from alcoves

Up above, the openings from the parking garage atop the corner pub affording a brilliant view of the 25 ft. screen at 15^th and Locust.

(In the back of a packed pub)

Who are ya?

Brittany Bauma.

Oh Bauma, we wish it had gone differently.

PSP: So, you’re a little excited for Holland.

BB: I’m a Holland fan all my life. My family is from right outside Amsterdam. I was born here and live in Burlington, NJ.

PSP: How big of a soccer fan are you?

BB: It’s probably my second or third favorite sport. I played center mid in high school in New Jersey. I have a record for the farthest goal score from midfield. Not on purpose — I was going to send it forward and the goalie over played it.

PSP: Why do you think Holland is going to win?

BB: They’re the underdog and they know it. No one expected them to go this far.

PSP: But what makes you think Holland can counter Spain’s tactical brilliance at midfield?

BB: I feel like Holland is going to neutralize Xavi which will open up scoring opportunities on the counter attack.

PSP: So why did you say 3^rd favorite sport?

BB: I guess it’s not on enough.

PSP: No Premier League? Come back here or any of a number of soccer pubs in the city in a few weeks.

BB: I guess I’m not a true true fan. I hope to be. I lived in Milan for 5 months and that made me more of a fan. So I hope to get into it more.

PSP: Were you at the San Siro?

BB: Yea.

PSP: …wow. Forza Milan!

(Amidst the convivial clamor as game time neared…)

Who are ya?

Nicolas Clemente

PSP: Where are you from in Spain? And where locally?

NC: Grenada, Spain; South Philly.

PSP:It seems apparent, but how big of a soccer fan are you?

NC: Oh my God, I’m always a huge fan. Soccer rules the world.

PSP: Which club do you support?

From left to right for La Rojas: Pepe Gimenez, Carlos Ortiz, and Nicolas Clemente

NC: I’m a Real Madrid fan. Where I’m from we have Grenada football club but it’s never going to be a big team.

PSP: Can you put into words your excitement level right now?

NC: [beaming effusively] This is a World Cup; it is a very big thing.

Eager anticipation from start to finish that would be rewarded at the 116th minute.

PSP: Why do you think Spain will win?

NC: Because we are very stubborn. We haven’t won in 40 years. We are going to make history, being the first team to win after losing their first match. We work as a team and never give up.

[The excitement of the crowd, the moment getting to him]

NC: I don’t know what [else] to say.

PSP: Who do you think will supply the big goal?

Hopefully it will be Torres. Hopefully he will start. We need him to be all over the place.

[His friend interjecting]

Pepe Gimenez: I think Villa two goals, Pedro one. I agree [with NC’s Torres statement]. If I was the coach I would take the risk with Torres, while others would say fuck Torres.

[As Spanish fans everywhere enjoyed the euphoria of the moment...]

Who are ya?

Francesco Gonzalez

Francesco Gonzalez, posing with Julia Gill, feels like a champion.

PSP:Where are from in Spain, as well as the local area?

FG: I’m from Barcelona. I’ve lived in Philly for two years.

PSP: Your thoughts on Spain now?

FG: The feeling is for 4 years we had the best team. We played like champions. They had the courage to come back and win it [after dropping their first match] and other teams have to recognize it.

PSP: What about their play stands out? They’ve won games by close margins, but have done so masterfully. What stands out?

FG: They kept the same style of play. They always kept attacking. Xavi opens up the space- with Xabi Alonso he dominates the mid. He [Xavi] finds Villa and Iniesta, pushing the ball up the field with brilliance.

PSP: Yeah, his passing has been superb, with the number of scoring chances he set up game after game being on a genius level. The back heel flick to Villa against  Portugal comes to mind.

FG: That was amazing.

After the match the vuvuzelas blended nicely with Spanish guitar and salsa.

PSP: Besides the great turnout today with so many people packing the street and filling the pub, what do you think of the game’s appreciation here?

FG: I think it’s only going to get better. I’ve been here [in the states] for 8 years. It is great. I think it should only grow. It’s the world’s sport. It’s beautiful to see it here.

We decided to set up camp in Rustenburg, about 100 miles north of Jo’burg, up the aptly-titled Platinum Highway, or the N4. The town, awash with riches following the relatively recent discovery of the precious mineral, is unspectacular but rests in the foothills of the certainly spectacular Magliaesburg Mountains. You might remember the name from pre-World Cup fever—it was where Portuguese journalists were robbed at gunpoint mere days before the opening ceremony.

Rusty, with its red earth hills and gleaming new shopping mall, the Waterfall, would be our home for the better part of two weeks.  However, after seeking the advice of some of South Africa’s diaspora, we decided not to brave the aforementioned N4 after touching down at Oliver Tambo International Airport. After struggling to locate the Safari Club and then struggling further to manipulate the Euro-style heating unit inside, we bundled up and went to sleep, fully aware that when our eyes opened we’d see the African sun for the first time.

Our Honda Jazz, affectionately known as "The Blue Demon"

Our surprisingly good breakfast fortified us enough for the journey to Rustenburg. Our electric blue Honda Jazz (think Fit) sputtered onto the R21. It only took me about 20 minutes to foolishly exclaim, “I don’t know what all the fuss was about, this isn’t so bad…” How perversely comical those words would prove when less than an hour later, the N4 all but beat me into submission.

The roads in South Africa, while generously paved, are woefully narrow. Try to imagine if an important artery in our country, say I-95, was one lane. That would be the N4.  Oncoming traffic, a few inches away, whizzed by the Blue Demon at around 160 km/h.  Tractor trailers jockeyed for position with late model Audis and BMWs. The Blue Demon, in its feeble attempt to pass one of these behemoths, nearly collided head-on with a Mercedes sedan. It would be days before it, and more importantly, I would muster up the courage to try again.

After two sweaty-palmed hours, we pulled into our bed and breakfast, Terra Casa Guesthouse. Terra Casa is truly a diamond in the rough. The well-appointed, Mediterranean-styled mansion contrasted starkly with the otherwise pedestrian suburb. We unpacked in our room, the van Gogh suite, and hastily made our way to breakfast. The owner of Terra Casa, Elmarie, doubles as a world class chef, and her eggs benedict was simply a revelation. The lavish dining room, filled with World Cup tourists, was abuzz with excitement. It wasn’t just Elmarie’s delicate mushrooms that had everyone in a tizz, it was the reprisal of the Revolutionary War that was about to take place. Amongst the cockney and scouse accents we faintly deciphered a bit of Californian in there and had our suspicions confirmed when we spied a red jersey with the Don’t Tread On Me snake. Together with the couple from San Francisco we would form a traveling party later that afternoon to the Royal Bafokeng stadium in Rustenburg.

