How much for Father's Day? I'll give you Father and a D.

We woke up today, America's Father's Day, feeling collectively groggy. We'd initially arranged for a 10 a.m. car to the Rosebank Mall where, on Sundays, a market and craft fair take place on the structure's roof. Stephanie decided to stay in and rest, but assured Ben and I to keep our plans since our final Sunday might include a game in the knockout round.

After a ride in perhaps the most offensive, overly air-freshened SUV, Ben and I wandered through the marketplace outside the mall, initially thinking the Sunday market we sought had become a permanent fixture. Booth after booth included carved wood, handmade trinkets, bead work, bracelets, and an array of soccer paraphernalia. From a distance, the booths looked to offer the same items. Upon more careful browsing, however, the items differed ever-so-slightly. It became immediately clear that the other shoppers came to wager with the locals. Ben and I found the back-and-forths going on around us fairly comical, both of us ultimately realizing we weren't out to buy anything at the moment.

Up a flight of stairs, Ben and I found what we'd read about. On the top level of the parking garage, an array of stands offered unique clothing, goods, jewelry, even books. It was a mixture of art, food, textiles, and more commercial goods similar to the permanent marketplace. We strolled through unique goods, deciding it best to eat chicken kabobs and a set of spring rolls before making any commitments. Ben went with art; I decided on woodwork. Before calling our ride we took a brief stroll through the mall itself, quickly remembering that we've been to too many malls and ought to just leave.

After we called our smelly ride, we fortunately caught the Soweto Marimba Youth League Project before bracing for a headache-inducing ride back to the suite. On the way, we went through a driver inspection point--an initially frightening moment for Ben and me. The police officer checked our man's license, circled the vehicle, and demanded he open the boot (trunk). We later learned that during events like the World Cup, random people offer up their car and driving services for profit. He also noted that such events increased the likelihood that South Africans are driving around with "illegal things" in the car.

Moments later, our car was stopped to allow the Slovenian National Team's bus to enter the intersection on it's way Port Elizabeth. Amazingly, the bus stopped, the players got out, apologized to Ben and I for the ref's behavior in Friday's game, and offered the Americans a spot in the knockout round. (I would only believe the first sentence of this paragraph if I were you. Happy Father's Day just the same.)