Trail of the Lion King

One of the things that I like about going to the match is getting there. I’d been wondering which of the fixtures in the Istanbul area to pick for a Sunday early afternoon game when I spotted one at Pendik. It was only around thirty kilometres from where we were staying but would involve a bus ride down to the ferry port, a boat trip from the European side to the Asian side of the Bosphorus and then a train to within a few minutes of the ground. Sounds like an adventure. I’m sure Michael Palin has made simpler journeys stretch to a whole television series.

It started well enough, in that we got on a bus that was heading in the right direction. We didn’t get off it as quickly as we should have done though and we ended up further away from the Eminonu ferry terminal than where we’d started from. No problem, just head for the sea. As we walked through some of the quieter streets we spotted a kebab place that appeared to serve sheep skulls alongside the more traditional dishes.

I’d recommend the choice on the right.

After twenty minutes of walking we still hadn’t reached the sea, but were able to hop onto a second bus that dropped us right outside the place where the ferries depart to Karakoy. The fare across the Bosphorus was only forty pence and you can use the same transport card that you use on the buses.

Our boat.

I spent the twenty minute crossing outside. I like feeling the wind on boat journeys, similar I suspect, to those dogs that stick their heads out of car windows. I don’t usually slaver as much as most of them though. It gave me the opportunity to see the Istanbul skyline too, on both the European and Asian sides.

The European side.

At Karakoy we disembarked in search of the train. It turned out that there wasn’t one. A fire at the station a few years ago meant that the trains now don’t start until Pendik and in order to get there we’d have to catch another bus.

Getting off at Karakoy.

The 16b was the one for us and Pendik was the fifty-fifth destination of the sixty-four stop route. We had an hour of following the coast and winding along high streets before arriving in Pendik. By now it was raining and so rather than wander around for a while trying to find the ground we hopped into a taxi for the last half mile.

It was fortunate that we hadn’t tried to make our own way to the ground as it was hidden among some high rise apartment blocks. The taxi driver had done well to get us there considering that up until then he’d had no idea that there even was a third division football ground in Pendik.

We were dropped in the wrong place though and initially a group of policemen wanted us to do a half circuit of the ground to the street that had the access to the turnstiles. One of them then took pity on us  and persuaded his boss that it might be quicker for him just to escort us through the barriers than attempt to give us the correct directions.

Turkish Cop of the Year 2014.

The helpful copper may very well have been regretting his actions a few moments later when he discovered that we didn’t have tickets. Well why would we? I’d expected a crowd of around two hundred in what apparently was a ground with a four thousand capacity.

He was too involved to just abandon us by this time though and approached another one of his superiors to get permission to let us in without tickets. That fella paused his game of Candy Crush just long enough to give a grudging nod and we were ushered past the queues at the turnstiles to a small door guarded by yet another policeman. Once he’d had the situation explained to him, he knocked on the door and we were allowed in. Brilliant. Don’t ever criticise the Turkish Police to me.

The view from our free section.

We were in an open terraced area to the right of a covered stand. The three other sides of the pitch didn’t have any access for spectators, just a wall with a fence above it. I couldn’t see into the covered section but it didn’t seem as noisy as the area we were in.

Pendik fans to our left.

There was a decent view of proceedings for anyone who lived in the surrounding blocks of flats, but nobody seemed particularly interested. With the rain getting heavier the only activity from the flats seemed to be women removing the washing from their lines and taking it back inside.

Just like executive boxes.

I went up to the back of the stand for a better view and got chatting with a fella up there. Chatting is probably a little overstated considering the language difficulties. He said something to me in Turkish and I pointed out that I only spoke English. He asked me my team, but didn’t seem to have heard of the Boro.

I had a rabbit to pull out of the hat though and mentioned that Tuncay Sanli had played for us. That did the trick. He was a good player according to my new-found Turkish friend. Good, I thought, if good means getting simple minded fans on your side by running around like a headless chicken before letting your team down by showboating with eye-catching but futile fancy flicks and backheels.

More Pendik fans.

And the game? Well, the away team took the lead on the half hour when a free-kick into the box was headed home only for Pendikspor to equalise a few minutes later with a close-range tap-in. The rain was getting heavier though and so we cleared off at half-time, missing the second half winner for the visitors.

I’d never been to Turkey before and so decided to have a few days in Istanbul on the way back to Teesside for Christmas. It’s an interesting city and I reckon that the cooler December temperatures and the lack of holidaymakers made it just the right time to visit.