A failed attempt to navigate the murky waters of Rusty’s park and ride system behind us, we managed to make it to the shuttle pick up. The atmosphere was electric. The American Outlaws supporters group dueled with England fans clad in Monty Python outfits.  The ensuing hilarity of chants reminded me why football is the best entertainment for the money. The AOs and English traded barbs with songs like “There were three English soldiers on a hill…there were three English soldiers on a hill…” and “If you’ve won a World Cup, clap your hands,” respectively.

To be fair, it was almost all good-natured and I heard of zero violence between the two sets of supporters. A text message from my sister indicated our Yanks outnumbered the blokes eight thousand to six thousand. Our seats, Category 1, were lamented by many in the American Outlaws as being nose bleeds. I, for one, love being high enough to view the entirety of the pitch at once, to have an aerial view of tactics and formation.

"There were two English soldiers on a hill..."

The game itself, from a purist standpoint, wasn’t amazing. The result, of course, was.  Steven Gerrard saw his 4th minute tally erased when Clint Dempsey’s tame effort squirted out of Robert Green’s grasp and barely trickled over the line. Pandemonium broke loose in the American section. My camera flew out of my hands and with them I filled the body parts of complete strangers. Anyone within 10 yards was not safe from my embrace. We hugged, we kissed, we cried. We felt like we had won. Lord only knows what we would have done had Jozy Altidore’s second half shot careened in off the post, instead of glancing wide. The result was perfectly immortalized with the New York Post headline, “USA wins 1-1!,” the subtitle indicating this was the best American draw since the battle of Bunker Hill. And who could argue?

Our jubilation spilled over into the car park where I slugged red wine and danced the Wocka Wocka with the locals.

Deviating from our whirlwind itinerary, we decided to spend the morning afternoon exploring Rusty. Having already driven through the seedy CBD (central business district), there wasn’t much left to see other than the Waterfall Mall. Side by side with the world’s greatest consumers, the Yanks and the Brits, we stammered into store after store in search of World Cup regalia. We filled our bags and then our stomachs, stopping to take in a match and some great seafood curry at the Cape Town Fish Market, an upmarket chain restaurant of South Africa.

With Sunday blown on shopping and eating, we combined our Sunday and Monday itinerary and headed north for Pilanesburg Game Reserve. Billing itself as a malaria-free park, the generously stocked reserve boasted of the chance to spot all of Africa’s “Big Five”:  the rhinoceros, Cape buffalo, lion, leopard, and elephant. I was decidedly skeptical, especially considering we missed the mark again on my anal retentive itinerary and showed up at the park’s gate well after dawn.

My skepticism was all but confirmed when we saw a massive open-top tour bus beat us to the punch into the reserve. At this point, I would have been happy to see a chipmunk. Well, it took all of three minutes to prove me wrong. Two humongous white rhinos were right by the side of the road, scarfing down a breakfast of grass and wheat. We giddily reached for our cameras and went to work.  Not five minutes in and we had checked one of the Big Five off our list.

The puttering of the Jazz would bring us face to face with not only the white rhino that day but scores of other species including the gemsbok, antelope, buffalo, giraffe, zebra and elephant. The elusive leopard and sleeping king of the jungle were yet to be found.  But Pilanesburg was a great success with hundreds of animals spotted in a mere six hours. Considering our manic two week tour of the subcontinent, the famous Kruger Park would have to be skipped.  So, it was on to Sun City, the continent’s largest gambling mecca.

The kitschy hokeyness of the Lost Palace proved to be little more than a Vegas facsimile, the first of very few disappointments in our trip. Of course, the other let down, a sorry excuse for pizza would await us next as we watched an own goal and a Dirk Kuyt rebound trip up a plucky Danish side. The unbridled excitement of watching the World Cup live would be tempered with some of the poorer television viewing experiences I’ve come across. We left Sun City and made our way back to Rusty.

Before dawn the next morning, a South African Airways jetliner would take us to Cape Town. We touched down Tuesday on a misty Cape morning. Our driver whisked us from the car park to the highway towards the Victoria and Alfred waterfront, our home for the next four days. I couldn’t help but notice the shantytown that straddled the highway. The hotel driver informed us this area was called Cape Flats. The houses were built from tin, some lacking complete roofs. Apparently, these people were waiting for government housing to be built, a process that would take years.

As I later reflected on the juxtaposition of the Cape Flats and the V & A Waterfront, I couldn’t help draw a parallel that hits closer to home. Around the corner from our apartment, in fashionable Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia’s elite dine on $60 steaks at Smith and Wollensky, near the base of the Rittenhouse Hotel, all the while homeless men, a mere hundred yards away, fight rats to salvage cigarette butts and food remnants. The dichotomy of the affluent V & A waterfront and the Cape Flats invoked the same feelings of sadness. We were here for our honeymoon, for the five star treatment. But thankfully that was put into perspective upon seeing how the majority of South Africa’s 48 million residents lived—in poverty. It is the single greatest problem facing our planet today. South Africa, with most of its people living on less than $1 a day, is certainly no stranger to it.

Later in the week, our tour guide would illuminate more issues. One of particular significance, was crime. There are 50 murders in South Africa each day, a startling statistic considering the country doesn’t even boast 50 million people. By contrast, around 60 people are murdered each day in the U.S.A., a country of over 300 million people. Media pundits, sensationalist outlets, and bloggers from here to kingdom come were quick to point this out in the lead up to the World Cup kickoff. But they didn’t paint the complete picture.

Freddy, our city tour guide Wednesday, came close. The overwhelming majority of the violence, according to him, was perpetuated by black South Africans against immigrants from neighboring countries, particularly Zimbabwe. The refugees, fleeing political strife and economic collapse in their home countries, came to South Africa seeking work and a better life.

Well, they got one out of two.

Prepared to work for any wage, as low as ten cents on the dollar compared with their South African counterparts, the immigrants found employment at every turn. This of course, provoked a reaction from the inhabitants of their recently adopted country, a reaction which oftentimes turned deadly. The President, Jacob Zuma, has an interesting, humanitarian take on the subject. He rightfully concluded that these people would be offered safe harbor for it was they who took in hundreds of thousands of South Africans during the brutal apartheid regime. Reciprocity, if not brotherhood itself, was evident.

Race relations are refreshingly blunt in South Africa. Our driver, Freddy, nonchalantly explained the difference between the people of South Africa: “whites” were Caucasians from all over—Britain, Portugal, and of course Holland; “coloureds” were biracial and could be any number of combinations of Indian, Malaysian, African, and European; “blacks” were people who migrated from central Africa—Congolese, Bantu, Zulu, etc.

Freddy himself was as he described, “a black person with a big nose, a Bantu.” He spoke of all different ethnic people from a country who despite the above atrocities, was mostly at peace with itself. The latent racism—“Some people just couldn’t adapt” as Freddy put it—was overt, easily identifiable if not tolerable.

