Mexican for a Day: El Tri vs. Les Bleus

The hospitality in Mokopane was great. Not only did our guesthouse hosts arrange for a VW Vanagon ride to the Peter Mokaba Stadium park-and-ride in Polokwane--about 60 km away--but they cooked us dinner as well. Thank God, too, because we had a limited turn-around time after getting in from our long drive from Durban. We washed down our Boerenwurst (farmer sausage) and hearty banana-chicken curry with Windhoek Lagers, from Namibia.

Along the way we picked up a pair of father-son combos from the Sonora, Mexico, just across the border from Arizona. Amazingly, this trip represented their 11-year-old sons' maiden voyage on an airplane; their first trip was from Phoenix to London, followed by two days in London, and then the London-Johannesburg leg. The kids didn't say much--I'm guessing they were still in culture shock.

If nothing else, the weather had to have been a shock to those kids. It was freakin' cold. At about 1,280 m above sea level and in a dry climate, a typical Polokwane day is warm during the day and chilly at night. With the cold front that had blown through, temps were about 5C below normal. Bill went with a fleece under his Mexico jersey and pajama bottoms under his khakis, while I layered on ski underwear, a cotton hoodie, a windbreaker, and a Mexico t-shirt. We were still cold. Here we are at the stadium all kitted out...
Yes, we went as Mexico fans. Viva Mexico! Bill's lovely wife Norma is from Aguascalientes, "El Corazon de Mexico," meaning Bill's son Mickey is semi-Mex. As for me, I figured, "What the heck. It'll be more fun than being French for a day." At this point, my Spanish is better than my French anyway. Plus, we thought it was appropriate to support our CONCACAF brethren. It was like rooting for a college football team from your school's conference in a bowl game against a school from another conference. The better Mexico does, the better the USA looks for winning the CONCACAF qualifying.

Our van driver, Gideon, misinterpreted the lousy signage near the park-and-ride and ended up parking outside of a mosque. We stopped, disembarked, and popped open our remaining Windhoeks while I finished my curry. After getting some dirty looks from the Imam and the other arriving worshippers, we determined that this probably was not the park-and-ride; indeed, it was just down the road. We joked that it was a good thing we weren't wearing USA jerseys. Here's a mediocre shot of the empty mosque parking lot...
After finding the park-and-ride and agreeing to rendezvous with our van mates after the game at the corner of Khyber Pass Street (what is going on here?!?), we hopped on a vuvuzela-heavy bus to the stadium. The scene outside was a little muted from the cold, but still festive, with a lot more sombreros than berets, and more tequila than champagne.

Some revelers with a Tricolore flag...
The sign outside the newly constructed stadium...
The real action was in the relative warmth of the stadium concourse, where the Mexicans held court...

More singing and dancing here...

We were psyched to discover we had great seats, six rows up, 30 yard line, and in the midst of a gaggle of Mexicanos. Some of our colorful neighbors included a mariachi...
Freezing Montezuma...
Lucha Libre...
And a couple more...

On the pitch, the first half was lousy. Mexico picked it up in the second half, however, when Javier Hernández somehow avoided an offside call and wound up all alone behind the French keeper. Cuauhtémoc Blanco then nailed a penalty kick goal in the 79th minute to ice the victory, literally. Here's the video I took of the PK...