Dis mooi né? Part 1

Here we were, three o' clock in the morning, walking down a desolate road somewhere in the Vietnamese countryside. We could smell and hear the see, but it was hidden from view by what looked like looming, impenetrable jungle on both sides.

"This is the stuff they warn you about in Apocalypse Now," said Christoff.

"This is why we shouldn't have drunk a bottle of rum on the bus here."

That's actually where it all started. I finished work the Friday afternoon at 5:30, sped home and quickly packed my bag while Christoff sorted the "Walky Drinky" squeegy bottles with some Captain Morgan and Pepsi for padkos. We went down to Pham Ngu Lao where we had a few Tiger Drafts while waiting for our bus to Mui Ne - pronounced "Mooi Né", imagining what wild and wonderfully exotic beach resort we would stay at. Little did we know that the one we were staying in was, as they say, "off the beaten track", down a side road some 15 kms from the main tourist beach aea - in fact it was in another area code.

We had fun on the bus, just generally talking crap and laughing, and after about 4 hours of driving we showed the bus driver our business card of the Dong Hai Resort, when we thought we were nearing our destination.

Walky Drinky - the way of the future - a trick learnt from many intervarsities

The dude just nodded and we carried on. A while later, his assistant came to us and said he wanted to look at the business card again and went to confer with the driver. A few minutes later a bus came from the opposite side and our driver flagged them down. They, in turn, conferred for a few minutes and it was duly decided that Christoff and I would transfer to the other bus because we had passed our resort. So we jumped on the other bus which, of course as Murphy's Law would have it, was full so Christoff stood and I sat on the steps. After what felt like ages our newly appointed bus driver decided that the above-mentioned turn-off was where we would be dropped and basically kicked us out with smile.

"Luckily it's not raining from all sides like Forrest Gump said," I optimistically mused. So we went for a pleasant early morning walk down what, for all we knew, could have been a wrong-turn, dead-end road which could have ended up like a B-grade horror movie with twisted incest-ridden axe-wielding half-breeds hiding in the jungle and hunting us d0wn but it wasn't because a few kilometers later we found our resort, woke the dogs up which woke the owners up and got our room.

The place was really nice: on the beach, quiet, but quite expensive and we felt a bit strange being the only non-Vietnamese and English-speakers there but it was a cool experience. The next day we took a taxi to the real Mui Ne where all the tourists hang out, drinking cocktails and lazing on the beach. This was more what we expected and actually found a place where we could stay the Sunday night for the tenth of the price we were currently paying, albeit a bit-more dodgy.

Anyways, we bought another bottle of rum and headed down to the beach, just chilling and swimming. Later we went to look for a place to watch the Springbok game but there was none to be found so we just carried on with what we doing and I woke up the next day wondering what happened to the previous one.

Christoff and our new friends (from right to left in case you couldn't recognise them)

Sunday was an awesome day - slight tropical breeze, coconuts swaying in the wind, the smell of mangoes and seafood in the air and we decided to swop accomodation for the better-located, cheaper but dodgier bungalows . It was grand, but what did we do? The same thing we did everyday Pinky: bought a bottle of rum (come on, when in Rome huh?) and headed down to the beach.

"Tropical the island breeze, this is where I long to be, all of nature young and free, La Isla Bonita"

Actually, now that I think about it, we did few other things. I went cruising around on a bike, checking out the scenery and other beaches and Christoff went for a massage, but mostly, we just lay on the beach drinking rum and making up stories about the fishermen in their peanut-shell boats. One story about the legend of Nguyen Van Troi, Troi: The Fisher King, is soon to become an international best-seller, surpassing The Da Vinci Code in the "not-sure-whether-this-is-fact or fiction" category.