It got me to thinking about the racism in this country, the covert. If racism and race relations are front page news in South Africa, they are merely the subtext on American shores, hidden from plain sight, but undoubtedly crucial to the bigger picture. We have not become colorblind, as reported, but rather colormute. We simply refuse to discuss race relations any longer, sweeping it under the rug, using broad and dismissive language to marginalize its relevance. Although South Africans could learn from us in terms of city planning and highway networking, it’s us that has a great deal to learn from them concerning race and equality. If it’s one thing I learned about South Africa its that it is a country united.

But just a day before I was bemoaning the plight of the residents of the Cape Flats, I was ironically, but hopefully not to hypocritically, exploring the Cape’s winelands. My wife and I booked a private tour of the towns of Stellenbosch, Franshoek, and Paarl. We surveyed South Africa’s incredibly underrated varietals and blends—shiraz, pinotage, cab franc, and scores of others. The highlight of the day was lunch at La Petite Ferme (The Little Farm) a wonderful little vineyard nestled amongst rust colored foliage and towering oak trees. My fish stew was as unbelievable as the red wine I used to wash it down.

Our German tour guide, Jochen, had an uncanny grasp of South African history and provided us with all the background we needed on local winemaking. The crux of his dissertation was that the Dutch were basically crap at making wine so they imported the Huguenots, French people who freely made wine but couldn’t freely practice their religion. It was a win-win situation for both parties—the Dutch got all the knowledge the could possibly need with respect to the growing of grapes and cultivation of wine and the Huguenots got a beautiful place to worship God in the way they wanted.

We breezed through the hills of Franshoek and soaked in the sun of a glorious day. Our bellies full and bodies warmed from a day of sun and wine, we made our way back to the waterfront for a night of World Cup matches,  the highlight of course being the Brazil right back, Maicon’s sublime finish against North Korea. The goal, from the most improbable of acute angles, was necessary as was Elano’s side foot because the North Koreans made a spirited fight of it and drew a goal back late on. We went to sleep fuzzy from more wine and dizzy from Maicon’s genius.

Little bugger almost took a digit with him

The next day was a tour of Cape Point, including the Cape of Good Hope, the most South-Western point in all of Africa. Aside from Freddy’s political discourse, the best parts of the day were the seals at Seal Island, the penguins at Cape Point and me almost having my hand bit off by a giant ostrich.

That night we dined at a relatively mediocre Italian restaurant in the mall near the V & A waterfront and watched freshly signed Manchester United forward Javier “Chicharito” Hernadez undress a decidedly poor French side.

We were up early the next day and on a plane headed back to Jo’burg, where our second match, Slovenia v. USA awaited us. We hopped back in our electric blue Jazz, and after paying a shockingly low short-term parking fee, scooted out to explore the city. After taking a two hour motor tour of Sandton and the surrounding neighborhoods, we made our way to the park ‘n’ ride.

This was by far the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had getting in and out of a stadium. The worst, you ask? A 1998 Pearl Jam concert at the E-Center in Camden when it took us three hours to exit the parking garage. Apologies to all you E. Vedder fans out there but five-plus hours of 90’s-era grunge is not my idea of a wonderful evening. Anyway, I digress—back to Ellis Park.

The stadium is a throwback and full of unabated kitschiness. Street vendors sold various meats—grilled lamb and pork and chicken.  Inside the stadium the fare was even better. Our seats were conveniently located right in front of a counter selling curry pies! Sure, I still had to wash it down with the King of Beers but it offered a welcome respite from the radioactive crisps we had been devouring up until that point.

The game itself began in horrifying fashion. 55,000 people and the entire starting eleven of team U.S.A., watched, paralyzed, as Valter Birsa picked up the ball 25 yards from goal and ripped a left-footed shot past a statuesque Tim Howard. Another game, another early letdown. Things went from bad to worse when just before the half, Zlatan Ljubijankic was left unmarked and made no mistake in slotting home underneath Howard, 2-nil Slovenia. The U.S.A. was effectively out of the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Then the spirited fight back. Landon Donovan, on a one-man counterattack, found himself with the ball inside the six yard box but almost on the endline. He waited and waited for help for what seemed like an eternity. The help never came. With nowhere to go but forward, Lando aimed and fired a rocket at the the head of the Slovene goalkeeper. He ducked and it hit the roof of the net!  Slovenia 2 – U.S.A. 1!  We were back in it.

The tension was building. A loss would almost all but extinguish our chances of advancement to the second round. But Jozy Altidore’s header found Michael Bradley inside the area and the U.S.A. midfielder perfectly volleyed home to level the score at 2-2 with less than ten minutes to play! Resume random hugging and kissing.

Our midfield section almost reached a fever pitch when Maurice Edu’s finish put us ahead minutes later. However, the latest party was very short-lived as I noticed the lack of celebration and then protest from the American bench. I couldn’t see the linesman’s flag so I assumed a foul had been called inside the box. It had of course, as replays that evening would suggest, but on who was (and still is) a great mystery. But the important thing was, with a game remaining against Algeria, we were still alive, if not alive and well.

Driving home on the R24, drunk on another spirited fight back, we found ourselves a bit lost. Getting lost in Jo’burg isn’t a great idea. Not only are the roads poorly lit, signage is erratic at best. It was a crapshoot. I’m generally one not to worry and leave that to my wife but even I started to feel a bit nervy as we made turn after turn into dark, uncharted territory. In retrospect, had we known the R21 would never turn into an American-style interstate, we wouldn’t have been so fearful. Yet, fearing the worst for 100 km isn’t fun. Finally, after another white-knuckled foray into the South African highway system, we arrived back in good ol’ Rusty.

We awoke to the smell of another one of Elmarie’s skillful creations, french toast, this time, stuffed with cheese. After breakfast, it was time to turn back on the N4 and to Harbeespoort Dam for the Elephant Sanctuary. We sat in on a brief information session on the anatomy of an elephant and then trekked through the forest to meet three of the sanctuary’s inhabitants. This was certainly a highlight for me. We were able to touch the trunk, tusks, ears, and toenails of this mystical animal. The interactive hour culminated with an elephant kiss which left us with dirt marks on our cheeks. However, the real hilarity ensued next.

We had scheduled a ride on the elephants as part of the tour. We watched a few couples take the two lap ride and patiently awaited our turn to mount these massive beasts. Well, mounting proved to be a bit tricky. What should have been a simple exercise turned into full on comedy for the twenty or so Argentines, Mexicans, Dutch, and Aussies there with us. The formula was supposed to be a no-brainer—each couple would mount the elephant, woman first then man after the trainer had taken his place at the front. The diminutive jockey hopped right on, followed by my wife. Then it was my turn. My legs just wouldn’t do what my brain was telling them. Apparently, I’m the most inflexible human being alive, or at the very least, the most inflexible human to ever patronize the Elephant Sanctuary in Hartbeespoort Dam, South Africa.

