Associated Press
KABUL, Afghanistan – The long-distance truckers, their rigs parked in the dirt outside, were ready. The dust-caked urchins standing expectantly in the door frame were, too. So was the man whacking hunks of mutton with a large, dull hatchet.
At the Mai Wan teahouse and truck stop, everyone craned with anticipation Friday – shoes off, feet up, steaming brew poured, eyes turned toward the beat-up TV set in the corner.
But the first glimpse of World Cup soccer in eight years – the debut match of France vs. Senegal – was not to be.
“Look at all these channels – and not one with the World Cup,” moaned Mohammad Hakim. “Maybe there’s a problem with the receiver.”
The satellite dish out back, newly installed and propped up by a cairn of mud-covered rocks, is supposed to pull in 527 channels. But on Friday, only about 150 were coming in – and, in an amazing stroke of bad luck, nary a one carried the world’s most popular sporting event.
“I want to see the World Cup so much,” said Mohammad Nayim Marzai, who played soccer years ago and now runs a small clothing shop.
An air of cheerful expectancy had prevailed more than an hour earlier. After all, this was the first World Cup since 1994 that Afghans were permitted to view freely.
While the Taliban’s harsh rule permitted soccer playing, most forms of entertainment, including television, were banned. A daring few kept satellite dishes hidden away and put them out in the dead of night. But for most, international entertainment was a pipe dream.
So when the World Cup convened Friday in South Korea and Japan, Afghans – no small fans of sports themselves – were abuzz with excitement.
By 3 p.m., an hour before France-Senegal was to start, the Mai Wan – in the Taimany neighborhood of truck delivery points, bus stations and auto-parts shops – was filled with three dozen men. They sat on raised platforms, drank tea and discussed the ins and outs of the game.
When the electricity finally came on after being out for hours, the remote from the Videoton SuperColor TV was passed around in the semidarkness. Tea was refilled. Skewers of meat headed toward hot coals. Indian music from the 1980s played on a little radio as a fan circulated the stale air, heavy with mutton fumes and conversation.
Channels were perused by the score, each producing either irrelevant programming or a blank screen: Al Jazeera, Kurdish TV, The Cartoon Network, Qatar TV, The Spice Channel. The most likely candidates, all the sports channels, said, simply, “SERVICE NOT AVAILABLE.”
Then: Soccer appeared on the screen. Hopes soared.
“We got it!” Marzai shouted, thinking it was live. He pooched out his lower lip in disappointment when told it was prerecorded – a China Central Television special on the Chinese national team.
Outside the mud-and-wood building, the wind was whipping up a dust storm, and an adolescent boy was dispatched to adjust the satellite. This doubled the amount of channels, but still no World Cup.
“Everyone’s here because of football today,” said Mirdad, a wrestler who works at Kabul’s soccer stadium and uses only one name. “In other places, there is no satellite dish. So people come here.
“Everyone’s been mad about soccer for years. But the Taliban wouldn’t let us watch. Now all the people are allowed to see,” Mirdad said. “Everybody knows all about it. People have lots of information now.”
As the kickoff time passed, the place emptied of frustrated men. No one would see Senegal upset France 1-0. The best they could muster: some roasted mutton, an interview with Pele on BBC World and a repeat of an Indian hospital drama.
“It would have been great to see it live,” Hakim said.
“Oh, well,” he added. “I heard someone’s taping it.”
Copyright ©2002 Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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