One week after it kicked off in Johannesburg’s Soccer City Stadium, the World Cup has been defined by one word above all others.
Vuvuzela.
Until a week ago, I had never heard of this 60cm long African hunting horn, now the biggest threat to The Beautiful Game since 1980s hooliganism.
When I flicked on my television for the tournament’s opening fixture, an intense monotonous drone assaulted my senses, drowning out commentators and crowd.
At first I assumed there must be something wrong with SBS’s broadcast. I spent the first 10 minutes of the match frantically adjusting my TV’s volume settings. Apart from turning it off, the only solution appeared to be standing at the other end of the room.
The 90,000 fans at the game seemed to be having fun, but what about the millions watching?