Simba, the slightly more straddle-able elephant

I struggled to comply with the trainer’s request to relax my legs. Try after try to mount the animal proved unsuccessful. Now a small crowd had formed. They stopped taking pictures of their loved ones in front of elephants long enough to point and laugh at my misfortune and inflexibility. Thankfully, they were all speaking different languages. But their gestures were universal. I had to laugh too.

I decided to abandon ship and leave my wife alone on this particular adventure. But add insult to injury and here was their solution—I would ride Simba, the 10-year old elephant. The multicultural audience erupted into laughter when they saw the trainers walk over my replacement pachyderm, a mini elephant. And of course, I still struggled to straddle the damn thing.

We relived the story over some more great wine and my one millionth plate of fish curry at the Cape Town Fish Market that night. The next day would prove epic as I’d check off one of my bucket list items—see Brazil play in the World Cup.

The walk up to Soccer City reminded me greatly of a walk I had done a year earlier—the mile long hike from the train stop to the Allianz Arena in Munich to see Bavarian giants Bayern battle FC Barcelona in the Champions League. The glowing orb of the Allianz that night looked like a space ship. Soccer City looks like a calabash, a traditional African cooking pot. It’s giant mosaic tiles interlocking for thousands of square feet is truly an architectural miracle.

Inside the stadium, Luis Fabiano, performed a miracle of an altogether different sort. The Brazilian center forward appeared to handle the ball not once, but twice, when flicking the ball up and over two Ivorian defenders before smashing home on the volley.  This would be his second tally of the night and Elano would make it three before Didier Drogba pulled one back for Les Elephants.  Had I remembered my camera, I would have captured the most iconic image from that night—(no, not Kaka being wrongfully sent off) two female Ivory Coast supporters sobbing quietly right next to me, their face paint falling prey to the tears and then gravity.  I would have felt even more sympathy for them had I not been freezing my ass off.

The elevation of Jo’burg and the elevation of our nosebleed, Category 2 seats, caught up with me by halftime. The three plastic bottles of Bud I chugged before kickoff had long worn off. It was time to high tail it out of there. Thankfully, I wouldn’t be braving the N4 or the R24 that night as we smartly booked a hotel close to the stadium. We split a private shuttle with a Ugandan man and his two children. We laid down cold but thankful we had witnessed a little Samba magic and a few goals.

Monday saw us back in the Blue Demon and back on the road as we made our way to the Rhino and Lion Reserve. We checked off another item on our to-do list as we played with two-month old lion cubs. Compared to the openness of Pilanesburg a week earlier, we were a bit saddened by the captivity. We hastily concluded this was merely a glorified zoo. But we were here so we had might as well check out some animals.

We snapped a couple of photos of resting tigers and some bigger lion cubs. The chain link fence separating us from them didn’t make for a great photographic experience. So, I decided to move in a bit closer for the next set, the wild dog enclosure. Me being the bright boy I am, I figured if I could get the camera lens in between the holes in the chain link fence, it would give off the illusion that there was nothing separating me from the wild dogs. Great idea, right?  WRONG!  I felt this unbelievable force slam into me, knock me back and the camera from my grasp.  The most intense fear I’ve ever experienced struck—had a lion escaped from its cage? A rhino?

No, far, far worse. I felt surges of electricity coursing through my veins and nerves and my entire body. The fence was electrified!  And what had I used as a conductor? My penis. When I was leaning in to take the picture of the wild dogs, I must have inadvertently made contact with the front of my pants. The look on my wife’s face must have mirrored my own as she was aghast with terror.  After the heart palpitations subsided and I realized that I wasn’t going to drop dead, I fished out the camera from the brush at the foot of the fence and hightailed it out of there. We found a remote spot in the reserve to check this all-important apparatus for burn marks. Phew. Nothing. I was definitely shaken, a bit in pain, but otherwise thrilled to not be a corpse or be rendered instantly impotent.

Cute now, killer later...

With the possibility of continuing the family name still on the table, we went out in search of lions. After circling the reserve for a couple of hours we threw in the towel. We’d have to be resigned to seeing just the elephant, rhino, and cape buffalo out of the African Big Five. For some reason though, I took a trail that we hadn’t been down before. It wound around and around until we reached the perimeter of the reserve. I slowed down and right next to the car were two sleeping lions! Our shrieks barely nudged the pair from a deep slumber, our presence not affecting their cat naps in the least. We snapped photo after photo and finally a yawn! It was everything I had dreamed of, quite literally.

When I was a little boy, I had this reoccurring dream. I would be on a beach in South Africa, by myself, and there would be lions frolicking in the foamy whitewash of the ocean, right alongside great white sharks.  And now, so many years later, I would be face-to-face with these kings.  The thing that struck me was the size. Aside from the flowing mane surrounding their faces, they were relatively small, the size of huge dogs.

Of course, we didn’t get out of the car to check, as one man idiotically did. The guard at the gate to the lion reserve pleaded with us to remind this man ahead of us just how dangerous it was to exit the vehicle. She then recounted a story of some Japanese tourists.  Driving around the park, they had spotted some sleeping lions. One member of their group thought it would be hysterical to get a picture with himself placed among the unconscious beasts. Well, they didn’t remain that way for long. Startled by the man, the lions immediately rose from their slumber and mauled him to death, the ultimate price paid for a blatant disregard of the brutal power of nature.

Thoughts of my sterility and that poor Japanese man’s stupidity occupied my mind as I watched a mauling of a completely different variety—North Korea succumbing to the constant barrage of Portuguese attacks. We ate a South African take on a panino and drank some Coca-Cola at the reserve’s restaurant as Ronaldo and co. bagged seven in a stroll to victory.

Mexico v. Uruguay awaited us on Tuesday. The seats for this match were arguably the best of the tournament for us. We were in a midfield section, near the corner, about ten rows from the field, just close enough to see the look on a Mexican streaker’s face go from elation to depression as he was handcuffed. The game itself was lively with Mexico taking the initiative in order to try to avoid finishing second in the group and a likely meeting with Argentina in the second round. However, it was not to be as Luis Suarez, the Ajax forward, headed home a perfectly weighted cross, 1-0 Uruguay.

The Uruguayan fans reminded me how much I love football supporters’ songs and how much I loathe the constant and arbitrary chants of “USA, USA, USA!”  Seriously, we need something a bit more clever, if not musical, then that. Their faces painted blue and flags in tote, we departed some very happy Uruguayan fans.