Some of Nguyen Van Troi's posse

That night, a tropical storm, monsoon, hurricane or As the aussies call it, a Willy Willy hit with a vengeance and furious anger. Whatever you call it, it was a killer. The roads were flooded until the next morning, people were driving neck deep in dirty water, coconuts were bouncing of roofs like pinballs (with little ingenuity we could have worked out a scoring system and made it into a drinking game even Jannie Smuts would have been proud of: 2 points for a coconut in the swimming pool, 10 for one on the head). We just sat on our stoep and watched. Sardines caught by the locals looked like they were practising synchronised flying, sandcastles were building themselves, and the peanutshell boats looked like frisbees flying through the air.

Soos hulle sê in Afrikaans: Een man se dood is 'n ander man se brood (of so iets) - coconuts collected after the storm

We decided to call it an early night because we had to come back to Saigon the next morning at 8 am. Little did we know (but we should of expected) that our bus was not late, it was not coming at all. Our travel agent guy gave us some lame excuse but said he'd booked us place on the next minibus back to HCH City at noon. So we waited and when it arrived - it arrived. With a ta-ta-ta-ta-ra-ra hooter honk that sounded like something out of a Laurel and Hardy skit (the sound still haunts my dreams to this day). The minibus was already packed ala African-style when we got in, but they took the lady and her child who were sitting in front and threw them in the pack despite her protestations, and we still managed to pick up four more people on the way. It was straight out like a scene from some surf-travel movie except we didn't have boards.

We arrived safely despite numerous heart-wrenching stunt-driving antics by our driver (think: 1-way road, our minibus overtaking a car, which is overtaking a truck which is overtaking a motorbike). And I even managed to pick up a $2 Dis Mooi Né? t-shirt as a souvenir. We can't wait for the next public holiday so we can do it all again.

Gone Fishin'

The 2nd of September holiday (National Day or Independence Day depending on where in VN you're from) is coming so Christoff and I are heading off to sunny Mui Ne for the long weekend.

Mui Ne is about four hours drive from HCM City, on a dodgy bus at night, therefore it's bound to be interesting! Through the year it's a quiet seaside community with a long, white beach and red sand dunes, but in the holiday time it comes to life with an influx of tourists and locals looking for some fun in the sun. Luckily, we're staying at a hotel a few kilometers outside the town so it should be more relaxed and laidback - exactly what we're looking for.

So look forward to an interesting post when we return on Monday with lots of cocktail-sippin', palm tree-lamming, beach-bummin', coconut-cruisin', hammock-lazin', sunlight-soakin' photos!

Mui Ne at its finest

Mooi so

Ek wil net graag vir my neefie Dewald Louw geluk wens met sy prestasie as die nuwe Afrikaanse Idol vir 2006. Ek het altyd geweet ons familie het musikale talent gehad - en nou het hy dit bewys (hy het dit eintlik al lankaal bewys).

Dewald - ek verwag 'n groot geskenk vir Kerfees (en natuurlik 'n getekende kompakskyf)!

Mid-Autumn Festival Play

Chu Cuoi and his wife Chi Hang at the Mid-Autumn Festival, or Trung-Thu

The traditional Unicorn Dancers associated with the festival (sorry the last one's quite blurry - didn't quite get the effect right).

Photo Post

Hey, sorry I haven't posted for a while but computer access has been limited. To make up for it (and buy me some time before I actually have to write something again) here are some photos from August.

Some Anime-junkie at the Anime/Manga Festival earlier this month.

On the Bonzai Party Boat for Andrew's 30th birthday. Me and some little kid - beer, kids and a boat - no, that's not dangerous. 2nd pic - brothers in arms.

I went to go help Manon and play with the kids a few weeks ago at an orphanage in my district - she's the one reading the story to the kiddy. That little girl in the background of the last picture's mother dropped her at the orphanage because her step-father said he wouldn't marry her mother if she kept her. Some sad but true stories.

They come in threes.

As the old adage goes – things come in threes. After the Vietnamese Massage Mafia Affair – as I now fondling...I mean fondly refer to it – Saturday evening saw more inner-city mayhem hit the streets of Saigon.

