For a country famed for its sporting prowess, Brazil’s on-field execution of the 2014 FIFA World Cup project floundered from the start. With more than a chink in the armour of Coach Felipe Scolari’s team, the campaign soon disintegrated like rain-washed sandcastle on Rio de Janeiro’s Copacabana Beach.
Veteran striker Fred failed to fly and the much-touted Hulk barely pulled his weight, but it was skipper Thiago Silva’s and skillful forward Neymar Junior’s absence in the semi-final against Germany that ultimately sank the Selecao’s hopes of topping their record fifth title.
Brazilians thought as much. Marta Nascimento, a ticketing officer with local airline, TAM in Salvador said: “The players were so united that when one of them got injured, the others decided not to play.”
Francisco Almeida, manager of a Shell fuel station at the Vasco da Gama area of the city, blamed the turn of events on the coach. “Felipe is responsible for the result. Compared to Germany that had been playing together for six years, he chose young players. Five Neymars in the team would not have made a difference.”
Fred had no part to play in the campaign and the inclusion of either Ronaldinho or Robinho might have helped, he pointed out.
Indeed, Scolari’s team was high in potential but low in star quality. When a team leans on the delicate shoulders of a gifted 22 year-old to win its sixth title before a demanding home crowd, a fight for third place with the Netherlands is as good as it gets.
From Croatia to Mexico in the first round and Chile to Colombia in the second round and quarter-final, the boys in yellow progressed more from favourable officiating than form. But luck changes sometime.
Silva missed last Tuesday’s semi-final through suspension after a consecutive foul in the quarter-final against Colombia while opposing defender Juan Zuniga inflicted a deeper wound on the Selecao with a knee-in-the-back challenge on Neymar.
That, for a team that battled scepticism all through and a nation that watched heart-in-mouth from the opener with Croatia, was the last straw. No longer able to ride on the youngster’s fragile back, Brazil turned to prayer.
As the country froze in a sea of supporters’ yellow and green last Tuesday in Pelourinho – Salvador’s historic centre – as elsewhere in the vast entity called Brazil, the sympathetic visitor mouthed a significant portion of the prayer. May Brazil win.
Germany had other ideas. Thrice world champions, the Europeans tore the script and ripped through Brazil’s delicate spine to inflict an unprecedented 7-1 punishment.
Through the brutal conquest beckoned the truth: huge financial sacrifice and massive stadia construction toll aside, Brazil never really deserved the cup. The tears ran afterwards, down dejected faces and replica jerseys into the mugs and cans of beer (cervaja) handled by revellers-turned-mourners.
While music blared from loudspeakers and die-hard fans lingered to dance and dilute their sorrow on the streets, the crowd thinned out quicker than usual. Cervaja in hand, one bare-chested fan flung his jersey to the floor in passing and was soon copied. For empty can collectors and the destitute, it turned out to be a day of rich pickings; for disheartened fans, a day to embrace rather than question evidence.
But questions will always be asked of Scolari’s selection. Whether the inclusion of seasoned campaigners Ronaldino, Kaka and Robinho would have made any difference is consigned to the realm of conjecture, however.
What is clear is that on account of pedigree and commitment, either of Germany and Argentina merits the ultimate football crown in today’s decider at the magnificent Maracana Stadium in Rio.
A football theory
Following the Brazil 2014 World Cup finals has yielded something beyond match analysis and travelogue. Today, I set aside the struggles of the host team to announce the result of a personal research. To the question of life after football for retired and retiring stars I present a solution. I would recommend Olympic Diving but it’s rather late in the day as some would die of sheer fright from leaping off a flexible board 10 metres above a deep pool. So, the safer option: acting.
Yes, the thespian art would suit footballers to a tee. If you doubt it, recall the now-familiar match scenario of a player taking a slight elbow to the chest and tumbling to the turf clutching his face and thrashing about. Or the grazing of the ankle and a player somersaults before clutching his shin in ‘sheer agony’.
What about the impetuous head-nudge, a.k.a. “headbutt” in the Portugal-Germany encounter and the ensuing tantrum in the case of Pepe vs Muller?
While we are at it, we might as well cite the opening act, Fred vs Croatia defenders. We will, however, refrain from commenting on Chiellini vs Suarez as the matter is still in court – the court of public opinion, even though FIFA subsequently ruled a 10-match ban for “biting” by the toothy Uruguayan.
A historic day to remember
On the bus to the Historic Centre of the city, or Pelourinho, one Sunday, I handed the conductor the normal B$2. 80 fare but he launched a rant in Portuguese. Not again, I thought. Just when I think I can blend in, someone blows my cover. Nao fallas Portuguese, I managed to say. He handed back half of the fare. More than pleased with the financial relief, I thank him. Obrigado. I should go out more on weekends.
Following time well-spent at the Centro Historico meeting Nigerians and fans from around the world, I vacated Pelourinho rather late. As I waited for a bus, a crowd of passengers formed. Travelling in the night suddenly seemed a huge risk. What if a fracas ensues? The thought barely shaped in my mind when policemen on duty scrambled to quell disturbance some metres away. Lucky me.