Jen and I did most of the touristy things. We took a trip down the Bosphorus, wandered around the Blue Mosque (it’s rubbish) and visited the Grand Bazaar to buy some Turkish Delight. The real stuff with pistachios in, not the chocolate covered nonsense they flog in England. We saw Bob Geldof in the Grand Bazaar having a cup of tea, but politely pretended not to recognise him.

I also had a wet shave and a haircut, which was a lot cheaper than I’d expected. He cleaned my ears with cotton wool and once they start doing that I always anticipate a big bill. To complete the authentic tourist experience we were scammed by taxi drivers and pestered by every carpet salesman in town.

That’s not us.

As you might have expected, I’d checked out the football fixtures even before booking the flights, and the first opportunity for a game was at Galatasaray. What I hadn’t discovered was that a membership style scheme has been introduced this season in Turkey and that thwarted my efforts to buy a ticket online in advance.

To gain entrance into a top division Super Lig ground you need a Passolig card, complete with photo and passport details. I‘d read a few scare stories on the internet but in reality it was all quite easy. Jen and I took a trip out to Galatasaray’s Turk Telekom Arena a couple of days before the game and a bloke in the ticket office knocked me up the necessary card and sold me a ticket in around fifteen minutes. The card, which is valid for five years, cost me thirty five lira (a tenner) whilst my seat in the upper tier was fifty lira (fourteen quid). The most expensive seats were going for three hundred lira.

The Turk Telekom Arena.

On the evening of the match I caught the subway from Taksim Square. There were plenty of fans on the train wearing Galatasaray colours, in fact most of their fans were kitted out in some form of maroon and orange, even the old blokes. That made it easy for me just to tag along, get off at the right stop and then get on to a free shuttle bus that went to the stadium.

The bus ride only took around five minutes, quicker than the time it took to close the doors whilst as many people as possible tried to squeeze aboard.

Kebabs and meat balls.

The bus dropped me close to the stadium and I walked past the scarf, water and various types of food sellers. The ticket office was a lot busier than it had been a couple of days earlier. I doubt I’d have been too popular had I left it until matchday to obtain my Passolig card.

One hour before kick-off.

I was searched three times on the way in and had to hand over all of my coins at the final frisking. This restriction had the subsequent disadvantage of meaning that when I paid for a seven lira coffee with a ten lira note I couldn’t be given any change. I was handed a chocolate bar instead. Maybe there is some system whereby the Passolig card can be also used for payment inside the ground. If there is though, nobody told me about it.

My top tier seat was one of those ‘safe standing’ ones where you can ignore your seat and lean instead against a railing in front of you. The whole top tier was like that. The lower tier, including the section behind the goal where the hardcore supporters stood, were all conventional seats.

Above me, there were heaters built into the stadium roof. Heaters! They made it warm enough not to need a coat on a December evening.

Safe Standing

As kick-off approached I realised that the attendance wasn’t going to be that high, with the stadium no more than half full. I suppose it wasn’t too unexpected  in the run up to Christmas and with the visitors being less of an attraction than some of Galatasaray’s more traditional rivals.

The fans that had turned up were impressive though and it seemed that almost all of those in the stadium joined in, rather than just those grouped together behind the goal. As we awaited the arrival of the teams the stadium announcer played that ‘war-chant’ song and everyone held their scarfs aloft and waved them back and forward. Next we got a scarf-twirling song and then something to the tune of Karma Chameleon.

The singing continued throughout the match, pausing around me only when Mersin took an early lead against the run of play. Nobody from Galatasaray seemed too bothered at that stage but the hundred or so away fans in the top corner of the ground  celebrated as if they had been playing next goal the winner.

The natural order was temporarily restored when the bloke who had just scored for the visitors sliced a speculative cross into his own net to make it one each.

Galatasaray on the attack.

Mersin hadn’t read the script and were soon back in front via a penalty. The people around me were less happy with this development and a few squabbles started breaking out. I’ve no idea what the two factions were arguing about but having seen the Boro being booed off at half time when winning and a season card being thrown in anger at the manager in our UEFA Cup Final season, it could have been anything.

Two fellas were especially angry and were it not for the dozen or so people between them, were intent on murdering each other. The best thing was that they looked like brothers. Not just any old brothers either, but those two brothers out of The Proclaimers. I was hoping that the people holding each of them back would decide just to let them scrap. That’s something I definitely would walk five hundred miles to see.

