Day 5: England Calamity and Dawn to Durban

Sat with Debbie in the bar in the hotel in my England shirt, and jumped up and down as England scored in the third minute versus the US. Debbie is showing more interest in this World Cup than a dozen before. Then England are crap and I'm miserable.
Need to be up early tomorrow to fly to Durban, so go to bed immediately after the game, sad in my heart that Robert Green will be reminded of his mistake for the rest of his life. Long after he has retired from football, he will be the guest after-dinner speaker at a West Ham Supporters Club somewhere in Scotland, and after he has given the same speech that he’s recited a hundred times before, he throws the floor open to questions.
A Scotsman as wide as he is tall rises to his feet. “Robert, thanks for coming to our miserable little town. It’s become a tradition for ex West Ham players to come to our modest club and reminisce about the old days. Now, many of the folk here will be too young to remember the 2010 World Cup, some 30 years ago, but do you mind if I ask you a question about the last time you played for England?”
Green’s right eye starts to twitch. His shrink has told him it is his body reacting to an emotional scar lying deep in his brain, and his involuntary response is triggered by that incident. He has been advised that the only way to handle it is to face it head on, to challenge it, as to bury it will only encourage it to grow.
“Even though it is 30 years ago, I’ll try to recall it.”
And half the audience laughed, if a little nervously. The man says, “Robert, my lad. The goal that became the one that knocked England out of the World Cup, when they had a team they called the ‘Golden Generation.’ Let me just say, as a proud Scotsman, it was one of our finest moments in any World Cup. On behalf of all of us here, I‘d like to thank you for making sure England lived up to their reputation of not knowing how to win. Please. Can you tell us about the time the ball rolled around your fingers from a soft shot, and dribbled into the goal.”
And everyone cheered, and Robert Green smiled, but inside, his heart was bleeding.

Elsewhere, Australia play Germany in Durban today, and we are picked up from our hotel at 3.15. In the morning. That’s a.m. It’s dark outside, and raining heavily. A good day to be 1,000 kms away. There are 500 Australians staying in Cape Town with this tour group, and we gather en masse at the airport by 4am for a 4.30 flight. We’re at the stadium in Durban by 7am, and the game is not until 8.30 tonight.
Fortunately, the stadium is close to Durban’s long beach, and it’s a hot sunny day. At the southern end of the beach in a large FIFA Fan Fest, and there are two games on today before the Australian game. So that takes care of a day in Durban.
I lie on the beach trying to catch some shade and maybe a little sleep, and it’s as hot as the middle of summer in Sydney. There are some stunning African women here, tall and charcoal dark and many dressed in traditional costume. Aussies far outnumber Germans, although there are plenty of the latter.
Three Germans with flags, shirts and make up sit 20 metres in front of me, and form a bench in the sand by digging a wide hole. They lie back and enjoy the first game. A young Aussie guy appears carrying a large flag, and he makes a grand gesture of planting it next to the Germans. Then they shake hands mightily like old friends, laugh out loud and settle the war in the friendliest of ways. If only we could have sorted it out so easily in 1939.