Christoff and I were on our way to meet some friends at a club called Bottomlime in Discrict 1 (basically the city centre with all the fancy hotels and skyscrapers), but we couldn’t find the damn place after about half an hour's walking and asking for directions. We hooked up with two Spanish guys, Luis and Eddy, spending their first day in HCMC and looking for a place to go out so we dragged them along. We decided a taxi might be the best idea so the four of us hopped in a cheap one.

We were happily cruising towards our destination when we spotted some bustling in the street ahead. Chris said he witnessed one guy running up to another dude and stabbing him in the back. The Spanish guys and I didn’t see it, but our taxi driver sure did, because he slammed on the brakes, popped the boot, jumped out and grabbed something like a monkey-wrench and ran towards the fight. Suddenly it was like a Smackdown free-for-all with guys jumping in and swinging at each other left, right and centre.

I was staring agape at this confusion when I noticed I was sitting alone in this taxi – Chris was half way down the road in the opposite direction and Luis and Eddy were hot on his heels. Sensibly, I followed and we got the hell out of there. We found out later that evening from another taxi driver that the guy who got stabbed was quickly taken to hospital and was alright.

These guys can give Kwazulu-Natal or the Cape Flats' taxi violence a run for their money. Well that’s two strikes, first the Massage Mafia Affair, then the Saigon Showdown – I wonder what the third one’s going to be...

Welcome to the Karma Hotel...

Bleh. I’ve officially had my first encounter with the infamous Asian organised crime syndicates. On Wednesday night I went out with Manon, a French buddy of Jan’s ex-girlfriend Dre, who is volunteering at an orphanage for two weeks here in the city (she leaves tomorrow). Her English friend Lois who was also volunteering left the Thursday so it was a bit of a farewell for her. It was quite late at night, or early in the morning, depending from which day you look at it, and the orphanage crew jumped in a taxi. I’m about to hail one when a motorbike taxi, xe om in Vietnamese, offers his services. I think yeah why not it’s cheaper than a taxi and the fresh air would do me good.

So we’re zooming through the empty streets, head whirling, when two girls drive up next to us. The one starts offering her and her friends’ services: “Massage, two ladies, very good.” Obviously, being the gentleman that I am, I decline. They started offering more profusely and I start declining more profusely, first in English then Vietnamese then Afrikaans. Obviously they didn’t get the message because the xe om stops and the one chick jumps on the back of our motorbike. Now there’s three of us and she starts copping a feel and I’m like “Hell no lady, I just want to get home and pass out.” I grab the motorbike dude by the shoulder and squeeze it quite hard so he gets the massage...erm message. Finally he stops and the chick jumps off, pissed off, and back on her buddies bike and they speed off. This is when I realise the little skank left me sans my wallet. I grab the motorbike dude again and tell him to follow the trail of short skirts and cheap perfume blowing in the wind.

So now we’re in full bike chase mode, the tequila is coursing through my veins and this guy must have realised I wasn’t joking because he was speeding like a demon. His Honda Dream could have beaten Valentino Rossi at this time. We catch up with the chicks and they throw my wallet in the road. This is when I realise the damn motorbike dude was in on it as he sped off as soon as I jumped off to pick it up. Luckily they only took my money (a few hundred thousand Dong) and left my cards and identification stuff.

Yeah well, you live you learn I guess. As James emailed me, incidents like these make you lose faith in then human race and distrust everyone and I must admit I felt a tinge of anger, but mostly at myself for allowing the situation to occur. I’m still wondering if it was just karma biting me in the ass. So much so that I went to go help out for an hour or so with the kids at the orphanage and take some photos to try and get my karma back out of the red or something in that line. I mean, it’s strangely ironic that I travel half way across the world from crime-riddled South Africa just to get jumped in Nam. Well, as I said with our flooded-house incident, every story has a moral. Damn tequila...

