The Ball 2010

Moroccan men love to play, watch and talk about football. Walking through the massive, spectacular Medina in Fez on an evening of European football you will see a multitude of TVs playing football, hear the blur of football commentary, the chatter of men, young and old, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes and the smells of a myriad of exotic foods wafting into the air. But where are the women? Where are the girls?

Boys come up and want to kick The Ball or they want to have The Ball.
“Please sir, give me the ball.” Or they want to buy The Ball.
“How much for The Ball? I give you 25 Euros”
“It’s priceless, not for sale”, we reply. Strange to be offered money for The Ball. By this time, word has got around town that some crazy guys are in town with a ball. They don’t know that it is not just any ball and that this ball cannot be bought.

We’re dribbling The Ball through the medina, meeting people left, right and center, when two young girls come along and, in a flash, The Ball has been booted off down a side alley. We all race after it, laughing, giggling, but also slightly fearful of losing sight and control of The Ball.

We have an enormous responsibility. We must bring this one ball to the World Cup. And on time too.

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