Trail of the Lion King

As there were only around ten minutes between the fifth tier game that we’d just watched and the fourth tier fixture that followed it on the same pitch, I thought I might as well hang around to see some of the second match.

It probably wouldn’t do any harm to pass on what I know about the structure of South African domestic football at this time. Top of the pile is the Premier Soccer League which gets around ninety-five percent of the overall media coverage. I suppose that’s how Premier Leagues are these days. The PSL is made up of sixteen clubs and the team that finishes bottom of the table gets relegated to the National First Division, whilst second bottom gets the chance of a reprieve via a play-off.

The National First Division also comprises sixteen teams of which one or two gain promotion to the PSL each year. Two teams are relegated to the third tier. The fixtures for the second tier are listed in a weekly sports paper but that’s about all the coverage it gets.

The third tier is the National Second Division, formerly known as the Vodacom League. It consists of nine regional leagues, each with sixteen teams. It gets minimal coverage and by that I mean that the only thing I can occasionally find is a weekly round-up of local results from a  newspaper in Limpopo. Dogs getting ran over get bigger headlines. So far I haven’t even been able to find a list of the teams competing at this level, never mind a fixture list or table.

There’s another set of regional leagues next that were formerly named after Castle beer. That level is known as the SAB League these days. Again, there is next to no information available. It’s a shame really as I expect there will be some interesting grounds at the lower levels.

From what I can see, the fifth tier is known as the Superleague, or at least it is in the group of eight that Arcadia Shepherds and Glenwegians play in. I’ve no idea if it is the same all over Pretoria, never mind Gauteng or the country as a whole. Hopefully I’ll stumble across more information as time goes by.

Time for a photo.

So, that’s how the leagues work. Or at least I think that’s how it is. I can tell you a bit about the Caledonian Stadium too. It was a greyhound stadium up until 1903. That’s the year that Arcadia Shepherds were formed. Hmm, coincidence?

Much as I like football I’m not keen on facilities such as greyhound tracks being taken away for alternative use. I used to love going to Cleveland Park to watch the dogs race and replacing it with a few five a side pitches and a school playing field has never struck me as a good move.

So, after the equally vague details of the league structure and the history of the stadium, on to the game itself. Arcadia Shepherds were in a white kit for this one, with Blue Stars in what I assume to be their traditional blue.

As kick-off approached we were treated to a pre-match prayer session from the Shepherds.

“Forgive us our trespasses into offside positions”

The fourth tier seems a bit more organised than the fifth and the game commenced with a full set of linesmen and corner flags. One of the assistants was the ref from the game that had just finished so in hindsight it’s probably no surprise that he had been pacing himself. The official on the other side was a woman who actually looked shorter than the corner flag. I doubted that those little legs would be getting up and down the pitch very quickly either.

Corner flags and officials, what more could you ask for?

Another indication that this match was more prestigious than the previous one was that the cage that protects the players as they emerge from the tunnel had been dragged into place. It didn’t really serve any other purpose than trying to suggest a greater sense of occasion than was warranted. Similar to the ball boys you can buy for Subbuteo, I suppose.

The view from the main stand.

There was a larger crowd this time, maybe sixty, although it did include a few of the players from the game that had just finished. With the afternoon drawing on there was plenty of beer and wine being drunk.

“Come on ye Shepherds”

As for the action, it was definitely a higher standard than the game before, although that’s not much of a compliment. Arcadia opened the scoring after five minutes when someone looped a header into the top corner.

Good as it all was, we had other stuff to do and back to back games were interfering with it. Twenty minutes were long enough to snap a few photos and so after that we left them to it.

After seeing some top-tier football in World Cup stadiums it was time to watch something closer to the game’s grass roots. We’d driven past Caledonian Stadium in Pretoria on a couple of occasions and a bit of research revealed that Arcadia Shepherds played their division five ‘Superleague‘ fixtures at that ground.

The same research also revealed that Bobby Charlton had made a guest appearance for the Shepherds in the mid-seventies. I wonder how he feels nowadays about making the trip in that isolated apartheid era.

I saw Bobby Charlton play at Sunderland, around 1977, in a testimonial game for Billy Hughes. The Dad of one of my mates supported Sunderland and so he took us up to watch. It was a decent gesture from Charlton to play, as I’m sure his appearance will have added to the gate receipts. We showed our appreciation in the way that twelve year olds do by shouting “Baldy“ at him, whenever he came over to our side of the pitch. He stared at us and you could see that he was wondering why he had bothered turning out.

