Tout of Africa - a World Cup survivor tells
MICHAEL VISONTAY
July 10, 2010
Our group of four arrived in South Africa with two missions: urge the Aussies to victory and get rid of the unwanted balance of 116 tickets we had received in the FIFA ballot. The Socceroos were focused; we were desperate. They had three matches to negotiate; we had 15. Every tour and public venue became a market place. On the flight over we stuck a flyer up in the toilet, advertising two tickets to New Zealand versus Slovakia, with our seat numbers. I got a few dirty looks from the flight attendant but no offers.
Our first stop was Cape Town, nestled under majestic Table Mountain and a major party town. On the ferry back from Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned, my mate spotted a family of Australians. ''You interested in four tickets to Spain v Switzerland in Durban?'' he shouted above the seaspray.
''Let's discuss it over a drink in the pub,'' declared the father, a former rugby league journo. A few beers later, we had a deal. High fives everywhere.
The next day, at a seafood restaurant, another family of Aussies and another sale. They came to our apartment at midnight in the middle of a thumping street party. The text arrived while we watched a drunken Frenchman dangle a squirming chicken off a second-floor balcony, channelling Michael Jackson, as he attempted to fire up the French fans with a live ''coq sportif''.
Five minutes later the Aussie and his sons walked into our foyer. He reached into his sock and pulled out a wad of notes. We shook hands.
So far, so good. Next stop, Durban, the Surfers Paradise of South Africa, to see the Socceroos play Germany. The match was a nightmare, the trading a revelation - thanks to a tall, blunt Liverpudlian. His name was Ken and he owned a strip of bars on Florida Street near the stadium, including Booty Bar, the hottest watering hole in the city.
Ken took my friend and me to the hotel next door, which he also owned, looked at our tickets and took them all. I told him we had some more for the knockout rounds later. ''Don't get greedy,'' he warned. ''There's not as much money down here as in Joburg.''
We all laughed but his words would come back to haunt us. There was indeed more money in Joburg but only for matches within the city. Anywhere else and people ended up almost giving tickets away. At Australia's clash with Serbia in Nelspruit, 350 kilometres north, we met a Serbian man who bought a Category 1 ticket for $8. We had paid $160.
The locals were unwilling to drive out of town even for big-name matches. When England played Germany in Bloemfontein, 400 kilometres south of Johannesburg, our prized tickets sold for under face value. The game started with vacant seats.
FIFA turned fans into touts by making us keep any knockout round tickets even if our team did not progress, rather than giving refunds as at previous World Cups. These matches were often too distant, or too expensive, to get to.
When Argentina beat Mexico, we were left with eight tickets for the quarter-final in Cape Town, a mouthwatering prospect but for one small problem. We could not find flights there and back in time to make our flight home. The alternative was to pay $1000 on a major airline.
In the end we were saved by a guardian angel named Claire, who had earlier given us a lift to a match at Soccer City after four sets of officials gave us bum steers. Claire's father is English, her mother is from Chad. She lives in Cape Town and was flying around the country to see World Cup matches on her own. She was serious, and she had money.
I texted Claire, expecting nothing. Within two hours she had sold all eight to friends, and arranged to meet us in Joburg to exchange tickets and money. She summed up the World Cup in South Africa: don't depend on the official channels, think sideways and improvise.
After the stress and selling, threats and bribes, we sold all our spare tickets except for one match: New Zealand v Slovakia, which turned out to be a thrilling late-gasp draw. I guess that's karma.
As World Cups go, it was a fabulous adventure. The locals were warm, the matches full of controversy (the ball, the refs, the vuvuzelas, angry coaches, player revolts). Best of all, we broke even on the tickets and no one got mugged. What more can you ask for?
http://www.smh.com.au/world-cup-2010/world-cup-news/tout-of-africa--a-world-cup-survivor-tells-20100709-103z4.html