Africa's World Cup: Critical Reflections on Play, Patriotism, Spectatorship, and Space

Mexi-co, Mexi-co, Ra, Ra, Ra! : Invented Traditions and the Cultural Performance of Mexican Fans at the 2010 World Cup

168 mexi-co, mexi-co, Ra, Ra, Ra! Invented Traditions and the Cultural Performance of Mexican Fans at the 2010 World Cup SeRgIo vARelA heRNáNdez JuNe 22, 2010: Rustenburg, 120 kilometers west of Johannesburg. It’s a fast-growing city, home to nearly four hundred thousand people and to the largest platinum mines in the world and the scene of the worst performance of El Tri—Mexico’s national team—at the 2010 World Cup. Two days earlier, Elena, a Mexican living in Johannesburg and married to Herb, a South African, had contacted me to organize a group trip. We gathered thirteen people willing to pay 200 rand (29 dollars) each and hired a minibus and driver to take us from Johannesburg to Rustenburg and back. We began our journey at nine in the morning on match day. An odd mix of nationalities made the trip: Juan, a Nicaraguan based in Mozambique; Roger, a Honduran; Andy, Herb, and the driver (all South Africans); Diego and Raul from Spain; and seven Mexicans— Elena, Ernesto, María, Bere, Cris, Roberto, and me. I knew none of the Mexicans before I arrived in South Africa. The departure from Johannesburg was slow, much like a family outing. As we left the city’s skyscrapers behind us, bottles of Castle, a popular South African beer, began to circulate.1 Bere was wearing a “Made in China” Mexican flag as a cape and a bandana wrapped around his head. Elena carried another pair of flags in her backpack. Bere and Elena decided to hang one tricolor on the rear window of the microbus. Mexi-co, Mexi-co, Ra, Ra, Ra! • 169 For Mexicans, the tricolor flag is a very important element of national identity. The vertical green, white, and red are criollo-mestizo in origin, while the coat of arms in the center of the flag, as generations of Mexican schoolchildren have been taught, represents the indigenous past. An eagle perched on a nopal (an edible local cactus) sprouting out of an island in the middle of the lake where the Aztecs, so the legend goes, founded the ancient city of Mexico-Tenochtitlán, the center of the Aztec Empire. On the road to Rustenburg, a strange and special international dialogue unfolded. That is, my fellow travelers launched into conversations that began in the same way: “In Mexico . . . ,” “In Nicaragua . . . ,” and so on.As if it were an awkward, somewhat stiff television sketch, we Mexicans started communicating and, in the process, performing and inventing our Mexicanness. The Mexican contingent launched into a folk-ranchero classic, “Cielito Lindo”: “Ay, ay ayay, canta y no llores. Porque cantando cielito lindo.” Others sang some corridos (Mexican folk songs) that I did not know, with Elena’s parents, Ernesto and Maria, from Durango, a northern state of the republic with a rich folk and ranchero tradition, humming along. Nowadays, there is a broadly popular norteño (northern) folk music style known as paso duranguense (Durango dance). Herb, Bere’s South African husband, exclaimed, “Viva Mexico, cabrones” in a South African English–accented and quasi-authentic Mexican Spanish. As we continued down the freeway, Bere, Elena, Maria, Ernesto, and Cris tried to coordinate a kind of Mexican line to follow.Then suddenly it was the old-fashioned war chant of Mexican fans that enveloped us: “Chiquitibum a la bim bom ba, Mexico, Mexico, ra, ra, ra!”2 This chant was interspersed with one verse of “El Rey,” a song composed by José Alfredo Jiménez, another famous Mexican folk-ranchero musician. After a fuel stop, it was time for an “El Rey” reprise. Bere pulled out a lipstick in the green, white, and red of the Mexican flag and began to apply stripes on the cheeks of all the passengers. Again, the obsession with the flag! We finally made it to Rustenburg in the early afternoon, though we still had a good distance to cover before reaching the stadium. I was resigned to being late for kickoff. We were on “Mexican time”—that is, not just fashionably late, but following a Mexican tradition of refusing to be punctual for an appointment. At about 3:45 p.m. we reached 170 • AFRICA’S WoRld CuP the Park and Ride, a heavily policed official parking area where fans boarded buses for the Royal Bafokeng Stadium. As the 4:30 kickoff approached,I arrived at the“FIFAland”fence with my ticket...