Arcadia Shepherds without Bobby Charlton.

The game was a few minutes late in kicking off, probably due to the ref not seeming to arrive until twenty past one. At least he got there. The linesmen didn’t show up at all and the game was ten minutes old before anyone bothered to put the corner flags up.

For those interested, Arcadia were in a red, white and black kit whilst opponents Glenwegians wore white with green trim.

The view from the main stand.

Midway through the first half the Glenwegian captain tapped home a loose ball to put his team ahead. I’d long realised by that time that the standard wasn’t up to much. It seemed like classic lower level Sunday League, with a mixture of keen young lads and older, out of condition, fat knackers.

The goalmouths were worn, school-style and I noticed the away team’s manager was smoking a fag in the dug-out. As were a couple of the subs.

One of the Arcadia players got a red card ten minutes before half-time. He was unlucky really as there were outrageous tackles going unpunished all over the pitch. His offence resulted in a punch-up close to the half-way line and as the ref rarely moved out of the centre circle it meant that, for once, he was handily placed.

Right on the spot.

As the kid trudged off he grabbed his car keys from one of the subs in the dugout. I was hoping that we might get a repeat of one of the highlights of my Sunday League career in which a player who had been sent off returned in his Cortina and scattered opponents, team mates and officials by driving across the centre of the pitch on his way home. No such luck on this occasion though.

There were about fifteen fans in the main stand to start with and another five peering through the fence despite it being free to get in. A few more filed in as the game went on with the total crowd perhaps peaking at forty.

I can’t walk past a game without stopping to watch either.

The half-time break was the shortest I’d experienced since primary school, with the combination of the late kick-off and another game scheduled for that afternoon resulting in the players getting to sit down for precisely eight minutes.

Ten minutes into the re-start, a long punt downfield bounced over the away keepers outstretched arms and an Arcadia player beat him to the ball to prod it into the empty net. One each. It was around this time when the players for the next game started appearing. They warmed up along the side of the pitch, just about doubling the crowd in the process.

Parity didn’t last long as the Arcadia persistence with long ball tactics paid off. The next hoof was chased by a fella who was at least three yards offside. The lack of linesmen, compounded by the lack of mobility of the ref, meant that he got away with it and he finished well, much to the fury of the visiting players.

The main stand.

The fun wasn’t over though. At least not for those of us watching. The Glenwegian captain had spent all afternoon complaining to anyone in earshot about life’s unfairness. He finally got something genuine to cry about when he took a blast to the nuts from close range. It looked as if all his team’s subs had already been used as well. Or perhaps one of them had just lit a fag up and was reluctant to leave the comfort of the dugout. Whatever the reasoning, Captain Marvel staggered around for a couple of minutes before deciding that his lack of mobility meant that he would have to go in goal.

He swapped shirts with the keeper and the game resumed. Or at least it did until the ref noticed the switch and ordered the former keeper off to swap his black goalie shorts for a white pair that matched those of his outfield teammates. I got the impression that Glenwegians didn’t have much spare kit as it took a while to find a pair. Apparently it would have taken even longer to find a pair that fitted and so the former goalie rejoined the game in shorts at least a couple of sizes too small. It wasn’t a problem for long though as the ref promptly waved him back off the pitch. This time to change his black socks for white ones.

A bit of the action.

Insisting on matching socks seemed a little excessive to me in a game that was taking place in front of forty fans and  without any linesmen. Although if I’d been on the end of the incessant Glenwegian yapping I might very well have done the same.

Overcoming his struggle to sit down in his too tight shorts, the fella eventually changed his socks and re-joined the game. He didn’t get long to make an impact though as the ref, who was obviously conscious of the late kick-off and the players for the next game loitering on the sidelines, blew for time a couple of minutes early, denying the visiting team the chance of a last gasp leveller.

Despite the standard of football being the lowest I’ve encountered since my own playing days, it was a very entertaining afternoon.

For this weeks game Jen and I headed off to Mpumalanga and the match at Nelspruit between the Black Aces and Ajax Cape Town. It’s a three hour drive or so from Bronkhorstpruit and it took us up into a picturesque part of the country.

We’d hoped to see a few waterfalls and other sights, but with the fog and the mist the best we managed over the weekend was a couple of hours at Pilgrim’s Rest, a small town popular as a coach trip destination for old age pensioners who like to buy mass-produced Chinese tat.

We were just about the only people with our own teeth.

