Al Wakra. Which pain weighs the heaviest, and which method is the worst for a fall?
Ghana has suffered in a way that you are well aware of.
Luis Suarez was forced to say goodbye with a whole new kind of despair.
Once, it was Andre Ayew who picked up the ball to put it in the penalty area.
At the same moment, he took both the history and fate of Ghana into his own hands.
This was before South Korea turned on Portugal, before circumstances were turned upside down and everything that once held was swept away by the flood of football.
Ayew is the captain and the old man, the only one in this Ghanaian team who was there that night in South Africa as well. The suspension may have meant he had to watch quarter-final drama from the sidelines rather than the pitch in 2010, but he knows what it was like then.
He knows how I felt
At that time, it was captain Stephen Appiah who took the ball and handed it to Asamoah Gyan. “Make all Africa proud,” he said. Make all Africa proud.
If you’re reading this, you know what happened next.
Andre Ayew certainly does.
Now he has to wait a long time while there is fear all around him. Luis Suarez is there, of course. First he chased the German referee off the field with wild gestures, then confronted him when he returned his decision.
Once he calms down, the Uruguayans take over. Darwin Nunez wedges his way between the Ghanaian legs and gives a penalty run, only to add to the distraction. A yellow card may have a price, he wears it as his Medal of Honor.
This is not just a penalty kick. Not this time either.
In front of me is Loco Abreu
I myself was sitting in Soccer City in Soweto that night twelve years ago, the memory running deep within me. For the main characters, it will never fade.
Earlier this year, Asamoah Gyan published his autobiography. The entire structure of the book revolves around that punishment. And he confirms that the shock still exists.
“Sometimes I get up in the morning and remember what happened that day – and my heart just loses its joy.”
One of the first things that happen now when I arrive at Al Janoub Stadium in Al Wakrah is that I bump into a tall, dark guy with a neat beard and a white shirt. The long, wild hair from before is completely gone, but it doesn’t fool me with the thousand-kroner haircut.
In front of me stands “Loco” Abreu, the soccer madman who clinched the quarter-finals in 2010 by gently slamming the ball into the middle of the goal. Today he looks like an aspiring art dealer, but he shuffles around the media center and doesn’t mind pulling old stories from wild years.
The night before the quarter-finals, his teammates already knew what he intended to do in the event of a potential penalty, and his Swedish acquaintance Sebastian Eggren tried to dissuade him:
I have relatives with heart problems. Everyone will die.”
“Tell them to take their medicine, because it will happen.”
Twelve years have passed, but that night in South Africa still defined modern football history for both countries.
Brave and fearless, the Uruguay would do almost anything to win against the odds. Unhappy, unrecovered, Ghana is unable to realize its national potential.
Now, once again, a superstar is standing in the box, with a chance to finally change the course of history.
Of course, shooting in the 21st minute of a decisive group stage is a different matter than doing so in the last second of a quarter-final – but Andre Ayew knows the importance of this penalty.
And if you’re reading this, you know what happened next.
The stands rejoice at his despair
Ayew misses and Fede Valverde celebrates by shouting at the referee, and Ghana collapses. For the rest of the first half, they play like they immediately have collectively developed some sort of PTSD.
Nearly 36 years old, Luis Suarez had lost almost all of his explosive power, but one night he completely ignored it. Runs about everything, moans about everything, stabs about everything. Twice it unlocks different types of modes, and it’s twice exploited by mood creator Giorgian de Arascaita.
De Arrascaita is perhaps the best player in this tournament who has not played in Europe. At 28 years old, he’d rather stack his Libertadores trophies with Flamengo than fly east across the ocean.
As soon as the half-time whistle sounds, the Ghanaian team gathers into a ring, staying on the field for several minutes. When they went out again after the break, neither of the Ayew brothers were there, even though they are the most experienced players of the team. Or maybe just because Ghana is making a desperate attempt to shed its past.
Nothing goes further than that. It doesn’t work at all.
Ghana makes nothing, and Uruguay is Uruguay.
With 25 minutes left, “Lucho” Suárez’s sprint goes to the end of the field to a standing ovation from the light blue sections. He takes off the captain’s armband, and attaches it to Edinson Cavani’s arm instead.
In this case, they are the winners again – two boys from Salto who have grown up to be some of the best strikers in the world. Those who do not have a World Cup in their bodies, but play anyway because Uruguay needs them.
After half an hour they seem to want to sink into the ground.
Cavani goes into the penalty area, but Uruguay does not get a penalty this time either. A glassy-eyed Suarez appeared on the big screen, and the stands cheered his despair.
Going into injury time, Uruguay find themselves in several 7v4 situations, but with their big attacking guns replaced, they are unable to manage.
If Luis Suarez had stayed on the field, he would certainly have taken part in one of these plays, but now he is not. Now he can’t save Uruguay with his feet, head or hand – but now he’s so frustrated it looks like he’s going to chew his shirt.
The final whistle goes.
Luis Suarez is crying, everyone is crying, Ghanaians are frustrated in a way that colored an entire continent half an hour ago – but now seems to have faded away.
Shared joy may be double joy, but where do two entwined soccer teams with double grief go?