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I’m not proposing to replace or second-guess Ken Silverstein’s commentaries on the World Cup, but when the U.S. team faces the Ghana Black Stars tomorrow afternoon, I’ll find it impossible to root against Ghana. I’ve spent this week in Accra and have really come to respect the Ghanaians and their love of the game. More than that, the Ghanaians are easily the friendliest football fans I’ve ever encountered. My exposure to football mania has included near-death encounters with hooligans in England (Leeds United), rowdy alcoholics at a Bayern-München game, and a screaming, stampeding crowd at the Be?ikta? stadium in Istanbul. Curious sociological experiences, but I can’t say I enjoyed any of them. Many fans seem to view the game as license for alcoholism, anger, and general thuggishness.
But the Ghanaians are without a doubt the most kind-hearted, good-spirited football fans I’ve ever come across. They cheer their team, salute their players, and know them all by first name, but none of this translates into hostility to the opposition. Wednesday night I sat in the bar at Citizen Kofi in downtown Accra, watching the anxiety-provoking game between Ghana and Germany. The Germans were favored by 3:1. The stout Ghanaians stood their ground, however, dominating much of the game and allowing the Germans a single goal. When it was scored a voice behind me boomed, “They’re a good team, let’s give ‘em that. But we’ll learn from them and be better still.” When the game came to a close, the crowd erupted in cheers. True, they had lost, but it was to a fine team, and they’d be on to the next round anyhow—thanks to Australia, which had trounced Serbia, assuring a qualifying berth for the Black Stars.
The Ghanaians may not have the raw talent or the money of their American competition, but they have amazing heart. They deserve a win.
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — August 5, 2016, 12:08 pm
Sidney Blumenthal on the origins of the Republican Party, the fallout from Clinton’s emails, and his new biography of Abraham Lincoln
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
Years ago, I lived in Montana, a land of purple sunsets, clear streams, and snowflakes the size of silver dollars drifting through the cold air. There were no speed limits and you could legally drive drunk. My small apartment in Missoula had little privacy. In order to write, I rented an off-season fishing cabin on Rock Creek, a one-room place with a bed and a bureau. I lacked the budget for a desk. My idea was to remove a sliding door from a closet in my apartment and place it over a couple of hastily cobbled-together sawhorses.
Average exam score, in a SUNY-Fredonia study, for students who only listened to a podcast of their professor’s lecture:
Boys in Taiwan are likelier than girls to vomit in order to lose weight.
Hundreds of women in yoga pants marched through Barrington, Rhode Island, to defend their right to wear the garment, and Trump vowed to sue every woman accusing him of sexual assault. “I look so forward to doing that,” he said.
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"She never thanked me, never looked at me—melted away into the miserable night, in the strangest manner I ever saw. I have seen many strange things, but not one that has left a deeper impression on my memory than the dull impassive way in which that worn-out heap of misery took that piece of money, and was lost."