Nelspruit got itself a new stadium for the World Cup. The Mbombela Stadium, as it’s known, is the one with the Zebra pattern on the seats. I had a look at the list of the four games that were played there but didn‘t remember any of them. Oh well. Maybe that’s more a reflection on my memory than the quality of the games. Perhaps it wont be long before I’ll be on the bus trips to buy ‘hand carved‘ tribal masks.

Mbombela Stadium.

Mbombela is a good ground though, with a forty thousand capacity and no running track. We’d bought our tickets in advance online for forty rand. Not that we needed to as the crowd peaked at about a thousand. I wonder how much of a legacy the World Cup has left? It’s fine having these new stadiums but if people aren’t going to turn up then what’s the point?

I’ve read that the stadium has been used for rugby as well, but at the one game of egg chasing that we‘ve been to over here there were only around a thousand people at that too. It’s hard to argue with the notion that the original Nelspruit stadium was all that the town had ever needed.

Note the zebra patterned seats.

And so what else caught my eye? Well, Ajax had a Finnish keeper, Anssi Jaakola, if that’s of any interest. He recently had a spell at Kilmarnock and before that had turned out at Siena with Boro legend Massimo Maccarone.

Jaakola didn’t have much to do in the first half, with probably his only chance to shine coming when he punched a shot away just before the interval. Meanwhile his team mates rarely threatened the opposition and stealing the Ajax name was as close as they got to Total Football.

The Finnish fella takes a cross.

The second half saw a bit more pressure from the Black Aces with their striker Elliot Khenyeza going close on a couple of occasions. He just didn’t quite have the pace to lose the last defender, although as his shorts came down to below his knees I think it may very well have been poor aerodynamics that was costing him that extra yard.

The home fans.

The home side had a few penalty shouts as the game went on. I didn’t think any of them actually were penalties but I was expecting the ref to eventually award one as a result of the cumulative appeals. He didn’t though, resisting the pressure or chickening out, depending on your allegiance.

All that was left was for the Finnish fella to make a couple of fine saves at the death and that was it. A goalless draw, but an enjoyable game nevertheless.

Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates are the big two in South African football, making the Soweto derby one of the highlights of the season. Chiefs had home advantage on this occasion and so that meant a trip to the FNB Stadium.

I’d been there before. My mate Paul and I had paid a couple of visits during the World Cup, watching Holland play Denmark and then Argentina take on South Korea. That last game featured Diego Maradona stomping up and down the sideline as his country’s coach. It’s the only time I’ve seen him in real life. I’d have loved to have seen him as a player.

Argentina fans in 2010.

I’d had a check as to how many fans normally turn up for this game and it looks as if around eighty thousand is the norm. The papers were reporting that it might even sell out which would be pretty impressive in a ninety-four thousand capacity stadium.

Normally you would expect these two teams to be up at the top end of the league and whilst Kaizer Chiefs were in their usual position, Orlando Pirates were propping up the table. It was a false position though as lengthy cup runs had meant that despite this being the Pirates seventeenth game of the season, it was only their third in the league. By comparison, most of the other clubs had already played seven or eight PSL games. The gap would soon widen a bit more as the Pirates had a two-legged Champions League final to follow this game.

The journey to the stadium was a bit of an arse on, with all four or five lanes of the road down to crawling pace. It was a bit much for one fella who got out of his car and punched the bloke in the vehicle behind. I suppose there’s only so long you can amuse yourself with games of I-Spy. We later passed them all parked up on the hard shoulder putting their respective sides of the story to the police.

Despite the traffic we arrived at the FNB Stadium around an hour and a half early. The car parking was a bit chaotic and even though we had pre-booked a spot in a secure car park we were waved into a field that looked about as secure as leaving your front door open with a sign on it saying ‘Big Telly Inside’.

As we walked through the field towards the stadium, Jen and I were offered hats, flags and any manner of food cooked on open fires. One bloke was insistent that he should stamp our arms with a team badge for the bargain fee of five rand. In the end he gave me a Chiefs stamp on one arm and a Pirates one on the other. Great, ten rand to potentially provoke a kicking from both sets of supporters then.

I’d expected the car to have already been stolen by this point.

Not surprisingly, the stadium was far from full as we took our seats with an hour to go before the teams came out. The ground staff were preparing for the game by scattering what looked like green sawdust over any bare patches on the pitch to make it look better for the cameras.

As kick-off approached we stood for a minute’s silence in respect of some fans who had recently died in a traffic incident. If the driving and punch up that we had seen earlier were any indication then there is probably a minute’s silence every game.

