Mundial Madness

The Vuvuzela resounds in my ears as I walk down the street.

Sometimes the sound is real, coming out of TV sets in houses all along the roads here in Jalapa, as it was today while people were watching Argentina finish its shellacking of Mexico to advance to the Quarterfinals, while I skipped out on the second half after seeing Argentina go up 3-0 to come to the ciber.

But often, I think it´s just the sound my imagination adds to every place I go now, after having breathlessly watched hours upon hours of World Cup matches the past two weeks.

I admit to being initially turned off by the hyped-up pre-cup spectacle. The songs officially written for the event, Shakira´s Waka Waka and that one about flag-waving, were (and are) blared constantly out of cell phone speakers, ciber windows, and TV commercials here, and wore on my nerves. It was a lot different, however, when I saw the songs performed live the night before the first game, with thousands of South Africans dancing and chanting with people from all over the world. It was one of the few events that could even make the Black Eyed Peas´ I Got A Feeling palatable to me once more; it was a time that merited nothing more or less than a joyous, mindless party anthem.

I further admit to being swept away by the first goal of the tournament, When Tshabalala of South Africa (whose name was by far the most fun to say in the tournament) received a perfect pass from a teammate at a full sprint and somehow magically managed to arc his shot just over the goalie´s outstretched fingertips and into the top corner of the net with a Mexican defender right at his heels. It was, for me, the prettiest shot in the tournament.

Down here, they call soccer ¨The world´s most beautiful sport,¨ and in moments like Tshabalala´s, it lived up to its name. But more often than not, it has hewed much closer to the way David Brooks and Nick Hornby describe the game, as one of almost perpetual let down, falsely raised hopes, frustration and heartbreak. See for example the performance of the teams from the U.S. and England in the tournament, who were both plagued by referees´ poor officiating and goal-calling (or recalling), and who had brilliant victories late in the group stage (Landon Donovan scoring in the 91st minute!!! How much more cathartic can you get!?!) before dream-shattering losses in the first knockout round.

Next week we only have school on Monday, before a week of end-of-the-first-semester activities for my teachers, and then a week of ¨winter¨ vacation. I´m hoping to take full advantage of this, and skip town early next week to hang out with my friends down south (especially my Dolores friends!) before heading down to the Rio San Juan with two excellent PC friends to see the amazing rainforest and wildlife refuge near the Nica-Costa Rican border. Which I´m totally excited about, though at the same time it makes me sad I´ll probably miss most of the rest of the Mundial, with all the intrigue, underdogs, penales, blown calls, triumphant flag-kissing, man-hugging, and of course, all the goles.

Though I´m sure I´ll continue to hear the Vuvuzelas and their jubilant honk, even in my dreams.