And on the seventh day God invented football

It took more than three hours to make the weary 80 kilometre drive back from Rustenburg to my home for the next month, The Lourie Lodge in north Johannesburg. Forty thousand English, American and South african fans all on the same single stretch of highway that connects the town where England played their first World Cup game and the largest city in the country. And it was well past two thirty in the morning before I was finally able to pull my duvet over my head, and with the sound of thirty thousand vuvuselas still ringing in my ears said goodnight to the most memorable week of my life.

It's difficult to know where to begin describing the past seven days. A passage of time that has seen me fly into one of the most violent cities in the world and seen nothing but multi-racial harmony and joy. Tried and failed to sit comfortably with a lifestyle that allows me at night to submerge myself in five star luxury following days spent surveying the destitution of the township. The only constant that unifies such disparate ways of life has been the unreserved welcome handed out to us all since we arrived.

It's been a week of firsts. First time in South Africa, first World Cup, even first class flights thanks to a certain Mr Gough. My trip has seen me basking on the dazzling waterfront of Cape Town, immersed within 200,000 Bafana Bafana fans parading through Sandton (Jo'Burg's brashest, flashest urban centre). I've eaten my first Afrikaan brai, sat in Nelson Mandela's chair, danced with locals in Rustenburg and held back tears in Soweto. And on Saturday night the seven days that have shook my world ended on the ultimate high as I watched England play the USA live in the biggest sporting tournament on the planet.





Cape Town, Soweto and the sumptious Lourie Lodge, a place so grandiose I've been warned not to put photos online for fear of raising Fe's expectation levels for our honeymoon (not that she ever reads my 'blog) will have to wait for another day. For today's post and Saturday's action was all about one thing, England.

The journey to the Rustenburg's Royal Bafokeng Stadium started on Thursday morning as due to last minute sponsorship commitments Goughie had to be in Cape Town for two days. I was drafted in to accompany him as we flew business class from Jo'Burg and stayed in the £330 a night Bay Hotel in the millionaire playground of Camps Bay.

Not that I got to exploit either experience as it doesn't really matter what class of flight you're on when you're still convinced it's about to plummet into the earth. The stewardesses would have to be pretty bloody attentive & the peanuts infused with a seriously strong sedative to ever make that an enjoyable state of mind to be in.

And even after my 68th flight ended in much the same way as the previous 67 by safely making it to land without any hint of mechanical failure or hijack by a screaming bomb-wielding banshee our tight schedule meant very little time to take in some more beautiful South African surroundings.



But let's fast forward two days and another early start on the Saturday morning. Well before the sun could rise and allow one last peek of the water I awoke with an unusually reasonable five hours sleep under my belt and both Goughy and I were in fine spirits as we left for the airport. For after working our bloody arses off since arriving in South Africa it was the day that had been shining like a beacon throughout the week.

Flight number 69 also passed without incident and was made memorable only because we met three famous BBC competitors who had to walk past our Business Class seats on the way to economy. "Send the red cross parcel" one of them muttered to Goughie. It's good to know our tv licence money isn't being wasted away.

We'd booked into an early flight so that we could get back in time to make the two hour trip to Rustenburg where England were playing. And it was a good decision as a tight turnaround time and lack of cabs meant we only had time to drop our bags back at the lodge where our hosts were waiting for us. They'd kindly agreed to drive us to the game and the good times were to start early as we were invited to join them at some friends who lived in Rustenburg.

A short car ride and a little snooze later and we were greeted by another amazing location with equally impressive views - not sure what Candice, the 17 year old daughter must have thought about having to sit next to me as I slouched comatose, head tilted to the skies and mouth wide open - at least I didn't dribble.





The outside views were stunning and the inside wasn't too shabby either boasting a fully stocked bar, ping pong table, huge TV & sound system and even a full sized snooker table. Ridiculous. I was also amused to hear that one of the brothers had bounced off the trampoline (picture above) aiming for the swimming pool only to overshoot and nearly fly over the fence. Oh man, I would love to have seen that.

Within minutes of arriving we had beers in our hands, footy had replaced rugby on the box and we were introduced to the meat we were about to eat. It was time for another first. The Afrikaan brai.



I've learned a lot about South African people since getting here. One is that they don't really understand football. They're keen to talk about it, they're totally enthused about having the World Cup here and they are eager to be educated. But it doesn't take long before you realise there's more for them to learn than just the off-side rule.

The other is that if they are proud of anything, and they have a lot to be proud about at the moment, it's of the quality and quantity of their meat. M*E*A*T. Yum. And for the next half an hour we were frequently reminded of the cost such slabs of cow, lamb and beef would be back in England.

Man, they love their meat here so much they even added it to the salad & pasta dishes that accompanied the giant sausages and paving stone sized steaks. Even the quiche was no more than lumps of chicken & bacon served up in a bit of pastry with an egg cracked over it. As Goughie declared in his strong Barnsley accent "I'm not usually into quiche, but this is the best one ever!" He wasn't wrong.



As starters go to the main event it was up there and the fun wasn't to end there. As before long we were back in the car and on the way to the game with full bellys and light heads.



