“How We Spent the World Cup Final”, or “The Fantastic Adventures of Spain-O-Man”

10^th June - 14^th July – Days 253-287 – Stories from Strand, South Africa

Carl had, since the beginning of the World Cup, been somewhat of a Spanish fan. We didn't think he had much in the way of Spanish ancestry and indeed he didn't - “Every South African supports two teams in this World Cup” he said. “South Africa, and the team that they think will win it”. For Carl, this team was Spain. His excitement mounted as Spain charged through the rounds (or rather spluttered through them, somehow managing to proceed again and again) and suddenly, World Cup Final day was upon us. The day started off in the traditional way – M and I got up sometime in the early afternoon. We'd been invited to Ivan's house for a braai (South African for barbecue) and trudged down there to be confronted with a rather large pile of what used to be animals. Ivan fired them up for several hours in expert fashion which we have come to expect from South Africans – whipping up a braai is the national sport, and you'd be extremely hard pressed to find a South African man who would even be able to pronounce the word “vegetarianism”. Entire racks of beef ribs are sold in South African supermarkets as well as other hunks of meat weighing up to and including several tons. This is hardcore braai country.

Ivan, braaimaster extraordinaire, throws another zebu onto the coals

As tanked up on meat as we possibly could be, we piled into the bed of a bakkie (South African for a pickup truck, the driving of which is South Africa's second national sport) and rumbled through Strand's mean streets to a heaving Seafarer where we managed to negotiate our way to a bench with a good view to the big screen. Carl had removed his jacket to display his uniform for the night – a Spanish shirt, a Spanish scarf, a yellow vuvuzela, a Spanish scarf draped superhero-style around his neck and a slightly glazed look due to the beer ingested at the braai. His cheering and encouragement of the Spanish team became increasingly vociferous (for some reason he chose to cheer for “Español!!!!!” - surely a reflection of his state rather than the lamentable state of his Spanish grammar) and thus was born the legend of Spain-O-Man. After the final, which wasn't particularly memorable, Spain-O-Man disappeared for half an hour, reappeared again and invited us along with Gerhard to celebrate the Spanish victory at his place.

"ESPAÑAAA!! WITH AN A!!!"

White men can't help other white men to jump

If it hadn't been for my idea to film parts of the evening we may never have realised quite how funny alcohol makes people seem. Spain-O-Man eventually retired to bed several hours before we left and was rather ill the next day (we assume his illness was unrelated to anything that happened on World Cup final day). Even superheroes can't always be on top of their game.

Yaarrrr! Rest well, Spain-o-man!