Over the moon

So things have been happening for me slowly but surely on this side of the Indian Ocean, or South China Sea to be more exact. Not only is this my 50th post on the blog it also heralds my big break, but I’ll get to that in a while.

Wow 50 posts, that doesn’t seem like a lot but it feels like a long time. There’s been a lot of musings and ponderings and useless info – not only by me, mind you (thanks dedicated comment posters) – and a crazy World Cup in between too. To think, I’ve been in Nam for more than four months already. Everything snowballed since Chris, pillow clutched firmly to his breast, and I got on the plane in Cape Town early one April morning to set off for Johannesburg, then Nairobi, a weekend in Bangkok and finally Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh City.

All the stress of trying to find work, get accustomed to the strange street names, traffic, food and general culture seems like a heartbeat – except every now and then a surreal moment of clarity hits you. Something small triggers it – a sign that reads: “Dung’s Baby Store” or a man pissing against a wall next to your house with no skaam and you just stop in your tracks and think: “What the hell am I doing in this place?”. Yet familiarity returns and sanity prevails in the end. I think this must be the equivalent of a first-year poppie from the platteland arriving in Stellenbosch for the first time, but once you get into and understand the scheme of things the ball starts rolling and doesn’t stop any time soon.

Since getting work things have happened even faster. It’s like a vicious cycle (like the days when Wilhelm and I worked at the Dros) that you can’t break. Get up for work in the wee hours, work all day and night, get home, have a few beers and sleep just to do it all again the next day. Luckily we’ve forced ourselves to slow things down a bit, making some free time over the weekend to relax and enjoy life a bit more – after all, this IS an adventure of a lifetime that precious few in the world will ever be able to experience and for this reason I’ve decided that gratitude is more important than easy off-the-lip cynicism which usually comes so easily to me. So I thank my lucky stars for all of it and know that one day I’ll look back at this and think: “Shit, did I do THAT?!”.

Which brings me to my second point: My big break. I’m officially in the model/acting industry. Yes, now would be the right time to rub out your eyes. One of the teachers at the Australian school took some photos of some of the teachers to send to a recruiting agency who phoned me on Saturday to be in (what I thought would be) an ad. It was actually a photo shoot for Getty Images who were setting up a photo bank (where all the magazines and companies can buy images of all sorts at exorbitant prices).

Anyways, the “theme” of the shoot was businesspeople (Prof Rabe would be quite proud of that self-edited gender correctness). We were in this big warehouse that was painted totally white doing stupid things like posing for handshakes, giving speeches and giving rounds of applause. It was weird, but I guess when looking at all the weirdness I’ve been exposed to since arriving here it fitted like a glove. They paid me too, which wasn’t actually necessary since I enjoyed the Zoolander role – they didn’t really think my “Magnum” or “Blue Steel” was up-to-scratch yet.

The agency phoned again yesterday, they need me for another shoot tomorrow which should be quite cool – I get to play a messy lawyer or something like that.

But wait folks, there’s more. I was also approached (hehe – see I’ve already got the lingo going) by VUS school to star in the leading role in their English Speaking Club’s Mid-Autumn Festival play in two weeks. I’m playing Chu Cuoi, a character out of Vietnamese mythology, who has to rescue his girlfriend Chi Han from the moon or something like that, don’t ask. There’s gonna be about 200 teenagers or something like that so I’m quite scared. I’ve been to the tailors to get fitted for my traditional costume as well so I have to watch my weight for a while too.

Oh yes folks, this is it. I’m gonna make it big, but I’ll never forget my roots. I’ll give a shout out to all of you at the next MTV Asia Video Awards. What to wear, what to wear…but don’t call me I’ll call you, or if I don’t have time my agent will :P

Noah's Ark in Saigon

Our house flooded last night. Christoff and I were out in the Pham Ngu Lao backpacker district last night, enjoying the Tiger beer happy hour celebrating that we didn’t have to work this morning. Anyways, we called it a night at about 3 o’ clock after Christoff got batted by a few chicks and his self-confidence was lower then Bafana Bafana’s (coupled with the waning of the Proteas might and the stumble and fall of the once-fearless Springboks, that’s doesn’t leave a lot of confidence at the bottom of the barrel).