Meanwhile, down on the pitch, Wesley Sneijder seemed equally pissed off with events and after picking up a booking for complaining about the penalty he spent the rest of the game looking for a second yellow and an extended Christmas break.

At half time I got myself some meatballs and another chocolate bar in lieu of change before moving to the other end of the stand to take a seat in the front row. This safe standing malarky is all right in theory but I’m getting on a bit and like a sit down now and again.

View from the corner

Galatasaray won a penalty of their own early in the second half. I thought the striker was quite clever about it, poking the ball past the keeper and inviting the contact. The successful spot kick probably prevented the Proclaimer boys from resuming hostilities.

For the remainder of the half almost all the crowd was cheering Galatasaray on. I’ve rarely seen this before. Do Galatasaray fans who have grown tired of singing just stop going? I remember going to Villa in the season that they won the league and being amazed at people in the main stand joining in with all the singing, although in hindsight if the Boro were about to win the league we might just get a peep out of the West Stand.

Mersin Idmanyurdu held out until the last ten minutes. It’s just occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t have been abbreviating their name to Mersin. It might be like referring to Port Vale as Port. Anyway, whatever I call them, they were on the receiving end of a well worked late winner that was tapped in at the back post.

The win took Galatasaray back to the top of the Super Lig. So, not that much to fight about really.

The biggest game in South African football is the Soweto derby between Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates. It’s so big that the Pirates routinely forfeit home advantage to enable the fixture to be played at the 94,000 capacity ground of their rivals rather than their own 40,000 seater Orlando Stadium.

The build up to this game had been a little more manic than most. Firstly it had been rescheduled due to the murder of the Pirates keeper, then the Pirates bowed to popular opinion and fired their manager three days before the game.

Jen and I had been to this fixture last season and knew that we needed to set off early. I’d allowed an extra hour but it wasn’t enough. The heavy traffic was made worse by the power cuts rationing electricity knocking out the majority of traffic lights. We tried any number of short cuts but the congestion meant that we didn’t arrive at the FNB stadium until around twenty minutes to kick-off.

Even then we had an arse on getting parked. Our pre-booked tickets were for the Expo centre, but we weren’t allowed along the access road to it and so had to dump the car in a different car park by the side of the road.

On the way in.

We had an easier time getting into the stadium, with no bag search and no queues at the electronic turnstiles. I’d forgotten that there were three tiers to the stadium though and we went right up to the top level when in reality our tier 2 tickets require ground level entrance. Even so, and despite having to do half a lap of the stadium before we found the correct block, we missed no more than the first few seconds of the game.

The view from the second tier.

The fixture had been reported as a sell-out a few weeks earlier, but there were still tickets on sale in the days leading up to the game. An interesting innovation was the announcing of the current crowd a few minutes after kick-off. The claim of 51,000 in a 94,000 capacity ground seemed about right and I was curious as to how much that would increase by the finish.

The first half play was quite tight, but the Chiefs looked the better team. They seemed much more mobile than the Pirates, with quick support from the midfield for any attacking move and a similar effort when they were called upon to defend.

Pirate attack.

Reneilwe Letsholonyane controlled the game in the middle of the park for the Chiefs with a George Boateng style performance, whilst on the right Siphiwe Tshabalala always looked dangerous.

At half-time we decided to find some shade and moved to a top tier corner area on the other side of the ground. There were still people coming in through the turnstiles as we made our way around the ground, although that’s not surprising with the extent of the traffic chaos.

Probably a Pirates fan.

Chiefs made their pressure pay soon after the break when Tshabalala put them a goal up and they should really have added a second soon after when someone hit a post with the Pirates keeper already beaten on the ground.

A few minutes from time the ‘final’ crowd was announced as 71,000. That was probably about right.  It’s a excellent attendance, but in a 94,000 capacity stadium any areas of empty seating were always going to stand out.

View from the far corner.

We cleared off a few minutes before the end to try to avoid the gridlock outside and as we left the ground we heard a cheer that I’d assumed was the final whistle. It turned out to be an injury time goal from the Chiefs, calming a few nerves and clinching victory.

The win consolidated the Chiefs position at the top of the league and effectively left manager-less Pirates out of contention even before we’ve reached the mid-point of the season.

I like to try to fit as much into weekends as possible and this one had already seen Jen and I spend a couple of nights at a game reserve and take in the Telkom Knockout final in Soweto. The thing was though, there was another game that I fancied seeing taking place at the Mbombela Stadium in Nelspruit on the Sunday afternoon.

