Bafana Bafana!

Well, it all starts tomorrow. I can’t decide whether to come in to work early (7 am here) and listen to the opening match, South Africa-Mexico, on the radio in Spanish, or go in to House of Prague for an egg breakfast, or go to International House for coffee and donuts. Which match where? Ooof.

As Steven Rubio says, ESPN has gone all out to televise the World Cup this year. And it may be worth watching some of it instead of sticking with my usual favorite, Univisión. I will be paying attention to several blogs including Steven’s and Not A Safari. And somewhere in this murk I’m going to be traveling to Pennsylvania for a week — for a calligraphy workshop. I may have to participate in some furtive football fanishness. Watch this space.

The first World Cup I remember much of is 1970. The anticipation, the cheers, the rib-splitting tension in those smoky rooms just north of Madrid then, sucked into the over-urbanized sprawl heading for default now. Pelé. I remember Pelé, what a phenomenon, he was pure flowing magic on the field, we watched in black and white but it seemed like color, gold even, he had a sort of holy aura: the football was so beautiful. It was a fantastic World Cup and it hooked me forever.

I’d love to see South Africa do well, they are so excited to be hosting and throwing a damn good party already. I will be very torn between England and the US but hope the US does well this time. I will enjoy watching Brazil and will hope, as always, that Argentina gets thrashed. I have a huge soft spot for any underdog and hope to see an unlikely winner here and there. But my heart, as always, belongs to Spain, to La Roja, and is in my mouth as they make their final preparations for the tournament. Maybe this year… Quizás. Vamos, muchachines, que ya es hora.

ETA: See also the excellent Zonal Marking.