But it was the Mexican fans who came to party that night in Rustenburg. Seemingly unscathed by the earlier shutout, scores of El Tri fans headed to Dros, a local watering hole, as we did. I ate a piece of hake as long as my arm and washed it down with some pretty average Castle, the South African response (probably a poor word) to Miller. Amongst the dancing and singing aztecas, we watched Argentina undo a resolute Grecian side, thanks to two dinosaurs named Martin: Demichelis and Palermo, both from close range. Back to Terra Casa and a good night’s rest before our last full day in South Africa.

And what a day it would be. We drove the 90 minutes or so to Pretoria and explored the city, including the sprawling Brooklyn Mall. Pretoria is an historic university town, much like Boston—leafy and green and inviting. Unfortunately, inviting, the Algerian defense was not. Much like they had kept the big guns of Rooney, Gerrard and Lampard at bay, Algeria was blanking the United States.  They sat with nine men behind the ball, a bizarre strategy considering they too, had to win to survive the group. Getting constant updates via various surrounding smartphones, we knew a Jermain Defoe strike had given England a 1-nil lead over Slovenia and that the only way through now was to win. We thought it was never going to come.

I had already begun writing the obituary—it was a great trip, but ugh, what could have been… And then, out of nowhere, at the very death, with almost the last kick of the game, Landon Donovan slams home a rebound to put the U.S. ahead and through to the knockout rounds!

Pandemonium.

I grabbed and shook the railing in front of us, I thought it was going to break right off. I then grabbed my wife and shook her to the point I thought she was going to break. Then I proceeded to grab everyone within a three foot radius—a bald man’s head was kissed, a 15-year old kid was bear hugged, a random girl was embraced. I felt the tears coming. Such a fine line. We didn’t think it was coming. I jumped up on my seat and stomped on the thing so violently I thought I would bring down all of Loftus Versfeld. A small fight broke out between Algerian and American supporters. We didn’t care.

Landon Donovan had just given us—no, check that—a whole nation a lifeline. We didn’t have to go home short of the knockout stages again. We were through! The dancing and singing carried on long into the night. It was well over an hour from when the whistle blew before we even considered leaving the stadium. The whole car ride back, we listened to the radio and reports of Lando’s wonder strike. It was, undoubtedly, the single greatest sporting moment I had ever witnessed and one of the most important goals to ever be scored by the United States National Team. As we split a pizza that night back at Terra Casa, we dreamed aloud of a U.S. semifinal birth for the first time since 1930 and the first time in the current 32-team format. Victory never tasted so good.

The next day was spent peacefully on the rural roads of Jo’burg’s surrounding bush. We randomly came upon a giraffe and then marveled at the implausibility of that happening almost anywhere else on Earth. As we said a tearful goodbye to Elmarie and Terra Casa and all of South Africa, we immediately set about devising a return trip. South Africa, a country so wonderful composed of colorful landscapes, people, and animals deserved more than a two-week whirlwind tour. But as our plane jetted off at Oliver Tambo Airport, I settled in for a well-deserved sleep and dreamt of lions playing in the South African surf.

But a lifeline came out of Singapore for fans of Holland on Friday when Mani the Parakeet picked the Netherlands to top Spain.

Mani the Parakeet has been telling fortunes with his owner, 80 year-old M. Muniyappan, in the Little India neighborhood in Singapore for five years. Typically, Mani helps people pick lottery numbers or decide when to get married. But this year with the World Cup, Mani has gotten into the business of sport and his owner claims the parakeet has accurately forecast the World Cup’s four quarterfinal games and Spain’s semifinal victory over Germany.

Says Muniyappan of his feathered associate, “He’s a special bird.”

On Friday, Mani crept out of his cage. Before him were two white cards—one with the flag of Spain, the other the flag of the Netherlands—placed face down. Mani picked up one of the cards with his beak and then flipped the card over to reveal the blue, white and red flag of Holland.

Said one customer named Ali of M. Muniyappan and Mani, “I’ve come to him before to know when my luck will change. I believe in him and the bird.

Mani’s did not make everyone who watched him make his choice happy.

“I’m disappointed because I want Spain to win,” a 20-year-old student named Jimmy Wong said. “Now I’m not sure which team to bet on.”

The Fiver, a daily soccer feature in the Guardian, has offered to settle the controversy between Paul the Octopus and Mani the Parakeet with the aid of their clairvoyant animal, Yawn Scoff Belch Snooze Belch Snooze Whizz Snooze Belch Fiver the Sloth.

Said the Fiver,

Whenever we urgently need help making up our minds, we scrawl the various options in congealed blood on a range of purple tins and then just sit back and wait for Yawn Scoff Belch Snooze Belch Snooze Whizz Snooze Belch Fiver to crawl into one of them. He’s never wrong, readers, never ever! Nor, of course, is he very timely. But we’ve laid out the tins, readers, and we fully expect him to select either Spain or Holland by, well, Monday. He’s never wrong, readers, never ever!

Who will win on Sunday, the Netherlands or Spain? Only the future can tell and she’s not talking.

While the juxtaposition of majestic stadiums with decrepit shanty towns and deeply troubling statistics — 25 percent national unemployment rate; 45-50 murders a day in Johannesburg — definitely speak of a harsh South African reality, one cannot help but find ready parallels with Philadelphia, or any troubled city, where racial division,  economic disparity, and a poor educational system is the rule of day.

Keeping these things in mind, we looked to focus, just as Vladislavic does in his book, on the potential for hope, for the many positives that could benefit a soccer mad and highly jubilant nation.

PSP: There are a myriad of issues at hand here of importance, with many having ready interplay with your book, where you provide an intimate, unflinching look at a suffering city where the past is still very much alive with apartheid heavily looming.

There’s the issue of cheap tourism and whether anyone who made the trip was able to see more than just the soccer, and if any of that filtered through the television around the world. And of course, while looking at these issues, I think the other major parallel is that one needs to be inspired rather than drowned by affliction.

PSP: Speaking of the disparity between the black township and the white city in Portrait With Keys, it shows that you have a keen eye for the way that architecture shapes and reflects the life of a city, Johannesburg particularly. How important is it then that perhaps the greatest symbol of this World Cup, Soccer City Stadium with its multi-million dollar renovations, has become a house infused with African culture with it’s shell made to resemble the African calabash?

Ivan Vladislavic: One of the things to be said about the Soccer City stadium is that it serves Soweto and is the home of soccer for many black supporters. It’s significant I think that this particular stadium has been upgraded and is being used for both the opening ceremony and the final game. The stadium in my area, Ellis Park, is traditionally a rugby stadium, although it has been home to one of the local soccer teams for the last few years.

By contrast, the Green Point stadium in Cape Town always felt like an unnecessary expense to me. Cape Town didn’t need a new stadium, certainly not in that part of the city, in my view. The money would have been better spent upgrading an existing stadium and building some sports facilities in areas more accessible to the poor, to the city’s black population.

