By Salama A Salama Egypt finally beat Algeria on 14 November, ending days of tense anticipation. On match day, the whole country was acting as if its fate was in the balance. Then, after the match ended, a volcano erupted, releasing the sweet lava of jubilation. For a moment, the nation forgot everything else. Football became the past and present, the one and only concern for everyone -- from the children in Cairo's backstreets, to the country's top leaders. Victory in football appeared to be the reward the roaring masses in the streets have been waiting for. They wanted so much their side to win against the visiting team. They wanted so much the Algerians to lose. And they did everything they could for their wish to come true. When the Algerians, playing in an unfamiliar arena and amid hostile fans, lost it was joy all over Egypt. Football is not fair. You don't go to a football match to root for the best team. You go to root for your own team and damn the other. As I watched the entire nation gripped with ecstasy, I wondered why we could not feel the same about elections or social issues. Why are we not excited about matters that, well, matter? Did you see the dedication of the fans? From the early morning, they lined up for tickets. They waited patiently for hours on uncomfortable seats. They thought nothing at all of the inconvenience. That is what I call dedication. They waited and waited, thinking only of their hope; their one and only hope. Traffic problems were forgotten. Harsh police measures were forgiven. The deafening noise was tolerated. The same people who would hate it if asked to line up to vote or to buy something became suddenly accommodating. They suffered the weather and the indignity of gridlock and the roughness of the police all too readily -- anything for a chance to support their home team. It is an interesting thing, this zeal for football. I cannot help thinking of what would have happened had some of this zeal been directed towards politics. I cannot help thinking of what would have happened had the elections been free and fair. But as you all know, people whose votes are rigged cannot help losing interest. When you take probity away from politics, you take away the enthusiasm as well. Football, by its very nature, is a game of winning and losing. And there is excitement in both. There is excitement in the uncertainty, the anticipation, and the unfolding of athletic rivalry. There is fear too. And the hostility that we exhibited towards the visiting Algerians is only a testimony to how highly we regard their skills. The two teams went to Khartoum for a deciding match. And it is there that the two finally competed without the support of their home crowds. They had to rely more on their skills than on the familiarity of their surroundings. Both Egypt and Algeria flew thousands of fans to Sudan. Some travelled on subsidised tickets and some on charter planes hired by business tycoons. Since at the time of writing the deciding match had not yet been played I speculate that in the spectator seats, the fans will be roaring with agony, anticipation and sometimes delight. Harassment has been mutual. The Egyptians were harassed in Algeria just as the Algerians were harassed here. In both countries, ordinary people are just looking for an opportunity to vent their pent-up aggression. Football offers this opportunity, with a bit of prejudice and perhaps even hooliganism on the side.