Our Afrikaan host was also friendly with a local police chief. And they'd worked out safe passage through the local township so that we could park the car near to the ground. The stadium is actually owned by the local Bafokeng people who are the richest townsfolk in South africa due to their location on and around land rich with mining opportunities.

It provided us with another delightful twist to the day as we shared drinks, biltong and blows on the vuvusela with a couple of the families who live in the shadow of the stadium where England were about to play.









We were shown the quickest route to the game by a couple of local teenagers who left us once the stadium was clearly in sight. Sadly, though they were relatively lucky in that their township had money and a decent infrastructure it's unlikely any of those who lived here could dream of affording a ticket to the game.

As we strode to the ground with pulses racing and the sounds of songs and chants making themselves heard over the incessant droning of the vuvusela Goughie worryingly remarked he'd received a tweet that said a bomb had been discovered. We shrugged it off but we shared a few quizzical stares when two military helicopters suddenly swooped down on us.



But as soon as they arrived they were gone with nobody any wiser and we made our way into the ground. At this point we had to separate from our hosts and me and Goughie made our way to one of the beer tents to really get ourselves in the mood for our first England game.



The game wasn't for a couple of hours so we stood and chatted to the endless stream of England fans who wanted to come up and have a photo taken with Darren. He's completely unfazed by this and actually enjoys the banter. So it was pretty entertaining to be in this mix. We were also the beneficiaries of several free pints as punters fell over themselves to say they'd bought a beer for Goughie.

The American fans were also making themselves known. It's been widely reported that the Yanks have bought more tickets for this World Cup than any other nation outside of Africa. And they were here en masse. They were loud, excited and mostly in fancy dress. They also had a different mentality from the majority of working class English fans and this is something that would become a problem later in the game.

But still this was party time and we duly sunk a few beers each before making our way into the ground where we met up with the big boss at talkSPORT and some of the sales guys with their clients. The big boss is an Aussie and was loudly declaring he couldn't work out which team he wanted to lose more. I knew how he felt when I watched his side take on Germany last night.

Unlike in Europe it is perfectly acceptable to drink alcohol on the stands and as Goughie made his way to the bar I soaked up the atmosphere of my first ever World Cup England game. Thousands of fans mixing happily alongside each other waving red, white and blue flags as the two teams took to the field.



I sat down happily with my beers in seats about half a kilometre nearer the action than the ones I'd had for the France v Uruguay game and started to take in the action. But within moments I was back on my feet as Stevie G turned in a short range effort to get our World Cup campaign off with a bang.



And for a while it looked like it was going to be all too easy. But England's lifelong problem of not knowing what to do after going an early goal up struck. And I'm sure there were hundreds of Fulham fans with mixed feelings (and a winning betting slip in their back pocket) when Robert Green threw in a Clint Dempsey shot that was no more than a back pass.

It sparked the only unsavoury scenes of the game as pockets of USA fans chided the English fans sitting alongside them or behind them. All over the ground minor squirmishes either threatened to start or were carried through. The security guards having to haul off the offenders.

I could see that some of the Yanks just didn't understand the reaction. For them this was a game. What they now know if that for many English fans football is far more serious than that.

Half time came and went and old man Carragher made an appearance on the field. We had the possession but did we have the belief? Emile Heskey certainly didn't when he went one on one with Howard. While the USA fans held their heads in their hands when Altidore's chance cannoned off Green onto the post.







At the final whistle the differing reactions from the two sets of fans told its own story. For the USA this was possibly their greatest ever World Cup result. While the English supporters trooped off with a familar air of downbeat resignation.

As we made our way out the ground the American fans chanted, sang and posed in front of TV cameras. We reminded them that they hadn't even won. But a long campaign for both teams certainly awaits.

But I was determined not to let the dropped points spoil a memorable evening. One I may never ever repeat as I'll not be able to watch England in action again unless they get to the quarter-finals in Jo'Burg. And after that disjointed display I wouldn't bet on them making it that far. But the evening was still to end on a high.

For after meeting up with the owners of the Lodge we made our way to our cars back in the township. And upon our return we found some of the families were having a party all of their own. One of the buildings had a TV and they were blasting out tunes from a TV music channel. While outside a group of children and adults were dancing and mucking around. I didn't have to be asked twice whether I wanted to join them. Which was good because as far as I can remember I wasn't even asked once.







What a loser! Ha ha ha!!!!!

Fair play to the family & Goughie who patiently stood there waiting for me to cease my drunken dancing. In hindsight they were probably tired and with a long journey ahead the last thing they wanted was to wait around while I made a fool of myself. But any feelings of embarassment on my part immediately disappeared the morning after when I heard that one of the older African ladies had turned away from watching my high jinks to remark in broken english to everyone 'I love that white man'.

Climbing into the car I waved goodbye to new friends & far more talented dance partners before our vehicle began its crawl all the way back home. Dissecting the game with the others it became clear the trouble after the American goal had been mirrored across the ground. And also that maybe England didn't need to feel quite so disappointed considering the usual way we open World Cup campaigns and standard of the opposition.

And as darkness had fully enveloped the car and with fellow passengers starting to nod off alongside me I let my head rock back one more time, closed my eyes and let my mouth hang open all the way back to Johannesburg as another remarkable day approached its end.