PSP: With what you’re speaking about — the use of Ellis Park as a former rugby stadium — we have the history of the white sport versus the black sport, soccer. Could you speak to how that has changed with the rise of soccer’s popularity, while commenting on the possibility of the World Cup as the culmination of that process as Johannesburg, as South Africa continues to try to come out of the shadow of apartheid?

Ivan Vladislavic: Like most aspects of social life, soccer was racially divided under apartheid. As a kid, I was a soccer supporter, my father and I both followed the local  team. This was in Pretoria, where I grew up, and the team was called Berea Park. We went to all the games. Of course, in those years soccer was segregated, and the team was totally white.

When the sport and the crowds became integrated– and this has a complicated and interesting history– soccer became perceived as a black sport and most white South Africans stopped going to the games, which is a pity. One of the positive outcomes of the World Cup may be that it draws a diverse range of spectators back to local soccer. We’ll have to see what happens once the international fans have gone home.

PSP: You mention how Green Point stadium was seen as unnecessary and how it could have been built elsewhere. Could you speak more to your comment about how it could have been placed in a better area for poor black South Africans?

Ivan Vladislavic: Green Point is on the seaboard, close to the center of Cape Town, whereas most of the black population is out on the Cape Flats or on the outskirts of the city. I believe this money could have been spent upgrading sports facilities in the poorer areas. It’s also difficult for black supporters to get to the Green Point stadium.

“A sporting event like this draws an unusual kind of tourist…What’s interesting about sport tourism is that it draws people into parts of the city they would not normally visit, and this might well change their perceptions of the place.”

PSP: And that speaks to the point that it being so ingrained in the black culture, the World Cup, the game itself could provide a rallying point for the whole populace, but especially for the black population, especially if you allocate the funds to the right area. You do so and you get much more of a boost so to say.

Ivan Vladislavic: If you don’t want the stadiums to be white elephants after the event, they need to be accessible to local people, which I don’t think will be the case with Green Point. The money could have been better spent on providing top class facilities for local kids in their own areas, for local teams and local spectators. A stadium on the Flats would draw crowds into the area, it would bring in money and create jobs for people where they live.

PSP: Your book applies a human lens to the many socio-economic and cultural issues relevant to everyone in the world. And with the point you just spoke on, I can’t help but think of the new stadium we have for our nascent MLS team, the Philadelphia Union. Initially they were going to build it just outside the city or within city limits and then they decided to build it a half an hour to the south in this vastly economically depressed area known as Chester. It’s basically people going over a bridge, leaving, and this is some of the worst crime per capita we have in the country.

I guess one of the things overall that I want to talk about is that we could essentially see the same thing happening in this World Cup. Instead of a bridge, everyone is getting on a flight and going back home. Even though they obviously aren’t residents, there should be an impetus — and your book would certainly say so — to have an awareness, to take note, to respond. What can you say in this regard?

Ivan Vladislavic: I think this ties up with what you were saying at the beginning about tourism. A sporting event like this draws an unusual kind of tourist. It’s clear that at least some of these passionate soccer fans are following a different sort of itinerary to what the average visitor to South Africa follows.

The stereotypical tourist arrives in Johannesburg and goes straight to Sandton, in the wealthy north of the city. They might go out of the city briefly to visit a game reserve, and then they move on to the prettier parts of the country like Cape Town or the Garden Route. But people don’t generally stay in Johannesburg and go around it and see the city from the ground.

What’s interesting about sport tourism is that it draws people into parts of the city they would not normally visit, and this might well change their perceptions of the place. We don’t usually have too many tourists in my part of town, but because of the proximity of Ellis Park stadium, I’ve seen hundreds of people going around my neighborhood who are clearly soccer fans. It’s a very unusual thing. In fact on the day of the very first game, my wife and I were woken up by a commotion in the street outside. We went onto the stoep, and there was a crowd of crazy Brazil supporters going by in full regalia, blowing vuvuzelas. It was wonderful: a blaring announcement that the World Cup had started.

PSP: I guess, on a quick lighter note, I’ve come actually — I can’t believe it — to love the vuvuzelas.

Ivan Vladislavic: [Laughs]

PSP: Yeah, it’s unbelievable I’m saying this because during the Confederations Cup last year I hated them. It seemed like there were giant CGI bees just out of sight ready to descend on everyone in the stadium. I guess, speaking to the cultural impact that South Africa brings, along with say, well, everyone sees the stadium, the people watching around the world get a sense of how important is it then that there are such distinct cultural impressions even though they could be perceived as a bit superficial at first, but it just kind of bleeds through the television and through the speakers.

“…when the soccer is over, we’ll still be sitting with the social problems we had before the event. But I hope some of the positive energy will be carried over into the future.”

Ivan Vladislavic: I guess it gives people a sense they’re dealing with a culture that has its own way of doing things. There are two World Cups. There’s the one you experience if you’re at the event, or if like us you’re lucky enough to be in the country, and there’s the World Cup on TV, which is how most people experience it. If you just saw the TV images of these magnificent stadiums, you could be almost anywhere in the world. This has a positive side to it: the perception that African cities have facilities that are as good as anywhere else. On the other hand, the vuvuzelas, and the way the fans dress, the helmets and big sunglasses, that sort of thing, give it a local flavor. An African signature, if you like.

PSP: So going beyond what we only see on the television, what is the general mood? Sure, there had to be a drop after South Africa’s exit in the first round, but one of the things that strikes me concerning South Africa, once you get to the actual numbers, is the economic depression, the jobless rate of 25%.

Sure you see scores of people, the stadiums full with black South Africans draped in their nations colors, and as you mentioned the vuvuzelas, the glasses, the jubilation, but you know there are millions of black South Africans who can’t even afford to have a drink during a game. Could you speak to the overall mood and what it’s doing for the country despite these obviously tough obstacles?

Ivan Vladislavic: Well, this is a complex thing. One doesn’t want to lose sight of the fact that South Africa has massive social problems. At the same time, I’ve found some of the commentary on this issue a little bit patronizing. It’s not as if we were expecting the World Cup to solve all our problems. I’ve read some pieces in the English press that took this line. I think very few South Africans are so naïve as to think that one sporting event that lasts for a month is going to fix everything.

So, while one doesn’t want to lose sight of reality, South Africans need reasons to celebrate from time to time, especially because we are such a divided society and live in a fragile democracy. Events that draw people together are important. They don’t solve the social issues, but they have an important symbolic value. People want to feel that they belong, they need reasons to feel part of something larger than themselves, some positive reason to get together. South Africans have a tendency to turn away from one another, and I think something that makes people turn towards one another is a very good thing.

It’s clear that when the soccer is over, we’ll still be sitting with the social problems we had before the event. But I hope some of the positive energy will be carried over into the future. I hope the idea that when we South Africans apply ourselves we can make things happen carries over into how we approach things like the delivery of social services.

