Bafana Bafana

We're having a heat wave in Atlanta with temperatures in the mid-90s and the heat index above 100. I'm a delicate flower, so it's been the perfect weekend to stay indoors and watch the opening matches of the 2010 FIFA World Cup from South Africa. Football (that's soccer to you Yanks) and tennis are the only sports I watch with any interest, and I'm always excited when the World Cup comes around.

Yesterday, I  watched the England vs. America match with BFF Karen and her new English hubby, Colin. When I pulled up in front of their house, two St. George Crosses were flying from the flower pots on the porch. Call me a traitor, but I was pulling for England. The match turned out to be an unsatisfying 1-1 draw, and English goalkeeper Robert Green let the equalizer roll out of his arms across the line. The British press have excoriated him and whether he'll play again in the World Cup is undecided.

Today, I watched Ghana beat Serbia 1-0 and then Germany hand the Australian team its ass in an embarrassing 4-0 final that surely signals the end of Oz's run.

The stadiums in South Africa are stunning and the fans are so pumped and excited, but those damn plastic horns (called vuvuzelas) they blow endlessly through every game are working my damn nerves. Players have complained about the noise and it really is like listening to a hive of bees watching the matches on television.