Carlos Alberto Parreira had to choke back the tears as he made his parting statement last night and relinquished the job as South Africa coach.
“I feel at home here,” Parreira said. “In my heart, I’ll always remember this country with very good feelings. What the team did today was unbelievable.”
Thus, to the end, did he do his utmost to ensure that the first World Cup hosts to go out in the first round be viewed as a success story. For the fate of Bafana Bafana in this World Cup was decided not yesterday, but in the defeat by Uruguay last week; yesterday was all about deciding how they would be remembered: as second-raters, limp and disappointing? Or as something better than that?
Thankfully, for this passionate nation, they ticked the latter. They were helped by playing a ten-man team of naughty schoolboys, but showed pride and passion — all that was required — and they scored goals and briefly ignited a flame of hope.
That they could not do any better, given the Gallic circumstances, is further proof of their limitations. They struggle to score goals, they have a talisman in Steven Pienaar who never stamped authority on the game and they lose shape in defence, where they are easily outmuscled. But when the curtain went down yesterday, their departing coach sung their praises and overlooked their weaknesses.
Advertisement
“These boys showed that the work had paid off,” he said. “They showed they had an identity. I hope the whole country is proud.”
For one, they had President Zuma in their dressing room afterwards telling them that should be the case.
It has been an experience watching the way the forces of pressure, tension and blame have swarmed around this team from when they fluffed their lines against Uruguay. Judgment has awaited them, comment from senior politicians has been almost relentless. Yesterday, a statement from the ANC Youth League declared that it did not believe that Aaron Mokoena, the captain, was good enough to be in the team (this is not like a mild moan from the Young Conservatives, this is serious censure).
And an editorial in yesterday’s Star newspaper compared the players with the Uruguay team and accused them of being endemic of the disease of the new, selfish, rich, black class: “They enjoy high standards of living but do not produce — they do not deliver — with anything like the heart or solidarity of your Diego Forláns . . . To be bad and limp — yet so cocksure. I did not know whether to laugh or puke.”
More so than almost any other host nation, this one is looking hard and self-consciously at itself. It wants the world to approve. It does not want an embarrassing football team. Today, it no longer has a team in the tournament, but it has avoided its worst fear, which is shame.