PSP: Certainly the pessimistic statements you speak of are too simplistic and they ignore the fact that people living in difficult times need something like this that can supply a tremendous amount of hope. I guess that would be a good jumping off point for one of the salient points I see at this World Cup, which is not only the celebratory aspect that would come about regardless, but how it is informed by the renovation and building of stadiums by black South Africans, and the  symbolism inherent in their involvement. How important do you think that is and how much do you think that effects the ability to lift up black South Africans, especially since there is hope that, as you said, that more public work programs will come about and possibly, that will be the rallying point from the standpoint of both the populace and the government?

Ivan Vladislavic: All the construction projects over the last few years have given many people a steady job and allowed them to acquire skills. Our economy was also buffered against the recession to some extent by all this infrastructure development. Employment is down, but no doubt it would have been worse if not for the building boom.

There’s been a focus on rebuilding and expanding transport infrastructure especially, with a huge amount of money spent on upgrading airports, highways, stations, and so on. There are new bus systems coming into operation in several cities. These things were at least spurred on by the World Cup. It would be nice if such developments happened independently, but from my point of view they will be one of the most important, concrete legacies of the event. The transport infrastructure will serve the country well over the next decade or more.

PSP: Speaking a little bit more on the role of black construction workers, the impact of that on so many levels, it really further reinforces and draws immediate parallels with the essay you read from [in 2008 at the Philadelphia Museum of Art] relating to South African artist William Kentridge’s tapestries for which he employed black South African weavers in making these beautiful pieces that had images of blacks against bygone historical maps of South Africa, hence saying how interwoven their history is with the country. So, with this hopefully being a watershed moment,  could you speak to that parallel?

“South Africans have lived in divided spaces for a long time…we have been trying to develop a new sense of public life, of sharing space…the World Cup has taken people back into public spaces.”

Ivan Vladislavic: Johannesburg’s wealth is founded on gold mining and therefore on black labour. This city, built by a black workforce, is the economic powerhouse of the country and the region. If a large project like Soccer City draws attention to the contribution of black workers, it is simply making visible a fact about the whole South African economy.

PSP: To speak to the situation I mentioned earlier, it’s kind of hard, especially with what you just said, not to think of the stadium here [in the Philadelphia region] in relation to the issues which make your book so universally applicable, especially when you’re talking about troubled cities where they have such a high degree of social economic disparity, such as in Philly where there is a clear racial divide and crime reportage is elevated when it creeps into sheltered areas.

One of the controversies surrounding the stadium built in neighboring Chester is that there were numerous promises made by the developers and ownership to help spur economic development in Chester, though they’ve hardly shown any interest in doing so. As I mentioned earlier, there is that call to a sensitive awareness that permeates your book. You talk about “your ear being pressed to the shell of the city.” How easily then can a city fall into peril if one’s citizens, regardless of their backgrounds, do not have that awareness? How important is that?

Ivan Vladislavic: South Africans have lived in divided spaces for a long time. In recent years, we have been trying to develop a new sense of public life, of sharing space with other people and breaking down the divisions, but much of our social life is somewhat introverted, one could even say privatized. The World Cup has taken people back into public spaces. This is something I’ve noticed in a small way in my area.

My wife and I went down to watch the Brazil/Chile match earlier this week at the Troyeville Hotel, a great pub not far from Ellis Park where the game was being played. It was great to be able to walk through parts of the city that are normally deserted at night, to go down and find the streets full of soccer fans on the way to the stadium. The presence of people on city streets always makes them safe. One of the ironies of a city like this is that people avoid the streets because they think they’re unsafe and that’s precisely what makes them [laughing] dangerous. Because they’re empty. If you get enough people out on the streets they’re safer. It’s been wonderful to walk around in places I would not usually venture into, because there are a lot of people around.

PSP: It sounds like an anomalous snowstorm. It’s exactly what Johannesburg needs, this sudden flurry of community.

Ivan Vladislavic: Yes, it needs what is simply normal life, normal street life in many cities. Cities where people feel safe. This is what it could be like if we had more people out and about. Hopefully the citizens of Johannesburg will get a taste for it.

PSP: To wrap up, there are several instances from your book that come to mind. There is the interaction with a beggar where he asks you, after you do not give him money, “What must I do crime?” It catches you off guard, it’s so surprising, but then again, in the context of the book, you present it as making perfect sense. If joblessness continues as it is, and if there’s not a needed up-tick in a sense of community, there’s much room for worry. What sense of optimism does this event provide? I guess it’s hard to say now, but what would be your initial projections given what you’re seeing?

In that regard, another quote that stands out, that inadvertently seems to speak to this, is when you run into your old friend Eddy, who is representative of the many [white] people who have fled the city. It’s a very quick line that sums up years of emotions; “they talk for twenty minutes about work, and soccer, and politics, and then it’s time to go back into the past, where their old selves are waiting.” I guess that’s the major fear so many people have.

Ivan Vladislavic: There’s bound to be some kind of an anti-climax after the event. There was certainly a different mood after South Africa’s exit in the first round. Now many people have switched allegiances, hoping one of the African teams would go through. As you know, Ghana is in with a shot — playing Uruguay I believe — and it’s kept the African interest alive. I get the sense that interest is picking up as we head into the final stages, but there will inevitably be a bit of a slump afterward. We’ve all had something to focus on instead of the serious politics that usually preoccupy us. It’s a little bit of a distraction from the harsh realities. I’m hoping that at least some of the spirit of optimism will survive.

PSP: As I mentioned earlier, there’s fear of a backlash or strikes– just as you have at the end of your book– from people who feel their wages are not liveable. There’s always that possibility, but hopefully with this huge wave of optimism coupled with a burgeoning sense of community, there’s at least a spark that can carry over.

Ivan Vladislavic: It is interesting that the event itself has revealed some of the disparities. You may know that workers at Eskom (the national electricity supplier) are threatening to strike at the moment, which would have serious implications for the whole event. One of the grievances raised by the union is the amount of money management spent on tickets for the World Cup, at a time when the company is supposedly strapped for cash.

PSP: One of the major points I’ve come across as far as the economic disparity is that if there are segments of the black population being helped it is management, while the poorest levels, the most unskilled are not receiving the necessary aid, they’re not being made more employable, and education resources are not being granted them.

Ivan Vladislavic: We do have a growing black middle class, and there have been enormous shifts economically at certain levels of our society. But the large mass of really poor people, who are nearly all black, have been left out. That’s the issue that has to be addressed when we get back to real life in a couple of weeks time.

PSP: I’ve heard that tickets have been made available at a much more reasonable rate for South Africans, yet at the same time I have a friend who went down there and he purchased a ticket from a local for face value $80. Now, I can’t see the poor being able to come anywhere close to that.

Ivan Vladislavic: Yes, absolutely.

PSP: Can you speak then to the black demographic going to the games? What’s the reality there?

