Epic U.S.-England clash dead ahead; meanwhile, my mind wanders …

– I saw this in a Guardian piece this morning. It’s about Landon Donovan, about how he’s the only real U.S. star, and about how the best U.S. hope doesn’t feel the pressure the English players do. I’m sure the writer is correct, but only to a point.

“Win, lose or draw, the USA forward will sleep easily on the eve of the game knowing that national ridicule does not await him and his team-mates.”

Uh, has this man read the message boards?

Believe it, if the United States loses and looks bad, Star Spangled soccer supporters will be busting blood vessels from sea to shining sea.

– Media access is somewhat restrictive, so you don’t really get a lot of shooting-the-bull time with players. Still, from a slight distance, I get the feeling that Landon Donovan is a different person at this World Cup. He’s got a bit of an edge. Some of the former naïveté has disappeared. I won’t call him “the brooding Donovan” just yet, but there is a real seriousness about him. I have a hunch it will serve him well. (Then again, the timely transformation does make sense. If he’s ever going to bear down and find that extra gear of focus, I supposed this is the time. This ain’t the CONCACAF Gold Cup, after all.)

(Much more after the break ...)

– I saw a funny headline this morning about the fan zones and stadiums here, and how taking alternate routes is the “key to avoiding traffic mayhem.” Well, I’d bet you an official Jabulani match ball (“It’s the roundest ever!” according to FIFA literature, as if they had been playing with taped-up paper wads all along) that traffic mayhem will be endemic. Avoid it? May as well try to avoid trees in a forest.

– Speaking of the fiasco factor: getting around will be on ongoing adventure. My cab driver got lost last night taking me back from the media center to my little bungalow. One wrong turn, a few kilometers of “hmmm, this doesn’t look familiar,” and we were smack in the middle of why they call this the dark continent. Man, was it freakin’ dark. We were on a tiny road, overgrown with brush, no lights in sight. No nothing in sight. I’m thinking, “Well, that’s it. We’ll either be broadsided any second by a charging rhino or taken hostage by AK-wielding marauders, destined to end up on in the cargo hold of a slave ship destined for Bangladesh.”

Luckily, I had my GPS-blessed Google Phone, and I lived to fight another day.

– Africans call fellow Africans “bra.” It sounds very slang. I cannot possibly think of a way to look like an elitist tourist poseur than to attempt to call someone “bra.” I can only hope to remember my rule next time I go out for late beers with any of my journalist pals here.

– I bought my first melktert (milk tart) today. Planning on having it later. The lady at the store told me, “It’s very South African.” Well, so is the dangerous African blister beetle, and I sure don’t want that bad boy crawling around my desert tray!