Nelspruit is around two and a half hours drive away from us and I didn’t really want to drive back in the evening after the game and so decided to stay over instead, take the Monday off and then have another drive around nearby Kruger the next day. That’s two weekends in one in my book.

The Kruger drive went especially well as we got up close to a couple of young spotted hyenas that were lazing around by the side of the road. They didn’t seem bothered by us parking a few feet away and I reckon I could have had them eating Smarties out of my hand if I’d wanted to.

Hyenas just need better PR.

The match was a bit of an odd affair. It was a hastily scheduled international against Ivory Coast as part of some sort of Mandela charity initiative. Unfortunately it fell outside of the international ‘window’ and so not only were there no European-based players selected, but some of the South African clubs also refused to release their footballers. The starting line-up for South Africa included eight uncapped players and the three fellas who had previously played for the national team had a grand total of four caps between them.

On the plus side, the reduced interest meant that parking in the stadium was easy enough and I was able to buy my son a Kaizer Chiefs shirt from a bloke outside for 150 rand instead of the usual 800 rand that the shops charge.

They sold hats as well.

We had tickets for the upper tier as I was keen for us to be under cover. The poor sales scuppered this plan though with only the lower tier being opened. With free seating we settled in on the half way line in the sort of area where I imagine Sepp Blatter would get to sit if he turned up.

Bafana Bafana started well with the ball in the net after a minute. The celebrations on and off the pitch continued for a minute or so despite the linesman’s flag ruling the goal out. I’m sure some people near us were unaware that the effort had been disallowed and continued basking in their team’s early success.

Almost one-nil.

I tried to remember what the game was where the Boro were in a similar situation. Festa was twirling his shirt above his head and everyone was celebrating the goal. Well, not quite everyone. The opposition had resumed play and maybe half of our players were frantically trying to contain them whilst the rest and most of the fans were blissfully unaware.

South Africa had the better chances and finally took the lead after half an hour through Zungu. I’m sure some people thought he had made it two-nil.

South Africa were in the white kit.

The first half drew to a close without any further goals and we decided to move around to one of the corners on the other side of the ground. I like different vantage points and this one had the added advantage of being closer to the car park.

Zulu doubled South Africa’s lead a few minutes into the second half. They then seemed to alternate between preserving their lead by timewasting and charging forward as if it were they that were two goals down. I preferred the latter approach and with it being pretty much a ‘nothing game’ why not take a few risks?

Celebrating a real goal this time.

My plan for a quick getaway close to the end was thwarted as the gates on our side of the ground were closed and we had to circumnavigate the ground to find an exit.

Bizarrely, there were still people coming in as we went out, and others parking their cars as we drove off, despite the game being over by then. African time, apparently.

It was cup final time again, this time the Telkom Knockout between Supersport United and Platinum Stars. There are three domestic cup competitions in South Africa and I suppose the Telkom Knockout is the equivalent of the League Cup in terms of prestige. It’s limited to the sixteen PSL clubs and so it doesn’t take a lot of winning, with just a three match run to the final.

I’m beyond watching all that road to Wembley style build-up these days, which is just as well really as the nature reserve that Jen and I were staying at didn‘t have any tellies. It did have plenty of wildlife though and on a pre-match early morning walk we got within about fifteen yards of some giraffes, spotted a few monkeys and in the highlight of the morning watched a black-backed jackal run up a gully and away over the ridge we’d just come down.

Black-backed Jackal.

Jackals are regarded as a bit of a nuisance by South African farmers as they’ll snack on new-born stock in the manner of a Geordie let loose in Greggs. When I went hunting during the 2010 World Cup I was told I could shoot as many jackals as I wanted to, for free. I’m glad we didn’t see any though, I like dogs and they like me.

The Telkom Knockout final was held at the neutral venue of Orlando Stadium, home of the Pirates. We’d been before so I knew about the underground parking and our advance ticket allowed us to just drive up to the stadium and park inside, under the grandstand. That avoided a lot of traffic chaos outside of the ground and was a hundred rand well spent.

Fans on their way in.

Neither of the finalists are traditionally well supported and the crowd was supplemented by plenty of neutrals. Or at least plenty of fans of rival teams. There was a whole group of Kaizer Chiefs supporters behind one goal, all dressed identically and, I suspect, singing their own teams songs all game.

