Foodball

So yesterday the cork popped on the much anticipated goose-fest. It was a long, hard day which required careful planning and execution, all moving backward from the final, and BIG event, which was us in the stadium for the Cape Town kick-off at 8.30pm.

Resigned to the fact that there would be little parking, we carefully selected a good halfway house where we could rest on our long walk to the stadium. So we set off at 12.30pm, and a few moments later we were establishing ourselves at Caveau, getting ready for the big haul. Two bloody marys, a few beers (plus obligatory shots of gees tequila), a burger, skinny fries, a crispy spring roll (with sweet chilli sauce), plenty of biltong, and mild deafness from the fucken vuvus, we were ready to go.

Along with a good portion of the 64 100 people who were eventually at the stadium with us, we walked the fan walk. We talked the fan talk. Some of us might even have boogied to Shakira on the way. It wasn’t always pretty.

But it was fun. I didn’t even mind having to drink Budweiser when we were there – though R30 for a bottle is a rip-off of note.

On our return, walking the walk and talking the talk after the game (which was less exciting than everything else), the gees fatigue drove us to chomping hotdogs on the street. The hotdog was supposedly bespoke – except it wasn’t (at all). But it didn’t need to be. It was a bland, slightly soggy, but hot and piggy, hotdog just before midnight after the second match of the World Cup. Delicious.

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