Ivan Vladislavic: I imagine you would need quite a bit of disposable income to go to most of the games. Then again, I know that some companies have been buying tickets for their employees. And of course people have been watching the games in the fan parks and other cheaper venues. My wife and I watched the opening ceremony and first game in Mary Fitzgerald Square in Newtown, close to the city center. That is an open-air fan park with free access. There were something like 30,000 people there. The atmosphere was extraordinary– actually, I’ve never experienced anything like it.

PSP: There is definitely that great sense of community. I’ve been to some outdoor screenings of matches here. Could you speak more to the atmosphere at the fan parks? Is there a huge racial mix? Is this Johannesburg, is this South Africa coming together?

“…the 1995 Rugby World Cup has come up so often…I personally thought it would be rather different, because the country’s circumstances have changed so much. But there has been a certain similarity, with the whole country getting behind the soccer team.”

Ivan Vladislavic: The fan park on Mary Fitzgerald Square was mainly black I would say, with quite a lot of people from the inner city. I imagine the mix has been whiter and wealthier in the fan parks in the north. The viewing screens in township areas obviously draw black people mainly. I suppose it depends where you are in the city. If you go into the average pub in Joburg you’ll find a mixed crowd of people watching a game, which is nice.

PSP: One of the things I found amazing about your book is the simple itemization of everyday details, whether they are architectural nuances or a rote listing of personal items you come across while on your walking tour of the city. I assume what you’re trying to relate is the sheer effect of memory, the weight of the past that everyone carries around, especially the weight of apartheid in South Africa. One would hope that this event could hope to shed some of that weight.

Ivan Vladislavic: Yes, I think it might do that. Sport is very important to South Africans. The example of the 1995 Rugby World Cup has come up so often over the last few years as we’ve headed toward this event, with people wondering whether it would be the same. I personally thought it would be rather different, because the country’s circumstances have changed so much. But there has been a certain similarity, with the whole country getting behind the soccer team.

One has to keep these symbolic moments in perspective, as we’ve already said, because one goes back to real life afterward. Nevertheless, the symbolism is particularly resonant here, as sport is a hugely important aspect of South African life. The least we can say is that we had a good time [laughs]. Good news is sometimes in short supply and the World Cup has made people happy. Let’s get together to watch a game. That has to be a positive thing.

The disparity in playing style could not have been greater.  The Germans were typically eager, ruthless, disciplined, and pants-poopingly threatening.  The Spanish, to the consternation of everyone who thinks hard and fast win the battle, were tai-chi masters;  flowing, pass-happy, improvisational, and fluid.  If Germany came to rock and roll, Spain brought the jazz.  The result indicates that the beautiful game is best played by those who ride the ebb and flow with patience, grace, and belief.

Del Bosque caused a major stir with the lineup, benching the pleading eyes of Fernando Torres in favor of Pedro in midfield.  Whether this was a matter of pure strategy, a consequence of Torres’ underwhelming tournament or an attempt to use the embattled striker as a fallback super-sub remains unknown, as are Torres’ prospects for Sunday.  Whatever the thinking, this left tournament MVP David Villa all by his lonesome up top, where he was effectively muzzled by the German center backs as he tried to pick his way into penalty space.  Pedro, however, was a dream, terrorizing the opposition and proving himself (up until a certain moment of selfishness) well worthy of his start.

Germany was missing a star of its own, Thomas Mueller, due to suspension. His absence was felt.

The first action of the game came from neither Spain nor Germany, as the semifinal was briefly interrupted by a random douchebag being chased across the pitch by security.  Bystanders report that he was yelling something about goal-line technology and the vuvuzelas commanding him to sacrifice hamsters.

With that settled, in the 7^th minute, Spain took their first shot.  Pedro created a wonderful chance on the move for a cavalier Villa, who slid into the former’s silky pass but was denied by a hyper-vigilant Neuer.  Minutes later, Iniesta played a short corner right into the path of a diving Puyol, whose header somehow went over the crossbar.  That time, anyway…

Despite the early threats, one shouldn’t be tempted into thinking that La Furia Roja looked particularly dangerous.  Other than the aforementioned chances, the first half and the game generally was simply a matter of plain old possession.

How infuriating it must be for Germany to know that their opponents refuse to either attack or defend, but are simply content to be one with the ball until the flow of the game itself presents a scoring opportunity.  There’s an important distinction between the cowardly defensiveness utilized by so many teams against strong attacking sides and the tranquil Zen soccer perfected by Spain.

Thus was the pain of Deutschland, as they enjoyed roughly a third of the possession over 90 minutes.  Even more painful for German fans must be the fact that during the few times their team actually had the ball, they were an utter blitzkrieg of dangerous attacking fury.  In fact, the title of La Furia much more aptly described Germany this year.  Maybe Spain could be re-christened; something along the lines of El Tranquilo Rojo.

German counterattacks were very hopeful.  In one such incident, Piotr Trochowski managed a low-and-hard blast from 30 yards, forcing Casillas to dive and save it by a single outstretched hand. In another, Ozil broke through the middle at the end of the first half, but was taken down in the box (cleanly).

Germany’s attacks would remain just as sporadic and just as scary in the second half, but to no better result.

The Spanish meanwhile found the increasing pace of their rhythm leading them to more and more threats on Neuer.  Xabi Alonso shot one just wide, followed by Villa doing the same.  As 60 minutes approached, the German GK barely got a finger onto Pedro’s shot, after which a crappy clearance allowed Iniesta to put a beautiful pass into the path of Villa, who was only a hair from being quick enough to finish it.  Germany’s last great hope to take the lead came in the 69^th, when a phenomenal ball from Podolski on the run found Kroos in exactly the right place to fire hard on Casillas.  The Saint came up huge with a diving save that was almost imperceptibly quick.

The defining moment, though, came from the long haired hero, the Samson of Spain, badass hulking defender Carles Puyol.  In the 73^rd, Spain took an actual, not short, corner for once.  This must have stunned the Germans almost as much as Puyol’s epic leap, seemingly from another part of Africa, over the back of the fray.  With a mighty twist of his bullish neck, the Barca enforcer rocketed a header past a hopeless Neuer and into the top of the back of the net.

In the 81^st, Del Bosque retired the frenetic Villa and gave Torres yet another chance to shine.  Torres, however, would be cruelly robbed of his first goal by an exceedingly selfish Pedro, who found himself charging the goal with a German defender in front of him and a completely open and understandably incensed Torres just to his left, needing only a quick pass for an almost guaranteed goal.  To put one away before the final would have done wonders for the morale of a player who, when fully fit and confident, may be the best thing Spain has to offer.

Fortunately for Pedro, Germany was not able to convert this detestable act into anything resembling a goal, and in the end Puyol’s gem would shine as Spain’s ticket to their very first World Cup final.