Sorry, I'm digressing. So we arrive home just after three and unlock the gate. Christoff says: “Wie bad die tyd vannnie f*kken aand?” I plead ignorance. Unlock the front door. I realized something had gone pear-shaped when little cockroaches come rowing out in peanut shells, with toothpicks for oars. The geckos run across the slick walls two-by-two. There’s water everywhere. A waterfall runs down our stairs. Our empty fish pond is nearly full. The water comes out of the walls, out of the door frames (it looked like one of those rustic beaded curtains).

Ankle deep in water, Mr Diep – the man’s man, ladies man, and man about town – comes wading in with a smile and says: “No problem!” Luckily, both Christoff and I had dulled any sense of anger or worry we usually would have had in this situation whilst wrestling with the Tiger. Diep’s inside the roof, shoveling buckets of dirty water out, his sister’s on the floor sweeping the water off the balcony and his wife’s downstairs mopping. Christoff and I form a human chain to empty the full bucket appearing out of the roof into my bath. It was grand. A real group effort.

The more we tell Diep and his family not to worry and wait until the morning, the more adamant he is to fix it. We manage to rescue our house bar a few damp spots and fallen insect heroes.

Finally, Diep’s party left and Christoff and I just laughed trying to think of what insects and animals escaped the flood and what they used for boats (the mozzies proved their worth with a valiant and daring sea-rescue, picking up capsized ants who had tried to escape through the backdoor on canoes chiseled from Christoff’s toe-nail cuttings.

What a night. And best of all, Christoff regained his confidence: being part of a group working towards a common goal and finally achieving that goal with hard-work, teamwork and determination can do wonders for a man’s morale. Every story has a moral...

Apologies

Hey, sorry I haven't updated more regularly recently, things have been quite busy this side. I know it's the number one sin of any self-respecting blogger to let his blog stagnate for more than a few hours, let alone a few days, so I heartily apologise. When things calm down a bit this side, I promise an in-depth, cutting-edge, controversy-causing, side-splitting, uproaringly (I can't think of any more words with a "-" in them!) post that will have you tearing your hair out from excitement, angst and pure reading pleasure.

Hmm...that's a lot to live up to, I should tone that down a bit...

Oh and one more thing, Christoff is still alive - someone sent me an email and said they saw him at the Brooklyn Mall - maybe a lookalike - but I see him most days and he's fit and healthy - even a few kilos lighter! Until later.

More photies

Two girls at their jewellery store in the market.

The city that never sleeps. They don't wear helmets when driving and this it is also the city that has the highest per capita head injuries anywhere in the world - as typified by the three motorcyclists in the picture zooming down on a blurry car.

These guys like to dos. Every day from 12-2pm is siesta time. Ola.

Despite the lack of apparant road-worthiness and safety these guys can drive motorcyles like Jimi could play the guitar - left handed, upside down, with a family of five on the back, packed with 8 crates of beer, you name it, they drive it.

A busy night at Arena. It's quite a nice place, except for the England shirts worn by the barladies.

This ain't no Ocean Basket, baby.

So you're craving some fresh seafood but there's not a good restaurant in sight? Don't fret, just look out for one of these dudes with a bucket of carp or bass. It's like shooting fish in a barrel, literally. It doesn't come any fresher.