Others wore their own teams shirts or hats.

Contender for hat of the day.

Most of the tickets were forty rand general admission, but we’d splashed out on eighty rand (£4.50) grandstand seats. After all, it was a cup final. For the first half though we just sat in the cheap seats behind one of the goals. There was a threat of rain and we were happy enough with somewhere under the overhang of the stand above.

The upper tier wasn’t opened but even so, there were enough free seats for just about anyone who wanted some shade to find it. To our right was a group that seemed predominantly Platinum Stars fans. In their midst was an impressive brass band. They even had a couple of tubas. It all seemed very Spanish.

One day, Red Faction will have progressed to this.

Platinum stars opened the scoring just before the half hour with a well-taken goal from Malawian striker Robert Ng’ambi. I’ve had an irrational dislike of Malawians ever since living next door to one in a bedsit in London thirty years ago. That fella would put his record player on repeat and then fall asleep leaving the same song playing loudly until the early hours. Maybe enough time has passed for me to let it go.

Supersport are in white.

Supersport were level soon enough with what appeared to be a fairly soft penalty. The ref hadn’t seemed interested initially, but I think the lino gave him the nod. Clayton Daniels tucked it away tidily enough.

One each.

We were sat behind a group of Supersport fans, or at least we were for some of the time. They kept getting up and moving to other parts of the ground, only to return a few minutes later. Just sit still and watch the match. The ones that did stay celebrated the equaliser with some arse-wiggling dancing.

Supersport fans celebrate the equaliser.

The teams were level at the break and at that point we moved to the grandstand along the side. The second half was a lot cagier than the first. I don’t think the teams were necessarily playing for extra time and/or penalties, but it wasn’t the end to end affair that the first half had been and neither team seemed unhappy with the draw at the end of ninety minutes.

As we approached the end of the first period of extra time, Supersport took the lead with their second penalty of the game, Clayton Daniels again making no mistake.

Supersport celebrate again.

I thought that goal would be enough to clinch the trophy but there was a lot more to come. Within a minute Mogakolodi Ngele had equalised for Platinum Stars and with the smiles barely wiped from the faces of the Supersport fans it was Stars turn to win a penalty and give themselves a chance of going three-two up.

Eleazer Rodgers failed to take the opportunity though, or rather Supersport keeper Ronwen Williams denied him with a double save keeping the follow-up out too. I’d though Williams had looked a bit suspect at times, particularly with the ball at his feet, but he did the business when it mattered.

He shot, he missed…

The penalty drama seemed to tilt the momentum back to Supersport and in the second period of extra time Thuso Phala cut in from the right and after holding off a defender planted the ball into the far corner in a way that reminded me of Mark Viduka.

It all got a bit frantic in the final few minutes but Platinum Stars couldn’t force an equaliser and it was time for more Supersport dancing as they took the trophy.

After watching the PSL game in KaNyamazane the previous day, the plan for Sunday was to drive through the Kruger National Park and spot a bit of wildlife. We’d been there the previous weekend and seen so many elephants and rhinos that by the time we left we were barely slowing down for them.

I’d discovered that there was a third tier ABC Motsephe League fixture taking place in Kabokweni, which is near enough on the way home and so the schedule for the day was to get up early, enter the park at the Malelane gate, see some animals over the next few hours and then leave via the Phabeni gate en-route to the match.

It all started well enough. We were inside Kruger by six-thirty in the morning and sticking to the un-tarred roads we got lucky with the usual suspects. The highlight of that early morning spell was stumbling across a herd of elephants that hung around near to the car for about twenty minutes.

There were around ten of them.

The adults didn’t pay us much attention, but one small one that may have been three or four years old decided that he would try a charge from around ten feet away. He trumpeted at us, flapped his ears and then took a couple of menacing paces in our direction.

I had no intention of moving and would have been quite happy to have taken a dent to the car. I’m sure he’d have come off worse. The two paces were as far as he got and a stare from his mother calmed him down. Hopefully a spell on the naughty step followed.

Toddler elephant losing his temper.

In the afternoon we spotted a few wild dogs. Or rather we initially spotted half a dozen cars surrounding the wild dogs.You wouldn’t think wild dogs would cause so much excitement, but they are pretty rare. Certainly rarer than elephants anyway.

Wild dogs are something that we‘d not yet seen outside of a sanctuary pen and so it was a welcome sighting. With a bit of luck there’ll be fewer people around if we see some more.

