France 98 - Dispatch report from Johannesburg, South Africa

It's the morning after a 3-0 whipping by France in South Africa's first-ever World Cup game, and everywhere you go there are murmurings and mutterings of treachery.  What was Philippe Troussier, South Africa's charmless French coach, trying to achieve with such a defensive approach?  And how could Pierre Issa, born in the former mining town of Germiston, east of Johannesburg, but raised in France, stick the ball in his own net not once, but twice?  Eventually lame jokes will raise a smile, like: "Knock knock.  Who's there? Issa.  Issa who?  Issa goal."  But not today.  Of course, nobody knows now that South Africa have just lost to the team that will win the World Cup, by the same score that will sink the mighty Brazil.  But then in South Africa nobody shows much interest in any other team in the world except the all-singing, all-dribbling, all-conquering (but oh-so-seldom straight-shooting) Bafana Bafana.  "The Boys."  Our boys.

South African journalists sent to France don't exactly help to broaden the perspective.  The country's biggest newspaper group, Independent Newspapers, for instance, has four writers at the World Cup, but not one goes to the French camp to check out the opposition ahead of the match in Marseille.  They don't bother visiting the Danes or the Saudis either.  Instead, they faithfully relay and amplify all the pre-match promises of the country's heroes.  "I believe we have a realistic chance of reaching the quarter-finals and after that don't write us off going all the way," says striker Benni McCarthy, who was tipped by former coach Jomo Sono to challenge for the Golden Boot alongside Ronaldo, Batistuta and Del Piero.  "We could cause a huge upset and reach the final," says midfielder Helmann Mkhalele.  "My belief is that France are in for a big wake-up call," says Issa.  Anything anyone says about the South African team is reshaped into cheer-leading headlines.  An "umm, er, perhaps" sort of comment from Iceland's coach Gudjor Thordasson - who drew with Bafana Bafana 1-1 in a dismal pre-France friendly - appears as "Bafana can do it, says Iceland coach."  So too with Pele's pre-tournament Mastercard press release, which includes the line "I don't think South Africa, who played very well last year, will be easy to beat."  This bit of non-committal politeness earns the headline "Pele: Get ready for some surprises and the biggest could be Bafana Bafana."

Kick-off against France is at 9pm local time, but the city starts emptying and businesses wind down from mid-afternoon.  A broadcast of the match on a massive screen at a drive-in perched on a mine dump above Johannesburg draws 15,000 people, who start packing the place long before the sun sets, and warm up by dancing to a string of top bands playing kwaito (the latest hard-edged township sounds.)  There is no Mandela magic this time around - the President is otherwise engaged - but the players, according to the front page of The Star, have received a "huge boost" with the arrival of deputy President Thabo Mbeki and sports minister Steve Tshwete.  The French, no doubt, are really worried now.

Pierre Issa

It was always expected that South Africa would look to weather an early storm from Les Bleus, so the cagey, somewhat jittery play of Bafana Bafana gets some measure of sympathy at first.  But the second half is dismal - not just Issa's two own goals, but the complete absence of a team pattern and the glaring inadequacy of far too many players' technique.  Back at base camp in Vichy, reserve striker Jerry Sikhosana says: "I appreciate what Philippe Troussier is doing for us, but at the end of the day we are not European players.  It's time to do our own thing and show the world what we are capable of."

The players, according to one newspaper headline, are planning to toss overboard the fancy ideas Troussier has tried to impose on them, and play it South-African style against Denmark.  No two people, of course, can quite agree on what South African style actually is, although the verve of the Nigerians continues to be invoked as an example.  The Danes score early and come close to adding a second before the break.  When Mkhalele misses an open goal it looks like bye-bye Bafana Bafana.  But in the second half, South Africa come back.  McCarthy, at last, turns hype into reality with a sweetly taken goal from close range.  The Danes flag in the heat, South Africa press forwards.  Two Danes are sent off, Alfred Phiri joins them for using an elbow, and then with virtually no time left, Quinton Fortune drives forwards and shoots.  The ball flies, swerves, dips, sets the crossbar shaking.  It finishes 1-1.

On the Sunday before the decider against the Saudis, one of the newspapers broke the cosy conspiracy around the camp and reported that ten of the players had gone and got plastered after the France match.  A couple of days later, another daily reported that some of the squad had hired a couple of rooms which they used to screw around with the long queue of ever-willing Vichy groupies.  Then it got worse.  Striker Phil Masinga, initially ruled out of the Denmark match with an ankle injury, said Troussier forced him to play for the last few minutes of the match, despite the fact that he could hardly move.  Striker Brendan Augustine and aptly-named midfielder Naughty Mokoena were sent home for breaking curfew and disco-crawling until dawn.  "In this squad there are only five players who don't need a father, a teacher or a policeman," said Troussier.  "The team is not mature.  I have received a message back from South Africa that they don't want a foreigner as coach.  Perhaps it is time for me to go now."

Philippe Troussier

"Yes Boys You Can" says the front page headline of The Star on matchday.  But soon after Shaun Bartlett puts South Africa into the lead, Issa give Saudi Arabia a penalty.  Then Issa gives Saudi Arabia another penalty.  The Bafana Bafana performance is spiritless, directionless, dispirited and lifts only briefly when Delron Buckley, a youngster based in the Bundesliga, comes on for his first World Cup appearance and tears repeatedly through the right side of the Saudi defence.  What on earth has he been doing on the bench all tournament?  

The silence over Parc Lescure in Bordeux is pretty much matched by the gloom in the Bass Line Bar in Johannesburg.  With the Saudis 2-1 up, and not much left of the 90 minutes, the punters have long since stopped imploring and beseeching, and all but given up grumbling.  All that can be heard - via the tinny sound of two TVs the owners have managed to borrow from some regulars - is the sound of a man in the stands, singing a wailing Arabic dirge through a loudhailer.  "Can't one of our fans go over and smack that singer?" says a morose-looking man.  A late penalty gets South Africa a second World Cup point, but Troussier's post-match words are blunt: "I was not only disappointed by the attitude of the team during the match, but also after the game.  Instead of their heads being down after just being knocked out the World Cup, everybody was fine.  They were probably wondering where they were going to go out tonight."

It is three years to the day since a South Africa united in exhilaration and some disbelief watched the Springboks win the rugby World Cup, watched Mandela dressed in a green and gold jersey hand the trophy over to the captain Francois Pienaar, both national icons wearing No.6.  Mandela magic we all called it, a nation of miracle junkies always looking skywards for our next consignment of manna, as the ground at our feet grows more cluttered with tasks undone.  As Bafana Bafana troop off the field, one punter in the Bass Line Bar looks down into his beer and mutters: "Mbeki magic.  We've got it."

(Extracts from The Lost Boys by John Perlman, in the book Back Home: How the world watched France 98)