Neil Manthorp in Amsterdam Cricket
It is funny that we call ourselves a sports-crazy nation. There has never been a sports event in South Africa that has commanded, or even demanded, that the whole population sits up and takes notice.
The Rugby World Cup final is an over- used example of when this was supposed to have happened, but at least half the country couldn’t have cared less.
In the past fortnight, the South African cricket squad have experienced two such nights. They watched England’s elimination from the football World Cup on penalties from a packed pub in Manchester and then, on Tuesday night, they shared in an outpouring of passion and emotion that enveloped everybody on the night, no matter which country they came from
Brazil versus Holland, the semi-final, the biggest sporting night the Netherlands has had since, well, none of the Dutch people around me could be sure. But they did establish that it wasn’t the biggest night ever because they had once reached the final – in 1978.
Wim was the one who remembered that game, with a bit of embarrassment because he was a lecturer in political history at a university and really didn’t belong in the Bulldog Bar, the biggest and probably most famous joint on the Leidseplein, central Amsterdam.
He was one of hundreds of thousands of Dutch people who ordinarily would have given soccer a wide berth – but a couple of younger colleagues had invited him out and he had jumped at the chance.
An estimated 12-million people watched the semi-final on July 7 in Holland. Quite a thing, considering the population is 15-million. Where, I wondered, were the other three million because they weren’t in Amsterdam.
A brief walk around the side streets of the Leidseplein during the second half of normal time was incredible. Bars and restaurants packed like over- full beanbags with bums and arms and other things sticking out of doors and windows at strange angles. The streets were empty.
There was a big screen at one end of the square which about 3 000 people were trying to watch. Those at the back were all trying to jump up when they heard a cheer and most of them came crashing down into a softish landing of plastic beer cups. Then they stood up and tried to see the screen again. Crash.
Then the match went through the agonies of the Golden Goal and then Holland lost on penalties just like that. Suddenly it was all over. From the moment the first Brazilian penalty from Ronaldo crashed into the roof of the net the result seemed pre- determined. It was over. All that was left was the walk, cycle, bus or tram back home. Except for the tourists, of course.
On the way back to the hotel, with a fresh slice of pizza in hand, the captain of the South African cricket team saunters past with Shaun Pollock, Corrie and Jonty Rhodes. They had been watching in another bar down the road. “It’s nice to know that all we did was fail to win a single Test match,” grins Hansie Cronj.
“There are worse things in sport and life than that.” They meander away towards the square. It’s getting on a bit but the captain is doing what he said he would do. “Relax, have some fun and forget about cricket for a while. We’ll get over Old Trafford soon enough and bounce back even stronger at Trent Bridge.”
Wim is long gone, too, probably wondering how on earth he got caught up in the whole thing in the first place.