Sacrificing all for the game of pain

IKNOW what you did. You were so drunk in love from the high of the 2010 World Cup that when all eyes were looking forward to the next one — Brazil 2014 — you made promises. Sad, empty promises to do it again.

Friends gathered around coffee tables and calculators and colleagues around water coolers and salary slips throughout the country, excitedly chatting about their plans.

“We’ll start saving now,” you said. “Four years is enough time.”

How many of you followed through on these sweet dreams? How many of them actually materialised?

You probably opened a sad savings account at an obscure bank to help you put away a small amount each month. You probably cut down on eating out and other such small pleasures so your Brazil dream could become a reality. You stayed at home eating crackers and tears for a few months in an act of great sacrifice.

This is where hosting one of the biggest sporting tournaments in the world left us — wanting to experience that thrill over and over again.

They say the World Cup leaves a legacy of greed and over-indulgence and it’s true. It leaves a legacy of wanting to feel like that all the time, so you plan fictitious trips to the next one so you can do it again.

So for a few short months you saved religiously. You Googled photographs of Brazilian cities and Brazilian people in your spare time and bought a Brazilian flag at the R5 Store. But one day it all went wrong. You spotted a gadget or a pricey clothing item you loved and poured out your “savings” account to get it. You poured out your Brazil.

Now, this is a safe space of judgment and ridicule where actions and choices are interrogated and scrutinised. Let’s ask ourselves the difficult questions. Why do we do this? Why do we get swept up in the euphoria (in this case, the party from four years ago), hugging strangers on the street, telling them we’ll all be partying in Fortaleza with Gisele Bündchen and Adriana Lima in 2014? Why do we want to replicate that special feeling again for ourselves and not just leave it?

We had our chance, South Africa. Why were we saving up for more?

You had pictured yourself running through the streets of São Paulo, wearing only a thong and a shiny bolero. You had pictured yourself sharing coffee with a beautiful Brazilian person and arguing about which country was the better host.

In those early days of saving up for the Brazil trip that would never be, you were at your most selfish. You had bottled up four weeks of hosting the greatest party on earth and wanted to go and “feel it” again in four years. But the fickleness of that dream was exposed when you cracked under the pressure of what that meant — sacrifice.

As you read these words in the comfort of your home in South Africa, ready to watch the World Cup on your television, know that I’m judging you for not wanting to let a good thing go. I’m judging you because you are me. LS On Twitter @sboshmafu