By Alex Kotler

Hostel Safari
When, at four o’clock in the morning, the two birds of unknown origin began cawwing, I was relieved to have had jet lag and woken up at two. The noise felt like an eruption, shaking the windows of my room, and leaving me momentarily petrified in my bed. Had I been sleeping, I would have been startled awake in terror, disoriented and paranoid until my mind caught on to the fact that we were no longer in New York. As it was, I realized that, if I wanted to be ready and rested each morning at Soccerex, remaining at the Ritz was not in my best interest.

At 5:30am with nary a chance of returning to sleep, I stepped out to do my yoga practice on the lawn. The sun was up, and little yellow birds - not the guilty cawwers - flitted about around me. One towel-bound guest passed me en route to the shower, too confused to reply to my salutation of good morning.

By 7:30am, I had showered, packed, checked out, made reservations in Sandton - where the convention would be held - and had called a cab to transport me to the Town Lodge, a business class hotel for thrifty travelers within walking distance of the Sandton Convention Centre. My cabbie came within minutes, Nelson his name was, and we immediately struck up a conversation. I shared that I had a ticket to go to the Orlando Pirates v. Red Zulu match at the new Orlando Stadium, my first taste of the South African top-flight soccer league. Nelson was elated, giving me no less than three high-fives and responding to everything I said with exactly. For the remainder of the ride, we discussed whether South Africa would be ready for the World Cup in 2010 (it would be, he promised) as well as the members of the Bafana Bafana pantheon.

When in Sandton…
In the parking lot of the Town Lodge, Nelson and I negotiated a deal for a round trip to the match that night in Soweto, an acronym that stands for SOuth WEst TOwn. We high-fived again, and I carried my luggage inside. A smartly dressed black girl with a smile that could soften steel checked me into a room overlooking Grayston Drive. Two rooms down from me a party was going on, and amidst plumes of cigarette smoke one guy and two girls were laughing and carrying on. It was 8:15. Not your typical business travelers, but it did look like business was about to be conducted in some fashion.

To bring the party atmosphere into room 257, I unpacked and showered again - this time without my Crocs. Until the match, my objectives were simple: familiarize myself with the area, map my route to the Sandton Convention Centre (SCC), and be available to meet with members of Football Partnerships.

The walk to the SCC took 15 minutes, not quite ‘walking distance’ but I do have short legs. When the Soccerex 2008 signs on the lightposts came into view I knew that I was heading in the right direction. I noted the Michelangelo Tower, one of the district’s landmarks and the surest way to orient oneself if lost. There was already a buzz, as signs for the 2009 Confederations Cup draw came down and were replaced by those for Soccerex. Police had blocked off incoming traffic, and people with credentials scurried about like worker ants on a rotting tree.

I received word from Dan Wood, a UK-based member of Football Partnerships and the second guest on the podcast, that he was in the area. In addition to his business with Streets United, Dan represents Abbas Farid, one of the world’s top freestyle footballers. Abbas was to put on a show at Soccerex’s Kasigo Football Festival the following day. They were lunching at the Sandton City Centre, an enormous mall across from the SCC, along with two colleagues from Underground Soccer in Johannesburg. I met Dan at the SCC and we found our way to Nando’s Restaurant, where Abbas, Adriano and Anthony (the latter two of Underground Soccer) were waiting.

Besides Abbas feeling under the weather, we were all in high spirits and anxious to talk football. Adriano and Anthony told me of some of their plans for Underground Soccer, among them bringing freestyle events to cities around the world - the nature of which sound very exciting. In the case that some information might have been confidential, I’ll mention only that the ideas for the venues and the spontaneity with which they’ll be carried out sound highly appetizing.

I stayed at the mall for a little while longer, taking in a promotional event sponsored by Coca-Cola, featuring a lifesize foosball court with people in place of the fixed figurines. They were harnessed in to keep from moving. I found the affair rather amusing.

Orlando, You Like It?
With Abbas ill but set to perform on Sunday, the priority was getting him well. So, we parted ways and I returned to the Town Lodge to ready for the Pirates match. Nelson came for me at 7:15, fetching me in the lobby where I watched the beginning of a Wales v. New Zealand rugby match. I wonder if football would be more popular in the US if teams faced off with a pre-match haka. Personally, I think it’s awesome to watch a squad of bruisers do an intimidating version of a choreographed boy band routine.

