A few flippant thoughts/awards - more serious(-ish) reflections to come...
Best goal: Siphiwe Tshabalala’s tournament opener set the vibrant tone, even if Kagisho Dikgacoi soon abandoned the intricate through-passing for simply kicking people.
Best shot: David Villa’s opportunistic curler against Chile, Carlos Tevez’s (onside) effort versus Mexico, or Wesley Sneijder’s semi-final strike that didn’t go in – but did wallop into his pal Robin van Persie.
Worst miss: Durban-born Chilean Mark Gonzalez’s gravity-defying loft with the scores 0-0 against Spain, finishing worthy of the ‘Bafana Bafana’ instead.
Coaches most in need of a decent night’s sleep: Honours even between Slovakia’s Vladimir Weiss, Ghana’s Milovan Rajevac and Paraguay’s Gerard Martino, each looking like they’ve lived a hard life – or at least hard living the night before. Punchy Weiss even invited a journalist outside, Rajevac appears a contender to play Rigsby in a Rising Damp remake, and Martino rivals for Jose Antonio Camacho as ‘World’s Sweatiest Manager’.
Best stadium: The spectacularly modern Moses Mabhida in Durban or the grittily old-fashioned Ellis Park in Johannesburg.
Worst stadium: The Royal Bafokeng in Rustenburg – maybe it’s the surrounding roads and their puncture-causing potholes. Or the surrounding athletics track and the distance from the pitch. Or just the ordeal of watching England play the USA.
Best vuvuzela use: The fan watching Cameroon-Denmark who somehow managed to make his sound like the ominous stabs of saxophone from Bernard Herrmann’s Taxi Driver soundtrack.
Worst vuvuzela use: The Argentine hooligans caught using theirs to store grenades.
Least likely midfield destroyer: Ghana’s hard-working – if hardly intimidating – Anthony Annan. Looking like you might as well play Lionel Messi or Shaun Wright-Phillips in the holding role., And you won’t often find those two together in the same sentence.
Best parkers of the bus: Switzerland, obviously. Though the South African team coach that got stuck in Sandton traffic, almost delaying the opening match, came close.
Most misleading omen: The incessant airings of ‘God Save The Queen’ in the empty Soccer City stadium, a day before the tournament began.
Most out-of-touch officials: Fifa delegates meeting on the eve of the tournament tried testing their electronic voting pads with the simple question, are Italy the defending world champions? Seven voted no. Though by the end of the first round, it was easy to forget – or at least hard to believe.
Impartial punditry: The US journalist in the Rustenburg media centre before his compatriots kicked off against America - tucking into a sandwich while wearing full Captain America costume.
Most baffling imagery: Brazil’s 1970 World Cup-winning midfield craftsman Gerson condemned Dunga, saying: ‘He couldn’t train a team of bottle-tops.’ What?
Worst penalty run-up: John Mensah, the struggling gait of an arthritic.
Best penalty run-up: Cuauhtemoc Blanco, the long-distance surge of a fast bowler.
Finest-quality penalties: The shoot-out between Miss World contestants representing the eight quarter-finalists, swapping world peace for World Cup aspirations. Or else, (almost) all those taken by Japan and Paraguay - pity about the 120 minutes beforehand.
Most popular substitutes: Blanco, Stephen Appiah, and Cesc Fabregas, cheered wildly for each cameo.
Least popular substitutes: Thierry Henry, booed roundly in Bloemfontein – even though the place’s alternative name, Mangaung, does mean ‘land of the cheetahs’.
Clearest refereeing decision actually given correctly: Argentina’s disallowed goal against Germany, with almost as many players caught offside as Maradona picked during qualifiers. Or the several handballs given against a Serbia team who appeared to believe we were playing ‘rush-goalie’.
Moral dilemma man of the moment: Luis Suarez. Not necessarily for his handball – and revelries – against Ghana, but his reckless leap into the photographers’ pit after scoring against South Korea. Yes, someone could have been scalped – but then again, they were only snappers.
Richest hypocrites: Diego Maradona complaining about Luis Fabiano’s handball, Dunga whingeing about Ivory Coast’s persistent fouling, and Bastian Schweinsteiger raising eyebrows at Argentine play-acting.
Modesty blazers: Felipe Melo, daftly nonchalant even after single-handedly (and single-headedly, and single-stamping-footedly) destroying his own team Brazil – insisting he would have deserved ten out of ten had Brazil gone on to win, but was adjusting himself down to a (still-generous) six.
Or Nicolas Bendtner, who got very uppity at Sebastian Bassong almost tugging his shirt off. Presumably because he prefers publicly undressing himself.
England’s success of the tournament: Michael Dawson. While team-mates griped about being bored, he actually got out and about and visited local townships and a deprived youngster he sponsored. When not sitting happily in his hotel room, contented with colouring books.
England’s failure of the tournament: Amid a crowded field, expectations multiplied by abjectness must mean Wayne Rooney. It’s nice to see your own players boring you.
