BARNEY MTHOMBOTHI | What does it say about us that Bafana came home to a heroes’ welcome?

Having fulfilled their role of turning up simply to make up the numbers at this year’s Fifa World Cup, Bafana Bafana arrived home last week to a rapturous welcome, greeted like conquering heroes. Everybody seemed pleased to see them back home so soon after the serious business of the tournament had started. We just wanted them back. So we could celebrate.

But there was no trophy in sight. Maybe somebody saw no need to parade it. Good idea perhaps. It probably would have spoilt the fun. Things aren’t too rosy in the country, and people need some sunshine in their lives, that fleeting moment of joy.

“Bafana Bafana have landed!” a TV presenter panted heavily, almost choking with excitement. The players came out prancing like peacocks to accept the adulation of the crowd. Officials jostled to accept the accolades. Success, if this is indeed success, has a thousand fathers, I suppose. And the politicians were there too, loquacious as ever. One wishes they would just stick to what they know. Like armed robbery.

As hard-driving American rock band Rare Earth would sing: I just want to celebrate, yeah, yeah/Another day of living, yeah/I just want to celebrate another day of life/Had my hand on the dollar bill/And the dollar bill flew away/But the sun is shining down on me/And it’s here to stay.

Yes, we just want to party.

I’ve been scratching my head trying to figure out what it is we’re supposed to celebrate. Am I missing something? Our last match was a disaster; we were booted out by Canada, a country only good at ice hockey and hunting polar bears and certainly not known for their footballing prowess. In fact, Canada was beatable, probably the weakest team to make the last 32. A serious team would have wiped the floor with them. And yet we made heavy weather of it. We flunked it, playing negative football. It’s almost as though we were playing not to win, but not to lose either. And when the backs kept passing the ball back to the goalkeeper, the crowd booed. And rightly so. They hadn’t paid big money to watch that.

The ambition was always limited. Hugo Broos told the international media after South Africa qualified for the knockout stage that such an achievement for us was as good as winning the World Cup itself. We should be offended by such statements

And we certainly didn’t endear ourselves to the neutrals. It was not the best testament, nor the finest moment, for South African football. Yet they came home to a heroes’ welcome. Why this orgy of collective or national rejoicing after such a defeat? What does it say about us?

Of all the African teams, our departure was perhaps the most craven. Cape Verde (population 500,000) left the tournament with their heads held high. They held former world champions Spain to a draw during the group stage and gave defending champions Argentina a fright before succumbing 3-2 after extra time. As people in the know would say, they left everything in the field. “We did our best, and we did it with bravery,” said their coach Bubista. “This was about showing the world our true identity.” And show it they did. With flying colours.

Senegal led 2-0 before Belgium staged a dramatic comeback to win 3-2. Egypt came within a whisker of eliminating defending world champions Argentina. These teams did credit not only to their countries but to African football in general. They certainly deserved whatever accolade they got from their people. The same cannot be said about South Africa. We left not with a bang but with a whimper.

Maybe our intentions all along were merely to show our faces. The ambition was always limited. Hugo Broos told the international media after South Africa qualified for the knockout stage that such an achievement for us was as good as winning the World Cup itself. We should be offended by such statements. It says we’re not only inferior, but we’ve accepted our inferiority. We’re content with our station. Not for us to aspire to climb the ladder or go head-to-head with the big boys. You’re defeated even before a ball is kicked. What you speak becomes your reality. We condemn ourselves to perpetual third-tier international football.

Broos, an elderly uncle who got lucky — he wasn’t fired like his predecessors — has been promoted by his admirers as the best thing to have happened to South African football, a messiah who somehow rescued the sport from football purgatory. He did no such thing. Football’s problem has always been its administrators, not its managers or players, who are in it for reasons other than the interest of the sport. The best manager by far was Clive Barker, who, hardly a year in the job, won the Africa Cup of Nations on the first attempt. He was subsequently dismissed like a dog. Well, his nickname was “The Dog”, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be treated like one.

With the right manager, South Africa have always held their own against African opponents. What is perhaps perplexing is that the country with the best facilities and probably the best-run professional league on the continent did not do much better than win one Afcon championship thus far.

But our low self-esteem or feeling of inadequacy extends beyond sport and into other areas of life. We generally have a low opinion of ourselves and tend to accept and celebrate mediocrity with some alacrity. We tolerate shoddy work and are too quick to praise those who do the barest minimum. Which is why things are falling apart wherever one looks, especially in the public service. Those who mess up are never held to account.

In our education system, for instance, standards have been lowered substantially. Why? Because we want many pupils to pass ... so we can celebrate a job well done. And when they fail, we add a few percentages to the mark to get them over the line. The motto seems to be: if we can’t get over the hoop, don’t worry, simply lower the bar.

We deceive nobody but ourselves. It’s a society of make-believe, which doesn’t cut it in the real world. That’s why Bafana Bafana came unstuck. And we celebrated regardless.