Not as wild as that toddler elephant.

We’d taken a longer route than I’d originally envisaged and didn’t leave the park until after 3pm. We’d made up some time by me exceeding the 50kmph speed limit, but lost it again after I was stopped and ticketed.

It then took more time than expected to find Kabokweni and longer still to find the stadium. It’s not too far away from Kruger Airport, which is probably the only airport terminal in the world with a thatched roof. By the time that we got there the game was into the second half.

Kabokweni stadium.

The home side, Appollo XI, in white, were a goal up and looked well on top. I presume that’s the correct spelling of their name, as that’s how it’s painted on their team van. I’d like to think that they’ve got an Armstrong and an Aldrin in their team.

I stood by the railings to the left of the main stand and watched from there. A few fans were over on the far side but the majority were sitting under cover.

The covered stand.

I had a chat with a fella called Peter who had brought his own chair. He told me that he used to play at this ground years ago and, just like everyone that I seem to talk to, spoke about the role that playing football has in keeping unemployed teenagers away from drink and drugs. I wonder if people sometimes mistake me for Prince Charles.

He was surprised to hear that we have unemployment, drink and drug problems in the UK. Although he was less surprised to hear that we have fewer elephants.

Peter keeps an eye out for young people drinking.

Our conversation was interrupted by a Secunda Star cleverly sidestepping the keeper before, when faced with an open goal from five yards out, somehow managing to blaze the ball over the bar. The entire ground roared with laughter including, I suspect, his own team-mates. It certainly took Peter’s mind off more serious matters.

A few moments prior to the glorious missed chance.

We didn’t stay for long as we still had a three and a half hour drive ahead of us, but it had been worth calling in.

The PSL football teams in South Africa spread their games around a few different stadiums, a bit like the way that the county cricket teams in England used to do. Or maybe still do. A chance discovery that Mpumalanga Black Aces were hosting Polkwane City in KaNyamazane meant that Jen and I headed east along the N4 for the weekend.

It’s an enjoyable drive, or at least the looking out of the window part is. Once you get beyond Middleburg the road cuts through or drives over some pretty spectacular mountains. There were monkeys too, and there are very few situations that aren’t improved by having monkeys around.

Even better, babies too.

We dropped our stuff off at a lodge on the way to the game. As with a lot of lodges in Mpumalanga, it overlooked a river. The one by the place that we’d stayed at a bit further along the road the previous week had hippos and crocodiles in, but this one didn‘t appear to have much more than a big carp and a few turtles. Maybe a pike or two might have livened things up a bit.

Last week’s croc.

KaNyamazane Stadium was easy enough to find, although the parking had been closed off and we had to leave the car in a back street. One of these days it’s not going to be there when we come out. The stadium is close to shops and a few roadside stalls so I imagine it’s fairly busy around there regardless of whether it’s a match day or not.

Last chance for a snack.

We’d bought our forty rand (£2.20) tickets in advance and so were able to bypass the scrum around the cash turnstile. It’s an easy enough system, you order them online and then pick them up at a the customer services section of a supermarket. In fact, you don’t actually need to order them, I do it out of habit, but you can turn up at the supermarket and just buy them there and then. It’s a little surprising to me that it hasn’t caught on in the UK.

Cash to the right, tickets to the left.

Once inside, we sat on the open terrace opposite the covered main stand. It was in the sun, but with the kick-off being half past three, we were probably over the worst heat of the day. If it looked like rain we had the option of scurrying over to the other side of the pitch.

The view from our seats.

Black Aces were in an Everton style strip, whilst visitors Polokwane City wore a teal and orange combination, making it easy for me to favour the home team.

Genuine chances were scarce early on with Black Aces seemingly determined only to score from twenty man passing moves, whilst Polokwane limited themselves to shots from distance.

Polokwane park the bus.

The biggest excitement came from an injured lino having to be replaced by the fourth official. The new bloke appeared to enjoy his enhanced role, signalling throws and corners with a dramatic flourish of the flag. Once again, the ref had a FIFA badge on his shirt. Either you can buy them at the sports shops, or there are a lot of international refs in Africa. Then again, maybe it’s the same fella reffing every game that we go to.

View to our right.

The second half started with a bang when within a minute of the re-start, Thobani Mncwango ran on to a ball over the top and turned his defender to put Polokwane a goal up. A few minutes later his teammate Puleng Dennis doubled their lead with one of those goals that just didn’t look right. Maybe there was a handball in there somewhere, perhaps it was offside, I don’t know. The Polokwane defenders didn’t seem to know either, they appealed for something, but as ‘looking a bit dodgy’ doesn’t contravene any of the laws of the game the goal had to stand.