The kids are alright

I don’t really like kids. Well, I guess that’s not totally true, because I teach them every day and you have to like them at least a bit if you’re going to teach them. What I mean is I wouldn’t like to have any kids of my own…just yet (or any time soon in the foreseeable future). They’re more energy-sapping then playing a full-length football match or a night stomping to Fuzigish or Dieselboy. They need constant attention and they demand it. All I hear every day is: “Teacher, teacher! Smackdown!”, or “Teacher, where you from?!” Everything about children is “need to know, need to be, and NOW”. It haunts my dreams…

But these kiddies in Vietnam are damn cute, though. Some of them are so small you can’t believe they’re not breastfeeding anymore and their parents have actually sent them to school. I have this little kid in one of my classes who looks like a lollipop – he has this tiny body with an oversized head and his mom gave him this huge backpack to carry so it looks like he’s actually stuck to his bag and not actually carrying it, but he’s really cute. Another thing is that most of these children have such a self-confident air about them. They strut their stuff without a care and when they see you coming down the road they jump at the opportunity to practice their limited English (“Hello, how are you? I’m fine” and then run away before you can reply).

Probably the most important of all – despite all the cuteness and naughtiness – they’re really smart and hardworking. I think sometimes their parents push them too hard, because, at a ridiculously young age – 6 or 7 – these kids have normal school, then in the evenings they have English classes and then do homework when they come home. They also have extra classes on the weekends and most of them go to English speaking club in the holidays.

But these kids are cool. I like them and I hope they like me. I think they like Christoff more because he always comes back from class covered in marker pen stains and when his students see him they shout “Teacher Chris! Teacher Chris!”. I’m gonna miss the John Cena/Rey Mysterio t-shirt clad buggers when I’m back in SA one day.

Finally!

I finally managed to upload some photos of my parents' weekend visit here. I've been trying for days but the Internet has been too slow (these Vietnamese love their online games slowing down the I-net café servers even more). I also used my journalistic discretion (!) in deciding not to post the photos from the evening at The Arena during the World Cup quarter-final between England and Portugal as well as pics of the Dean of the Faculty of Arts being caught with his pants down at Ben Thanh Market - who says I didn't learn anything in my Media Ethics module? By the way, if you know anyone who works for Die Son who might be interested in the photos drop me an email and I'd be happy to negotiate...

We had cockatils on the 23rd floor of the Sheraton with Lucille, Andrew and Erika (my brother's girlfriend, and South African friends who work here - respectively).

My mom and Christoff at Go2 in Pham Ngu Lao.

We had dinner one night at this awesome Vietnamese restaurant called Quan An Ngon (it means "Something Delicious").

We went for Sunday lunch at Binh Quoi, this toursity resort on the Saigon River.

From the left: Lucille, my parents, Andrew and Erika.

We had ice-cream at Fanny's - "Where all our ice-creams are made from your dreams".

My dad really wanted to go haggle/barter at Ben Thanh Market (I think he just liked all the attention).

This is him in action bartering for some Levi's.

Goodbye World Cup

Wow, what a grand tournament it was, it's a pity I have to get back to the mundane side of life and post about normal things - not that anything is very normal here in Vietnam.

It's a pity the World Cup won't be remembered for the emergence of great young talent like Lukas Podolski, Bastian Schweinsteiger (doesn't that translate to "pig shagger" in English?) and Fabio Grosso or for the graceful retirement from international football for the likes of Fabien "the monk" Barthez ot Luis Figo.

Instead it will be remembered for the ignorant and selfish actions of Zidane - what a man he used to be. I mean come on, I'm sure people get called all kinds of things that are worse than an "Algerian terrorist", or having their mothers insulted or told: "Your wife was good last night". Big deal if he got cripple-nippled by the Italian defender. Has he never played football in England with Craig Bellamy or Robbie Savage before??! I guess he hasn't...

Secondly, if you're going to pull a Cantona, do it properly man - at least headbutt him on the nose, not in the tum! Oh well, whatever, nevermind, as my cousin Kurt always said. He also said it's better to burn out than to fade away. I think Zizu sort of spluttered like a wet candle and then "poof", disappeared down the tunnel in a wisp of smoke, but that's just my opinion. Kudos to the Azzurri, they probably deserved to win.

