A Joburg day out to remember
A LOCAL Johannesburg’s newspaper’s back page read on Sunday morning “A Tale of Two Cities”
The page was split down the middle, with two reports featuring Mamelodi Sundowns’ humiliation of Kaizer Chiefs at Loftus, and the All Blacks’ victory against the Springboks at Ellis Park. I thought it was kind of clever, especially having experienced both first-hand on Saturday.
Everyone told me that it was impossible to attend both.
Being the eternal optimist and glutton for live sports, the warnings from the Jozi locals fell on the deaf ears of this Kaapie. And so “The Amazing Race” began, notwithstanding that I had other functions to attend earlier in the day, such as an Under Armour store opening in Bedfordview, and even more importantly, my fatherin-law’s birthday brunch – the actual reason I was in Johannesburg – in Florida on the West Rand.
Every second counted. Plotting the journey would be a good way to start. It’s now 1.04pm. The Gautrain from Rosebank to Hatfield is at 1.34pm. Drive like a maniac on Main Reef via the M1. Miss the turnoff. Add extra 10 minutes through the mayhem of Mayfair.
Realise on the highway that Rosebank is no longer an option. Try Sandton. No luck. Make my way to Marlboro, only to see the train pull away as I enter the parking lot.
Fifteen minutes later, en route to Hatfield. The Gautrain rekindles fond memories of hopping on to the Tube in London and Dubai’s Metro.
Arrive in Hatfield, only to discover Loftus is another 20-minute walk away. I don’t have time for that as it’s already 2.30pm. Kickoff is at 3pm.
When in Africa, what do you do? Jump in a mini-bus taxi with a bunch of Chiefs fans, of course. The “Zola Budd” driver gives Lewis Hamilton a run for his money as he gets me to the stadium, where I meet up with the masses. Interview a few passionate fans. Hope Amakhosi’s No 1 supporter “Maurice” is okay after Peter Shalulile & Co dismantled his team.
Take a few snaps and head back to Hatfield. Miss the Gautrain again by just one minute. My heart sinks. The fear that I may not see the famed All Black haka envelopes me. Fortunately, Bok fans Kobus and Elsa calm me down: “You’ll get there, just run like the wind when we stop at Park Station.”
Arrive at Park Station at 4.30pm. The dreaded Joburg CBD is buzzing with an electric energy in the air. I get the Park and Ride bus with plenty of alcohol-fuelled Bok supporters expecting a big win for the home side.
The drive towards Ellis Park gives me goosebumps. It’s now 4.45pm. The clock is catching up with me. I enter the mammoth concrete concourse and slither through a sea of green and gold. No black jersey in sight, besides Ruben, who travelled all the way from Cape Town. After literally climbing over the media centre wall, I take my seat as the Flysafair plane makes its way over the roof … Wow! We have lift off!
The singing of the national anthems is nerve-tingling, while Shosholoza chants drowns out the haka.
An eerie silence envelopes the ground for the first 20 minutes with the All Blacks in the ascendency, until Lukhanyo Am brings the roof down with his try.
Ellis Park reverberates as Bok fans belatedly find their voice again. But it was not to be as 60 000 people sheepishly exit the stadium. There is no revelry – just the feeling that someone has popped the party balloons. Joburgers don’t take a loss kindly!
For me, though, it was a day to remember fondly: the day I conquered the mighty highveld. A tale of two cities to tell my grandchildren one day …