The fifty or so Polokwane fans in the two thousand crowd had no doubts though and celebrated to the tune of the Kiss song Crazy Crazy Life.

The Polokwane fans play up for the cameras.

The visitors had a few chances to finish the game off with a third goal but couldn’t take them. Five minutes from time Black Aces pulled one back but that was it and Polokwane held on for a two-one win. More importantly, our car was still there when we got out.

I’d watched Witbank back in August in a home game played at Middleburg. For this National First Division game against Santos they were at their regular Puma Rugby Stadium home.

I went to Witbank last year, when some of us from work had lunch in a fairly ropey looking part of town. You brought your own meat and a couple of fellas cooked it for you on a six foot long grill. As I rarely carry raw meat around with me it was fortunate that there was a butcher’s shop right next door.

Not a microwave in sight.

The place that we ate at wasn’t somewhere that I’d be comfortable visiting after dark. Most of the locals were fine with us but it was easy to see that once people got a few drinks inside them then it was likely to be a different story. Mind you, there’s plenty of pubs in Norton like that.

Friendlier to strangers than the Mucky Duck or Top House.

On this occasion I’d already had my lunch, albeit one consisting of a piece of birthday cake, and so Jen and I were able to head straight to the ground.

Where did all those years go?

It was all a little confusing as although Witbank play at the Rugby Stadium, there was an actual rugby match taking place next door at what I hope is known as the football ground.

As we are white it was assumed that we were headed for the oval ball game and the bloke on the gate tried to just wave us straight through. He was quite pleased when we told him that we were there for the football and as he sold us our ten rand tickets, thanked us for our support.

Sixty pence, for the South African equivalent of the Championship.

Puma Rugby Stadium is fairly run down and if it ever had a heyday then it was a long time ago. I know how that feels. We clambered up a grassy bank and took a couple of seats on the concrete terracing. Whilst we didn’t have a roof above, there was a wall directly behind us that we could lean against.

On the way in.

There were a couple of covered stands opposite, the smaller of the two being more like a cricket pavilion than something that you’d see at a football ground.

The covered stands.

To our left was a strange looking stand. It was two tier, but without a roof. Whilst a handful of fans braved the upper level, most people sat in the seats directly in front of the executive boxes, the brief overhang from above providing some cover.

The uncovered stand.

This was also the part of the ground where the noisier of the fans hung out. As usual there were plenty of Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates shirts, plus the odd robe and a fair few vuvuzelas. One fella brought three of them in with him. I can understand one spare, maybe, but what sort of potential vuvuzela crisis could warrant bringing two spares?

Witbank hardcore.

There were probably around a hundred and fifty fans in the ground as the game kicked off and at ten rand a head I wondered whether there was actually any point in selling tickets. By the time they’ve been printed and the bloke on the gate has been paid there can’t have been much profit on the exercise.

We had the cameras at the game too, as it was live on ‘normal’ telly, you know, the ‘free-to-air’ one rather than the subscription channels. It’s possible then that there might have been a few hundred thousand people with nothing better to do than to watch second tier football tuned in to this match at home. I doubt many of the audience were expecting a thriller as Witbank hadn’t scored in their last five games, with four of them ending goalless.

Santos on the attack.

For most of the first half it looked as if the run was going to continue. Witbank, in their Brighton strips, struggled against the two big lugs in the Santos defence. The home side eventually managed to break the deadlock just before the break, when one of their strikers beat the offside trap and hooked the ball home for his team‘s first goal in six games.

A big lug.

It wasn’t much different in the second half, although with both keepers looking like they’d rarely played in goal before, there was always the chance of something coming out of nothing.

As time went on the sky grew darker and with twenty minutes to go the thunder and lightning looked to be no more than a field or two away. By this point most people were huddled at the back of the stand. Others had decided to make a run for it and see if they could reach their cars before the rain started. We joined them.

Time to go.

We reached the car just as the rain came down and the ref led the on-field charge for the dressing room. Apparently lightning was the official reason for suspending play but I wouldn’t have wanted to be outside in that weather regardless. As we drove away the rain was bouncing back up off the road and was already forming large pools.

A quick check the next day confirmed that the teams did return, but neither managed a goal and Witbank held on for the win.