It turned out to be nothing serious. But I liked the policemen´s reaction. Two buses came in but declined to ferry passengers for reasons probably related to low traffic. A smaller bus finally arrived that was ready for boarding. I braced myself for some commotion after a nervy wait. None occurred. As usual, a lazy queue formed. Then the driver (called motorist here) took off like a shot, ramming the creaking coach through the night.
A real maniac on the freeway, he lurched over bumps and crevices, angled through corners and pulled to a sharp stop at bus shelters. Knowing that the average bus route circled the coast and cliffs, I hoped at some point that the driver would take it easy. Then I looked out through the window and saw that we were on the cliff-side, and he wasn’t taking it easy.
Visions of a scanty bus somersaulting into the ocean below flashed before me, but I took a cue from the forever docile passengers and shook off panic. In two weeks of riding on public buses (or onibus), I hadn’t heard a single passenger complain about over-speeding. The conscientious foreigner who should would find himself terribly outnumbered and possibly out-talked.
At my bus stop at last, I jumped off and almost ran. This, I thought as I walked to my hotel, is one reason amongst many why Brazil cannot be counted as a fully developed society. No organised society can do without limits. Nigeria may be years, even decades behind Brazil in development, but I can, with reasonable enlightenment, question the inadequate enforcement of speed limits here.
To play like the ‘Brasileiro’
Do you dream of being a beach bum for once in your life? Then head to the Brazil coast. Lodge at any of the hotels on Salvador’s shoreline and hit the city centre by bus or taxi. Shop and window-shop at any of the large shopping centres: Shopping Salvador, Shopping Iguatemi and Shopping Barra after changing foreign currency into the local legal tender, Brazil reais (B$).
While there, savour a buffet lunch that is weighed for the bill. Now you are living it up like the ‘Brasileiro’, or true Brazilian. Then trawl through the famous Mercado Modelo (Modern Supermarket) for handicrafts and gifts before visiting the upper part of Pelourinho by the famous elevator, Elevador Lacerda. Finally, purchase beach gear on the streets and in any of the shops in Pelourinho while taking time out to photograph tourist attractions in a perpetual carnival atmosphere.
By the way, it is no surprise that the ultimate beachwear, a pair of flip-flops, goes for a tidy sum of 30 reais (about 2, 000 naira). The common slippers are so accepted here as to be almost formal. So, to blend in, beach bum-in-training, arm yourself with flip-flops, colourful Bermuda shorts, vest (or no vest for the male), sun shades and a football. Ball? Yes, Brasileiros covet the object.
The other day, a petrol station near my base released soft footballs used for promotion and nearly caused a stampede. Pedestrians stopped traffic to run across the road and pick some of the bouncing items. Motorists screeched to a halt to pack a few into car booths. Even more bizarre, a woman stopped a bus she rode on, disembarked and squealed in delight as she scooped two before resuming the trip.
Nigerian state in Brazil?
That would be Bahia with its capital, Salvador the most Nigerian of them all. The first-time visitor may struggle to communicate in Portuguese, but if you are Nigerian and, better still, Yoruba-speaking, strain your ears and you should identify words or parts of words like Acaraje, the Brazilian version of the Nigerian snack, akara. It is a corruption of the phrase “akara egbe” (dried akara) as confirmed by Misbah Wale Akanni, the liaison officer attached to Nigeria House, the Nigerian Embassy’s art and tourism centre in Pelourinho, Salvador.
Acaraje is prepared in much the same way as the original. Bean flour is fried in palm oil with pepper, shrimps and spices served in the split cake upon demand. Come to Brazil and watch locals and tourists delve into Acaraje with equal gusto. Beyond language and cuisine, cultural practice handed down by enslaved Africans in centuries past extends to dressing, especially during festivals, and traditional religion worship.
Friend today, gone tomorrow
As can be imagined, I make new friends everyday. And as expected, I lose them everyday. I must have met a thousand people from all parts of the world. They come with a few things in common beside the love for football and a willingness to see Brazil at its passionate best.
For nostalgic effect, I recall my first acquaintances. They are long gone from Salvador, and my memory of them remains poignant. First there were the Fountains, a family of four from the Bahamas who loved football and wished to see the Super Eagles lift the World Cup. Some wish.
Then came Debbie the Zimbabwean from Australia who was “doing six Brazilian cities” and afterwards, Susan, a tall, relaxed women’s football player from Australia covering 11 cities. She was travelling to another city “6 a.m. tomorrow morning” after arriving in Salvador the day before.
And I shall not forget the African friends who breathed France. Originally from Senegal’s Casamance region, Antoine Faye settled with his parents and siblings in Lyon. Luol Gomis and Jean Heggan originated from Guinea. After a week in Salvador, the chatty group said their goodbyes and headed to Rio de Janeiro to savour the World Cup finale. Me? I toured Salvador some more.