Goodbye World Cup. Goodbye second place in the Fantasy League. Well done Alan, sorry Justin and Rik. The screen shot will follow tonight.

Who's going to win?

I was thinking of an interesting title for this post but decided that it's too short to waste energy on. All I actually want know is who is going to win the World Cup?

France? Well, they seem to be favourites and it will be a dream ending to a glimmering career for old Zizou (who was caught on long camera lens smoking an entjie before the Portugal match so that old myth that smoking is bad for you is now debunked).

Italy? History seems to be on their side, playing well in every third World Cup and the last time there was a Italian football scandal (as their is now at Juventus) they won.

Who do you think will win?

I'll tell you what I think on Sunday night (or Monday morning as the game is at 2 am in this far-flung corner of the world).

Vietnam 2014

I was speaking to one of the teachers about the state of football in Vietnam and we both agree that one day, maybe not in 2010, but some time in the future, Nam will be at the World Cup. There are two reasons, he says:

Firstly, there are 82 million people (or more) in the country - do the math - if tiny Trinidad & Tobago got it, then why not Nam?

Secondly, and in my opinion most pertinently, this country is football crazy. Every kid and his mother has a football. They play it on every available inch of space. Those that can't afford balls use badminton shuttle-cocks and play "keepy-uppies". At night, they sit huddled in their little houses, illuminated by the neon green glow emenating from the football fields on their TV screens. They can't count to ten properly but they can say "Ronaldinho" or "Rooney" with perfect pronunciation. Every boy plays it at school and some girls too. If you keep very still anywhere in the city wou will be able to hear the faint sound of "Celebrate the day" pumping from somewhere. It's simple - if you have this kind of passion, you will succeed sooner or later.

Oh and it seems most of the population, except those too young to remember, are cheering for Italia on Sunday - and with reason - the atrocities the French committed in this country won't soon be forgotten.

This is the sight that greets you at the Maximark - the big supermarket just down our street. My brother will be proud it's Omo-branded.

What men they are

What a man he is a phrase regularly uttered by my friends and I. We use it to exclaim the brilliance either of ourselves (hardly ever each other) or someone worthy of such a superlative utterance. In this case, I direct it at two men. Thus: What men they are. The two international goalkeepers Jens Lehman and Ricardo that is.

The Portuguese keeper was the hero for his country as they progressed to the semi-finals of the World Cup after beating England 3:1 on penalties. Admittedly, I can’t remember every detail of the match due to my parents visiting for the weekend and embarking on a wonderful weekend of Tiger draughts and Vietnamese Dalat Wine. I remember hazy highlights such as Beckham limping off, missed chances, a groin-crushing stamp and Rooney sent marching. We also made a quick exit from the Barmy-filled pub we were watching at before things got out of hand. What stands out vividly though is the English’ vigorous attempt at superseding the Swiss as the worst penalty takers of the new millenium. Ricardo’s wonderful three saves made sure of a semi-final berth against the French who outplayed (didn’t think I would ever use that phrase with regards to the French at this World Cup) reigning champions Brazil. The Gallic flair and perseverance was enough to upset the Samba rhythm and keep them at arms length.

Lehmann pulled off the same magic, once and for all sending the debate regarding Klinsmann’s choice of choosing him over Kahn to bed. The Germans were as clinical with their penalty kicks as their snipers 65 years ago. Lehman settled it with great saves against Cambiasso and Ayala. They now face a rampant Italian team who ran over a lackluster Ukraine. With Toni Luca playing himself into the same form he showed for Fiorentina earlier this year, netting two goals for the Azzurri, the hosts will face a stern challenge.

Let’s hope some other great men come to the fore so that this will not be the last time I can say “what a man he is” when mentioning Germany ’06.

I think it fixed itself

:)

I think my blog broke

:( Hmm...I'm not sure what's going on, maybe I posted too much football news or something. Loesil het jy my blog gebreek?