The FNB Stadium.

With the game underway, the ground continued to fill up. I’d estimate around forty thousand to start with, rising eventually to around seventy thousand. The attendance was, once again, reported as eighty thousand. Perhaps that’s just how it’s done here.

There was no segregation and the fans freely mixed with each other, taking the piss whenever circumstances on the pitch allowed. As per the previous week there were also plenty of people wearing other team’s shirts.

An early goal from the visitors was celebrated by a fair proportion of the stadium before being cancelled out later in the half by a Chiefs equaliser that might well have been offside.

Goal!!

There was a fair bit of showboating from the players. One fella in particular would have been Cattermoled in England for some of his tricks. In the second half we had a twenty two man punch up to liven things up, more than twenty two men actually, if you count the physio and coaching staff that got involved. There weren’t any more goals though and it finished up one each.

Someone going close.

We nipped out a couple of minutes early only to find that we were blocked in by the random parking in the field. The bloke who had followed us for a hundred yards back to the car to collect his five rand for minding it commiserated but was of little practical help.

It’s a company car though and so I was able to squeeze it through the tiniest of gaps between a couple of vans and make a prompt getaway. Next time I’m here I’ll try and find the ‘proper’ secure parking.

For the final game of the trip I saw IBV again, although it was their men’s team this time. They were playing Throttur, one of the second division Reykjavik teams in the last thirty two of the FA Cup.

We’d arrived back in the capital earlier that day after a drive through Pingvellir National Park. It’s the site of the old Icelandic Parliament, which is pretty much just a pile of rocks. They wouldn‘t have spent much time debating the small print of the budget once it started raining I imagine.

There was also the old execution site, which seemed to consist of a deep pond. I suspect there was a lot of talk about treading water techniques in Icelandic jails in the olden days. There was also the inevitable waterfall.

They’ve got loads of them.

Throttur’s ground is right next door to the national stadium in Reykjavik and it’s easy enough to find. In fact I’d been staring out at the floodlights for days from the apartment that we’d stayed in earlier in the week. Had I not had to return to our hotel to pick up the wallet I’d forgotten or selected a car park that required me to walk almost the entire circumference of both stadiums then I‘m sure I’d have been there in time for kick-off.  As it was, the game was twenty five minutes old by the time I reached the gate and handed over my 1500 kroner.

That’s where you go in.

IBV is the team that David James has been turning out for, although I’d noticed that despite having played in the first four games of the season he’d missed IBV’s game at the weekend. Once inside I checked the keepers and neither of them were him. I checked again as I know he’s prone to changing his hairstyle, but if either of those two were him then he’d changed his head as well.

There was a small covered stand that extended maybe twenty yards either side of the half-way line and then a short further section of uncovered seats. After that the crumbling terracing extended around to the corner flags and curved around behind the goal for a bit. I’ve no idea how old the stadium is, but if it had been built in the 1920’s then I’d be confident that the stand and terracing were original.

Old school terracing.

Second tier Thottur were in a Stoke strip, whilst top division IBV were in a funny sort of blue. Maybe the shade that car manufacturers might call cobalt. Or maybe not. I’m not too clued up on that sort of thing. I once had a car that I’d describe as dark blue but when the light caught it in a certain way it looked green. Weird, and a nightmare if you wanted to touch up scratches.

My late arrival meant that I’d missed a goal, with IBV already one up. The home side almost equalised on the half-hour when Sveinbjorn Jonasson had his free-kick and two follow-up shots saved by whoever was standing in for David James.

That’s the main stand.

We reached half-time with still just the one (unseen) goal in it.  There were maybe three hundred fans, with most of them migrating from under the covered stand to congregate by the tea hut at the break. It looked as if the majority of them knew each other well. There were a few people wearing IBV colours and everyone seemed to know them too.

At few minutes after the re-start Thottur were level. A half volley from the left corner of the penalty box beat the IBV goalie at his near post. He seemed surprised by the shot. Maybe it was David James with a new head after all.

Random action shot.

Conceding a goal seemed to spark a bit of life into the visitors and they went close with a header on the hour that needed a good one-handed save from the home keeper.

Throttur managed to hang on until ten minutes from time when IBV eventually regained the advantage through Gunnar Guomundsson, who I understand used to be a character in It Ain’t Half Hot Mum.

The view from miles away.

The home fans were encouraging their team on with chants on “Throttur, Throttur“. I believe it originates from the traditional Icelandic epic poetry. The resistance was broken though and the bloke from the jungle concert party added his second soon after.