With such limited time, this trip would not permit me to do any real touring; however, the 30-minute drive to Soweto showed me how the ‘other half’ lived. Not quite squalor or shantytowns, but certainly a different dimension than that of manicured lawns and electric fences. As we approached the stadium, the streets filled with fans and revelers blowing plastic horns and chanting. The atmosphere was one of jubilation.

The initial plan was for Nelson to drop me off and pick me up, but I invited him to join me for the match. After all, it was an historic night for the Pirates who were playing in their new stadium for the first time. He accepted.

Parking, we learned, is a dodgy affair. Men and boys wearing neon vests tempt you to follow them, as they lead you to curbside parking spots within the neighborhood. You pay them, they watch your car. You know that game. Our attendant was a fifty-something fellow, drunk as pie, and - when he had us pull into a driveway - he insisted that he wouldn’t block us in. Right.

Noting the street where we parked, Mafokeng, we hustled through the poorly lit side streets towards Orlando Stadium. Still needing much work (ie, external lights) and cleanup, the stadium was impressive with an unexpected overhang to shelter the majority of fans from the elements. Literally a mob of people stood in throngs at a security point - most of them drinking and restrained by police until they finished their bottles. Grabbing me by the elbow, Nelson followed as I cut a path. But I don’t have a ticket, Nelson worried. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you one, I assured him, although there was no ticket booth in sight.

We approached a turnstile where the moment of truth stared upon us in the form of a ticket agent. She collected my ticket, ripped it, and handed back the stub. Now it was Nelson’s turn. We jostled to the right towards another agent, I grumbled something like He’s with me, pretended to hand him a stub, and they let us both pass. And we were in. (I wonder what the gate receipts were!?)

With no assigned seats, we made way for the nearest and lowest, doing so in a hurry since the game was already eight minutes in. We found seats by the corner flag, 25 rows back on the visitors’ side. The stadium was packed, perhaps with 45,000 people or more. The noise was ferocious but the mood celebratory, with fans blowing horns, beating drums, waving flags, and stomping feet.

In terms of quality of play, South Africa’s Premier Soccer League doesn’t rate near the world’s top ten; however, it is an experience unlike any other. Largely due to the country’s political and racial divide, football fans are primarily black. (Whites lean towards rugby.) This was visible from my seat, as I saw only two other white faces in the entire stadium, and both were on the field, coaching. How unfortunate it is, I thought, that so many South African whites either have no interest in football or would fear for their safety if they attended a match. Perhaps it’s because I am from New York, but at no point did I ever feel my security was in jeopardy. (Although, admittedly, I am guarded by nature and cautious.) In fact, I even felt comfortable, and when the Pirates scored the first goal of the night, I was up high-fiving with everyone around us.

Here’s a peak of my night at the stadium. Feel the energy, see the stomping, and experience the celebration of a goal.

Orlando Pirates v. Red Zulu at Orlando Stadium (22/11/2008)

The game ended 4-2, but at Nelson’s suggestion we left at around the 85th minute, when it was still 3-2, to beat the crowd. Just beyond the security check the stadium erupted in cheer, as the fourth goal was scored. Upon reaching Mafokeng, much to our chagrin, we found the car blocked in. The good news was that the care was there. The bad, of course, was that we would have to wait for the three people blocking us in to move their vehicles.

Despite the foul up, our attendant still wanted money. Nelson was cheesed, and - if I were in a hurry - I would have been, too. Nelson fought with him, offering five rand - less than 50 cents US. The man refused, and pleaded with the two of us. I told him that Nelson was the boss, because were it up to me he wouldn’t see a dime. A fee of 30 was agreed upon, which I would pay, and we waited around for the game to end and the crowed to filter out. Half an hour later, we were cruising along past the F&B Stadium, the featured venue for 2010. It was little more than a shell, but supposedly on target for completion.

Back at the Town Lodge, Nelson and I high-fived a few more times, he said Exactly a few more times, and we said goodbye. He said it best. November 22, ‘08, I know where I was. Exactly, Nelson, exactly.