World Cup Diary 13



Many millions of words have been used and thousands of trees felled to make the paper that carries these words, but for me the simple sentence written by my daughter Nana Akua on her Facebook Wall summed it up: “The world is mourning the end of an era”. You might consider that a bit hyperbolic, considering that she was commenting on merely a football match result. But always remember this saying by Bill Shankly, the greatest manager of Liverpool Football Club: "Some people believe football is a matter of life and death, I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that."

I know several people will take issue with that; one of them is my friend and brother, Chicago resident Adu Opoku, formerly known as Ballad. He probably thinks the African Revolution should come first. Maybe he is probably right but billions of people disagree with him. Look at the evidence. On Tuesday night Accra was eerily quiet. Almost empty. First, it was empty because people had gone to wherever they could watch the great game between Brazil and Germany. Secondly, the capital city went deathly quiet because even Accra, despite the bad drainage, is part of the modern world and news travels fast. The demolition of Brazil had stunned the known world, and who knows how extra-terrestrials must have taken it as well.

The whole thing was surreal; so surreal that I could not find the words to describe it. It was like some kind of out of body experience. From somewhere deep, like hearing a disembodied voice repeating the words “Germany has scored” from a big cave and only the echo resounding through the night. But for me that came later because the system collapse of the phenomenon formerly known as Brazilian football caught me in traffic.

As I said, it was not bad traffic. Even the Spintex Road, often beleaguered and overburdened, was as empty as that sad road can be. Nothing happened between Action Chapel and Flower Pot. To the uninitiated, I have to explain that these are names of bus stops on the Spintex Road. In Ghana, place names are provided by tro-tro drivers and their apprentice “mates”. But let us not digress. Nothing much happened between those two places except the national anthems, and I know you may not believe me but there was something in the national anthems that gave me a momentary spasm, -a feeling that something monumental could be about to happen.

Let me explain. Since the start of the World Cup, Brazilians have adopted a way of rendering their national anthem at the start of their games which is blood curdling. The music starts as an instrumental during which Brazilian supporters stay very quiet. The band stops playing while thousands of voices rise to sing the anthem in acapella mode, that is, without any instrumental accompaniment. Remember that the word “acapella”, (a-capella) is Italian for “as in the church”, so for a moment the entire stadium is transformed into a cathedral as the nation gives the players a spiritual/psychological boost.

Last Tuesday, the acapella rendition was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The BBC commentator contrasted the passion of the Brazilians with the cold efficiency of the Germans and said these words: “The Germans have ice in their veins”. The contrast between the exuberant passion of the Brazilians and the cold efficiency of the Germans maybe a cliché, but one grounded in fact. I will return to that in due course.

The entire deed was done between Flower Pot and Cylinder, which at normal Spintex pace is no more than twelve minutes. The first goal came out of the blue. I was at Palace, the huge square box-like shop on the Spintex Road whose builders did not even cast a sideways glance at architecture. That was when the first goal came. The commentator and I were both of one mind, that this was a fluke. It was put down to bad defending. He said, and I agreed; Scolari would be mad that the Brazil defence was caught flat footed in a corner kick. When it was all over, the Brazilian manager said simply: “I think it was the worst day of my life”.

I stopped at Palace for about seven minutes. It was still one-nil to Germany when I resumed my journey. It was not for long. At Eden Tree Junction, where the traffic is often impregnable, the Germans scored again. This time the scorer was Miroslav Klose, the man whose toe put paid to the Black Stars audacious play against Germany. Two-nil to ice veins. It was obvious by the time I got to Papaye that the Brazilians were more than missing the injured Neymar and their Captain Thiago Silva. Something serious was happening. In Ghana we would have diagnosed simply as “spiritual”, and on this occasion we would be right.

By the time I got home it had already rained so many goals that the German players were no longer celebrating. There was nothing to celebrate. It would be obscene to do so. It would be like snatching food from the mouth of a child and rejoicing. It would be adding the final insult to the monumental injury done to the Brazilian nation. This was no longer football. It was bigger than life and death.

On the field the Brazilian players, heirs to Pele, Zico, Socrates and Ronaldo, looked deflated. In the stands men wept and were consoled by their women; children looked away disconsolate. There is a much loved theory used by psychologists to explain many things. It is known as “cognitive dissonance”. It means the disconnect between reality and long-held beliefs. The best explanation I ever read was that cognitive dissonance is the feeling you would get if you found another man beating your father. Brazil was suffering from national cognitive something or other. Even “dissonance” could not account for it.

I think Brazil lost from the national anthem. We know that anthems are emblems that can have effect on people. They go beyond the music and words. They transform an auditory experience into histrionic moments of patriotism and even self-righteousness. It can pump up the feeling, and my word, it did on Tuesday night. Listening on radio, I got goose bumps. The Brazilian players were over-charged. They were doing it for Silva and Neymar. They were doing it for their country. They were doing it to justify the billions poured into the World Cup instead of building hospitals and schools.

They forgot that the only object of the night was to put that spherical object known as a ball into the net. They had not recovered from their own national anthem. Top football players had not become bad players suddenly. They were playing with their hearts instead of heads. The Germans had ice in their veins.

Nana Akua is right – an era has ended. Football and the way it is played and enjoyed will be re-appraised. Things will never be the same again.




Kwasi Gyan-Apenteng
Consultant in Communication, Culture and Media
President, Ghana Association of Writers
Member, National Media Commission