Gabriele Marcotti
The vast majority of Ghana's players celebrated their 1-0 victory over Serbia as if they had won the World Cup. John Pantsil did his lap of honor with a giant Ghanaian flag and Asamoah Gyan danced away amidst scenes of immense jubilation.
At the time, tweeting from the media stand at the Loftus Versfeld Stadium in Pretoria, I commented that it was over the top and that maybe "Ghana should act like it had been here before. "After all," I figured, "we're talking about one win against a solid team, but nothing beyond that: Serbia are hardly Brazil. Shouldn't you save your celebrations for when you achieve something truly meaningful?
I received plenty of instant responses from the Twitterverse. Many criticized me for being a spoilsport. Others said they were celebrating because it meant so much to them to be the first African team to win a World Cup game on African soil. A few agreed with me: such celebrations may be appropriate for minnows in a Cup giant-killing, but with a big footballing nation like Ghana they just don't sit right. Not in those circumstances, not for a group game victory against a beatable opponent.
But the counterargument was compelling too. I was told this kind of celebration was "an African thing" and who was I to judge? Fair enough. But the whole "first African team to win a World Cup game on African soil" sounds slightly fishy to me. Partly because, in my experience, players don't generally think about that sort of thing.
And partly because, if they did, they would realize that only an accident of the calendar made Ghana the first team to win a World Cup game on African soil, as opposed to, say, Ivory Coast or Cameroon (or, indeed, Nigeria, if they had been playing Greece instead of Argentina).
Perhaps it is a cultural thing. But, rather than a European/African thing, celebrating at this stage tells you more about how a team sees itself. Most successful players or managers will tell you that you don't celebrate until you win it all, not if you believe you are strong. It's the underdogs and minnows who celebrate every step of the way because, well, every match they play could be their last. And I like to think that had a guy like Michael Essien - a proven winner - been out there, he would have been proud and delighted, but probably would not have cartwheeled around the pitch as if he had won it all. (In fact, Sulley Muntari, another winner, who was on the sidelines, limited himself to some hugs and backslaps, no more than that).
Still, though, I'm not sure. Do we make too much of the stoic, play-it-cool machismo? Or do excessive celebrations against average opponents show a lack of self-belief and, ultimately, ambition?
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