World Cup commerce
Beyond the cultural hype, HUCK experiences touting, profiteering and marketing saturation in South Africa.
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For two weeks now, the whole of South Africa has lived and breathed this World Cup. It has permeated every nook of our waking day and become an intimate and integral part of the happiness and freedom we’ve felt these past weeks. South Africa has opened up and allowed us to journey across her open plains and explore the culture her many peoples and outposts. It’s been a wonderful experience, bought about by a tournament of such grace and majesty that I am now sad to see it progress into its final stages.
Throughout the last few weeks, we’ve lived the World Cup through fan parks and stadiums, through players and supporters with all the oddities and idiosyncrasies that make the World Cup a totally unique and necessary event. We’ve met people we would never have met, forged friendships with people of different backgrounds and witnessed first hand the power that sport has to bond and bind people the world over. That South Africa has become a country united around football is no small feat, and it has been a joy to witness. But at times something here has felt awry: something doesn’t quite fit. There is a bone to pick, and I want to pick it.
Throughout our trip there has been a feeling amongst South Africans that they are being exploited by FIFA. I first felt it long ago, through the media and the furore surrounding the building of the five new stadia that form the breathtaking backdrop to this World Cup. There have been many accusations of corruption that swirled around the tenders for the extensive works, which tallied roughly 460billion rand. Then there were the crippling flight prices, the marketing blackouts on all but FIFA-endorsed brands, the ticketing rows; everyone had something to complain about. But personally, it never felt tangible until yesterday.
It was the day of The Netherlands versus Slovakia in the group of 16. Moses Mabida stadium was overflowing with Dutch and Slovak supporters and word was that a number of tickets had become available at an affordable price. During the group stages, tickets had been going for 300 rand on the door, a far higher price than the standard 25 Rand you pay for a usual PSL game in South Africa. But this was the World Cup and at least they were affordable to an average salary. So I had high hopes.
Upon arrival at the ticketing centre, it became clear that this was not so. The only tickets being resold were the unused corporate seats that were going for 1,750 rand. With 500 rand in my back pocket, this was a no go so I headed for the fan walk.
The fan walk was busy, festooned with orange-clad Dutch supporters singing festively and the odd group of waltzing Slovaks drawing plenty of media attention. As I drew closer to the main stadium entrance, the crowd began to separate. Those with tickets headed for the gates, those with tickets to sell took up position along the perimeter fences and began touting.
Arriving three hours before kick off, the idea was to give myself ample time to stumble across one or maybe two people with tickets to the supposedly sold out game. The reality was, there were hoards of people selling and it was a buyers market. As a newcomer to the complex ticketing system and surprised by the volume of tickets on sale, I decided to gauge the demand and test the ground.
The first ticket I was offered, and the main ticket category on sale, was the category one. Pre-sold on the net and priced in U.S. dollars, the vendors were all internationals just looking to recoup on the asking price of 200 dollars. I was after three tickets and my first offer was 6000 rand. I moved on. Next up, I found the category three tickets, for seats located in the corners of the ground and supposedly more affordable. Also priced in dollars - 100 this time - the tickets were selling for 700 rand. Again, there were plenty on sale, so I waited for the holy grail of the category four, the cheapest tickets, usually fetching between 300 and 500 rand.
With kick off an hour away, and with no category fours in sight, I did the rounds again. The prices had dropped accordingly and the vendor numbers had increased. Category ones were now going for 1000 rand and category threes for 500. Half way through negotiations with an Englishman trying to offload his quota of obsolete category three tickets, I was approached by a flustered looking Slovak man who offered me his category one ticket for just 300 rand. Deal done. We shook hands and I wished him luck. The Englishman’s face sank. His price of 700 rand per ticket now looked useless. I offered him 400 rand for the 100 dollar ticket and he took it.
Inside the ground and the atmosphere is buzzing. Looking around, the crowd does not resemble that of the PSL. I hear the sound of the vuvuzela, but the perpetrators are not the eager black faces you would expect but grinning white faces taking in the novelty of the World Cup. Fans for sure, but not the diehard type. I feel guilty about the two tickets for 700 rand that we considered a victory. How many of the poor in the townships have 700 bucks ready to go in cash, let alone access to the internet and the necessary transport to the stadium?
“Four hundred and fifty billion rand? I mean, you could have solved the entire housing problem and given every kid a bursary to uni”
The match begins. The big screen reels off the team lists as the FIFA logo fades in and out with the screen wipes. The Coca-Cola-endorsed anthem rings out, the rotating billboards flash McDonald’s, Sony, Adidas and Castrol. I am thirsty so head to the bar. There is only Budweiser at 30 rand. Last time I was at the neighbouring Shark Tank stadium, I bought a Castle for 15, and that seemed expensive. But an international brand beer for 30 bucks seems nothing short of extortionate. I raise my eyebrows at the price.
“Fifaaa,” trails the cashier. “These people are ripping you off, you can buy a six pack of Budweiser at the Spar for 50 bucks!”
“Hey, it’s just three Euros,” exclaim the Dutch fans. They pay five back home.
The vendors in the isles sell only Coca-Cola-manufactured drinks for 15 bucks and chips for 10. I recall my trip to the Cape Town fan park with 25 kids from the township of Masiphumelele. There, the entry guards had tried to confiscate the bread and jam we had bought for the kids, so we’d eaten on the pavement outside. No bottles were allowed, not even plastic. This was not for security: it was for purchase power. Twenty-five thirsty kids in the hot sun for several hours cues a bill of over 500 rand. I swallow hard as the billboard rotates again. Ke Nako. Celebrate Africa’s humanity. I feel a twinge in my jaw.
The match winds to a close and the crowd files out. Once more the avertisers pump out their messages. We stay on a while, drinking in the beauty of the stadium and chatting. Hamish Lawrence works for the local fire service and he’s interested as to how two such disheveled looking observers found themselves a corporate box for just 700 bucks. He’s enjoyed the World Cup but his mind boggles at the costs.
“Four hundred and fifty billion rand? I mean, you could have solved the entire housing problem and given every kid a bursary to uni,” he exclaims. “You reckon FIFA will look after them once it’s all over? Every country that has built stadiums for a World Cup has had to be bailed out by the World Bank, look at South Korea, they needed 20 billion dollars after 2002!” He’s worried, and he seems not to be the only one. We’ve heard too many such comments these last few weeks.
Does international football need FIFA and do they have a place here? And how deep is their commitment to reinvesting in South Africa? Every tournament needs a corporate sponsor but is FIFA a sponsor or a business? Has the success of this tournament been in spite of FIFA? My personal experiences of the last two weeks would say absolutely. The World Cup’s success thus far has been due to the South African people and their wonderful hospitality, their grace and their humanity. And that is what we should, and we have, celebrated.
There’s a feeling that this has been expertly and ruthlessly played off by FIFA to satisfy their own agenda. They’ve reaped the benefit of the very obvious marketing placements for big international brands whilst only servicing the minimal requirements of a divided nation in need of long term international support, especially when it comes to developing opportunities through sport. Youth football in this country is a shambles and many here feel that FIFA is going to cut and run. “This stadium alone costs 1.1million rand a month just to service” ends Hamish. “Who’s going to foot that bill? Kings Park costs just 75,000 and is far cheaper to hire. No wonder the local teams all choose to play there.”
With Brazil next on FIFA’s hit list, it will be interesting to see the legacy they choose to leave in South Africa. Is their commitment to developing poorer nations honest and true? Or are they merely exploiting from afar? Through the universal language of football, they have the tool to do both.
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World Cup commerce (text) by Tim Conibear is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
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