Cradling the golden statuette within the coils of his 92-year-old fingers,Nelson Mandela welcomes you to South Africa. Mandelas glinting,diamond-like eyes lie enveloped inside wrinkles of wisdom,even as his cheeks crease open into a toothy smile. The rainbow flag forms the backdrop captured during a high flutter and the FIFA World Cup trophy dazzles within his hands,in all its two-dimensional beauty. Adorning the length and breadth of every giant terminal facade at the OR Tambo International Airport,Mandela and Jacob Zuma smile invitingly out of spectacular posters,even as droopy-eyed and fatigued passengers are smacked in the face with a fresh doze of the World Cup hangover. Wrapping its staleness around collective consciousness,football fever lingers nauseously in the airport,and all the way outside,in the thick Highveld air of the sleepy city of Johannesburg. From the sky-scraping Sandton to the swanky crossing between Melrose Arch and Illovo Boulevard where the Wanderers Cricket Stadium is nestled majestically football glues the citizens of this multi-raced cauldron into a single,frenzied,cohesive mass. Every Sunday,thousands pour out of their homes to leave for Soweto,the outskirts of the metropolitan,to catch the Sunday afternoon football league clash today it was between Orlando Pirates and Bloemfontein Celtics. But a few handful travel northward on Route N1 over the weekend,to watch a game of cricket at the Supersport Park in Centurion. About 35 kilometres to the north of Johannesburg,en route to the city of Pretoria,lies the colonial town of Centurion the home of the first Test between India and South Africa. And very soon,around the Pierre van Ryneberg Enclave in Centurion,posters of Dale Steyn,AB de Villiers and Ashwell Prince rise out of obscurity and onto every street corner,with the catchphrase reading: Pure Protea 100 per cent South African. The few who did clock the miles to Centurion didnt get to witness any cricket today,as chief curator Hilbert Smith toiled alone in the centre-square,preparing a spicy wicket for an enthralling encounter ahead. Smith worked tirelessly with a smile on his face. Just like Dr Frankenstein did when he created his monster. Centurion is a charming and exotic ground,seamlessly mixing the modern might of blue seated stands on one side,with the old world beauty of the luscious grass-banks on the other side. But cusped within this scenic wonder is a pitch that is being prepared for demonic pleasures. Watching the first set of Indian journalists arrive,the stadium gate-keeper plays sooth-sayer. Indians,you gonna get whacked. Dale Steyn gonna knock your heads off. Beware, he says in his Zulu accented English,as the warning reverberates across the empty plastic seats. Steyn has been vocal about his want for a grassy pitch and curator Smith has responded. Echoing the gate-keepers sentiments,Smith speaks in puzzles. With his eyes fixed on longish blades of grass that he has generously sprinkled over the wicket,Smith says with a smug smile: Whatever happens from here on,I know I'm going to be blamed for it. But at least it will make for entertaining cricket. It may not be so for the batsmen,but with the monster unleashing on Thursday,a cricket-starved country waits with bated breath. For a much needed intoxication could replace the current hangover.