Englishman Ian Jeffs added a fourth for IBV before Vioir Porvaroarson concluded the scoring in injury time for what was a flattering five-one victory.

Final Score.

The home players and fans quickly cleared off whilst the IBV players celebrated with their supporters. That was it for me. I’d seen five games in a week, involving teams from the top four divisions plus the women’s league.

Iceland is definitely my sort of place, especially for watching football. The ramshackle grounds, low attendances, mixed weather and breathtaking backdrops make it pretty much perfect.  I’ve no idea if I’ll be back again someday to see some more, but I’d like to think so.

After a few days in Reykjavik we thought we’d see some of Iceland’s sights and headed off towards the area known as the Golden Circle.

First stop was the Kerio volcanic crater. It was ok, I suppose, in a big hole in the ground sort of way. Probably the most noteworthy aspect to it was that the lake at the bottom wasn‘t full of old fridges and discarded supermarket trolleys. I suspect that it might not have been the same story had it been in the UK.

That’s me.

Five minutes later we were off to Haukadalur to see the geysers. The best one, somewhat imaginatively named Geysir, goes off twice a day. There were a few people stood around it waiting, but they obviously had far more patience or much less stuff to do than we did. We left them to it and settled for seeing the less spectacular but much more frequent Strokkur.

Strokkur erupts regularly every six minutes or so  and was pretty impressive. Although not quite so impressive as to warrant staying a further six minutes to see it again. I was actually more taken with the boiling water that just bubbled out from various points along the pathway. That seemed weirder.

Woo hoo.

There’s a big waterfall nearby too, Gullfoss. We followed the signs and so ended up in the car park some distance away. Those in the know just turn off early and park up at the bottom, near the falls. For perspective, it’s miles better than High Force but crapper than Niagara. Does that help? I suppose that’s why I don’t write slogans for the Tourist Board.

That’s me as well.

Anyway, enough of the nature stuff. We were staying at a place called Laugavatn and I’d noticed that there was a women’s game taking place on one of the evenings, forty kilometres away in Selfoss. You can‘t pass up that sort of opportunity and so I drove over to have a look.

It was a thousand Kronar to get in and there was one big uncovered stand with about seven hundred seats in it. The other three sides were just grass, although it was raised up to give a decent view. I reckon that there were probably around a hundred and twenty spectators, most of them in the stand with a few dotted around the grassy areas.

First half action.

Selfoss were in maroon and white, with visitors IBV in all white. There weren‘t many decent scoring chances in the opening half hour, with both sides happy to keep the ball when deep before trying to walk the ball in once they got anywhere near the opposition goal.

My initial impression was that IBV’s Shaneka Gordon was the pick of the players. She had a good first touch and got extra points for having a Marvin Emnes haircut.

Marvin Emnes.

For Selfoss, their American centre half Tiana Brockway was doing most of the organising. At one set piece she urged “Everyone pick a man”, which is a bit odd I suppose.

Five minutes before half-time Elisa Vidarsdottir floated in a direct free-kick. I don’t think she was going for goal, it looked more like an over-hit ball into the box to me. Whatever. It eluded everyone though before clipping the underside of the bar and bouncing down somewhere near the line.

The lino (who looked about twelve years old) flagged for the goal much to the fury of the home keeper who raged at him non-stop for the remainder of the half. I hope she knew his Mam. Or, even better, was his Mam.

Over the line?

It didn’t take Selfoss long to get back on level terms though as a few minutes after the restart a cross from the right was knocked in at the back post by Eva Eliasdottir.

One each.

The game opened up a bit as the half went on with Tiana Brockway putting a shot over the bar for Selfoss and then IBV’s Vesna Smiljkovic breaking clear only to be tackled outside of the box by the home keeper.

The visitors took the lead after seventy minutes when Marvin Emnes chased a through ball and sidefooted past the Selfoss goalie from around twelve yards.

The view from the grassy knoll.

It was all Selfoss after that as they pushed for an equaliser. There was a goalmouth scramble where it seemed like everyone except the other keeper was kicking away at something. I’d no idea where the ball was and I doubt many of the players did either.

A bit of goalmouth action.

The hosts had one final chance at the end but whoever swung a leg at it blazed it over the bar. It was at this point that I learned that even the Icelandic players swear in English. The win for IBV didn’t mean a lot to the respective fortunes of the two middle of the table teams, but it was a pleasant evening out in the inevitable picturesque surroundings.