CAPE TOWN, South Africa – There is no hiding in an orange jersey. You slip on an orange jersey, you mean it. Anyone can wear a nice blue or a subtle green or something with a pattern of colors. You wear solid orange and you are telling people from miles away exactly where you stand, exactly what you feel.
The World Cup doesn’t lack for fans passionate about their team. It’s patriotism, after all. And a good time, of course. You come, you drink, you cheer, you groan. Perhaps you cheer some more. They all wear their colors.
Yet no one is asked to wear gear as garish as the Dutch, this day-glo orange rarely seen in abundance outside some greasy spoon on the first day of hunting season.
The Dutch don’t just wear the orange, they embrace it. They accessorize their orange jerseys with orange pants and orange socks and orange face paint and even cheap orange wigs. Their national flag is red, white and blue, yet they wear this blinding, remarkable orange anyway – as a nod to the color of the Dutch Royal Family.
The Dutch are all in. They can’t be missed. It’s how they want it. If you are Dutch you are loyal, you are stout and you are unwavering. You wear orange.
And as a reward, time and time again, they’ve trudged out of stadiums in bitter disappointment. They’ve been dumped from tournaments they thought they’d win. They’ve been stunned by teams that look like world beaters right up until the moment they get upset. And then they, the fans, come back for more anyway. They buy brighter orange jerseys.
The Dutch have developed this odd reputation – the team that always quits has fans that never do.
“Often when things work and we start winning, we become overconfident,” Netherlands coach Bert van Marwijk said. “And then we are sent home quickly.”
Sent home quickly wearing a silly orange wig for everyone to see.
So now here was section 123 of Green Point Stadium on Tuesday night, a swarm of orange leading smatterings of more orange throughout the building. Here they all were, jumping and dancing and hugging long after this World Cup semifinal was over.
Bob Marley was blaring through the stadium. Mark van Bommel was doing a victory lap while waving his own orange jersey. For the first time in a long time it had all come together. For the players. For the fans. For this soccer-mad nation.
The Netherlands 3, Uruguay 2 – a night to remember for this colorful color.
“This is a wonderful thing for the Netherlands,” man of the match Wesley Sneijder said. “Just a wonderful performance of this orange team.”
This orange team. Yes, they are in on the absurdity. In fact, it’s their call to arms. The Dutch have just one major soccer tournament title (the 1988 European Championship) so they are best known for their volume – in the mass of their fans; in their place on the color wheel.
Only now here’s a shot at a new history, here’s a chance at redemption, here’s an opportunity to write a story worthy of the spirit.
The Netherlands will play in the World Cup final Sunday against the winner of Wednesday’s Spain-Germany game. It will be the team’s first final appearance since 1978. “It’s amazing what we accomplished after 32 years,” Van Marwijk said.
They made it difficult on themselves, of course, by working until the final seconds. They led 1-0 on a bullet of a shot by Giovanni van Bronckhorst only to concede a just-as-brilliant equalizer by Diego Forlan. The Dutch jumped to 3-1, but by their coach’s count, it should’ve been 5-1. When Uruguay cut their lead to 3-2 and then pressed for what would’ve been a crushing final-minute score, everything grew tense.
In the stands the fans fretted. On the sideline the coach said he screamed – “Don’t let them get away with it!”
On the field, the players held together. They held on. “We survived,” Van Marwijk said. When it was over, most of the team collapsed in a celebratory pile along one sideline. They were as relieved as they were exhilarated.
And now the orange jerseys and orange pants and orange wigs were releasing their fears with shouts of joy. They had swarmed the stadium – exponentially outpacing Uruguayan fans. They had packed the bars and restaurants over at the trendy waterfront, not far from where a Dutch trading ship had wrecked in 1647, bringing the first of their countrymen to Cape Town.
All these years later the Dutch influence continues, the ancestors remain and the orange swarmed out on a great night like this.
So perhaps this was the perfect place to continue to exorcise these soccer demons. It was as close to a home game as you’re going to get on foreign soil. It was as enthusiastic of a crowd as you’ll find 5,000 miles from home. It was a lot of orange. Even for the Dutch.
Five games in and the Netherlands has yet to lose. Five games in and the fans still roar. Five games in and a culture of coming up short can be wiped away to history.
“We’ve really got to make it,” Sneijder said. “Just one more time. Ninety minutes.”
It’s on to Johannesburg now for the Dutch, onto flood another city in their unmistakable, unavoidable and profoundly prideful color. Ninety more minutes to history.
