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June 26, 2010“Where do you stand on the vuvuzela?” is the question on people’s lips at this World Cup — but, of course, the answer is, you don’t stand on it. For the best results, you blow into it from one end. That’s my reading of the unfolding situation on the ground, anyway. And then you continue to blow until such time as you expire or the tournament in South Africa ends, whichever comes sooner.
For the record, the position of this column on the vuvuzela is as follows: 100 per cent in favour, utterly in support. True, it makes every game appear to be taking place inside an exceptionally busy sawmill and it can occasionally be difficult, above the buzz, to hear yourself eat biscuits. Nevertheless, there can be no implication that the horns are ruining the show at sitting-room level.
Indeed, for viewers with memories of ancient World Cups from South America, the hubbub even adds something. Back in the days of the dodgy, pre-digital satellite link, a commentator had to launch himself through the static and ended up sounding as if he were broadcasting live from the cockpit of Apollo 11. To some extent, the vuvuzela backdrop recreates that magic.
However, there are many out there who really would stand on the vuvuzela and, if that didn’t work, on the person playing it. Rumours briefly flickered of a Fifa-imposed ban and among the pundits of BBC and ITV it is hard to find a single person with a good word to say about the instrument.
Only yesterday, during Japan v Cameroon (the tournament’s worst game so far, during which one had much reason to be grateful for the enlivening atmosphere provided by massed plastic trumpetry), Mark Lawrenson in the BBC’s commentary box grumpily remarked: “I wish we could hear anything above that lot.” And that seems to be the standard view, as the increasingly tinnitus-ridden members of the commentary teams battle to find an audible frequency for themselves.
In many of these cases, though, resistance to the vuvuzela’s charms appears to be the legacy of having been awoken by freelance soloists in the middle of the night. Hansen, Shearer, Lawrenson, Keegan — they all seem to have had stories to tell in this area. And fair enough — you see their point of view. You’ve got to go on telly the next day, look at replays and say things requiring concentration, such as, “You’d expect him to hit the target from there” or (just occasionally, employing the officially licensed variation), “You’d expect him to work the ’keeper from there”.
A properly restorative night’s sleep is bound to be precious to you and heaven forbid that anyone should disturb, say, Jim Beglin by interpreting the arrival of the World Cup as a signal to enjoy themselves late into the night. The problem probably won’t be solved satisfactorily until our pundits are billeted away from trouble on these occasions, under armed guard, in specially designated “Media Talent Quiet Zones”.
Still, there is humming coming from the studios, too, not least when the 60 per cent incomprehensible Emmanuel Adebayor is in action for the BBC. But at least “Manu” is putting some effort into being incomprehensible, like it matters to him, and when his mobile phone went off yesterday, he looked genuinely mortified. (Gary Lineker was very cool: “Do you want to get that?”) Contrast ITV’s Edgar Davids, who slumps in his chair, magisterially picking his chin and clearly regarding Adrian Chiles’s habit of lobbing him the occasional question as an act of rank impertinence. Not even the arrival of Holland was enough to engage the Dutchman’s imagination yesterday, his contribution bottoming out at the point at which he looked at a replay and said: “Yeah, and then ... yeah.” If anyone involved in this tournament needs somebody to creep up behind them with a vuvuzela, it’s Davids.
Just to blow into it, I mean.