England’s gravest mistake: Taking too few Tottenham players – Jermain Defoe’s goal against Slovenia was Spurs’ 184th for England, more than any other club. The six in the squad could and should have been bolstered by the likes of Huddlestone. Jenas. Woodgate. Hoddle, Roberts, Perryman, Peters, Chas, Dave…
Saddest shadows of their former fab(io) selves: Cannavaro and Capello, neither one any longer quite so cool and composed.
Breaths of fresh air: Thomas Müller, a Platt-style poacher who also showed the baffling good grace to shake hands with the ref who had foolishly ruled him out of the semi-final. Slovakia’s troublesome target-man Robert Vittek, who left Italy clueless – only to be left clubless by former employers Lille. Japan’s Jabulani-taming Keisuke Honda.
Fashion statements of the season: Ghana’s Melchester Rovers tribute kit, those orange miniskirts, or the anti-authority T-shirts bearing slogans such as ‘Fick Fufa’ or ‘MafiFa: We own the game’.
Jauntiest anthems: The trilling trumpets of Brazil’s, or the emphatic climax to Paraguay’s, the kind that really does demand fireworks – and picnic hampers – on a summer’s evening in the park.
Hissiest fit: Perhaps the dust-up a mere 15 seconds into USA-Slovenia, prompted by an errant Clint Dempsey elbow. Or else Garth Crooks’s petulant prima donna act, when trying to wrench Howard Webb from a pack of print hacks.
Cheekiest chutzpah: The Argentine hooligans – yes, more – who were staying at a Christian studies college in Pretoria before being raided and deported. Or the Argentine centre-back Martin Demichelis, taunting John Terry by saying he wouldn’t be allowed home if he defended as the ex-England captain had done against Germany. After Demichelis’ own performance against the same opposition, his plane’s presumably still hovering, the pilot told to go round (the world) again.
Shoddiest pre-World Cup predictions: Brazil to win, Italy to reach the final, and North Korea to hold Portugal goalless... At least David Villa could still win the Golden Boot – though not with two separate hat-tricks, as I had also suggested.
Best games: Slovakia 3 Italy 2, Ghana 1 Uruguay 1, Spain 1 Germany 0. And Denmark 2 Cameroon 1, proof a game can be awesome despite – or perhaps due to – both teams being awful.
Biggest regrets: Not being able to attend Argentina games. Being able to attend England games. The fact it’s now almost all over.
Team of the tournament (elite): Neuer (Germany); Lahm (Germany), Heitinga (Netherlands), Puyol (Spain), Fucile (Uruguay); Müller (Germany), Schweinsteiger (Germany), Sneijder (Netherlands); Iniesta (Spain), Forlan (Uruguay), Villa (Spain).
Almost team of the tournament (second tier): Kingson (Ghana); Maicon (Brazil), Nelsen (New Zealand), Carvalho (Portugal), Salcido (Mexico); Donovan (USA), Annan (Ghana), Vidal (Chile); Messi (Argentina), Vittek (Slovakia), Robinho (Brazil).
Anti-team of the tournament: Chaouchi (Algeria); Cha Du-Ri (South Korea), Mokoena (South Africa), Bassong (Cameroon), Evra (France); Barry (England); Kewell (Australia), Marchisio (Italy), Felipe Melo (Brazil); Rooney (England), Anelka (Brazil).
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
"I'm the Durban spaceman, baby..."
ANDRES Iniesta had predicted this would be a ‘beautiful battle’, but perhaps the interpreter should have translated that as ‘attractive attrition’.
Seldom can wearing an opponent relentlessly down be as compelling as Spain make it, despite what a tentatively-restless backlash from some quarters might be suggesting.
Another 1-0 win, with the goal coming late, tonight put Spain into their first World Cup final – ensuring a new name would be on the trophy at the end of their game against the Netherlands on Sunday.
Yet unlike previous underwhelming performances this summer, this win over Germany – the second half especially – suggested tiki-taka is finally ticking over just right.
The goal that put Spain in their first World Cup final might have been rather basic, when it came.
Carles Puyol’s header was about as emphatic as can be, walloping the ball into the net and almost sending opponents – and team-mates – splaying all the way with it.
A few late crosses aside, Germany had little answer – either to the goal or Spain’s overall control.
Vicente del Bosque’s side looked classy and composed all over, with Sergio Busquets getting everywhere – but always usefully, this time – and Xavi gradually re-locating his range.
Germany’s counter-attacking was contained, with Lahm and Boateng kept pinned back and Ozil either kept isolated between Klose and the four-man midfield or else pickpocketed by the busy Busquets.
At times this summer Spain’s lovely passing has lacked a little joy – as if, while retaining the first ‘slow-slow’ part, they’d mislaid somehow the following ‘quick-quick’ bit.
That looked again the case during the first half, though the passing was mostly shorter and a little less sloppy in earlier matches.
Pedro’s inclusion for the infirm and out-of-form Fernando Torres suggested a little more width in the Spanish attack, and he did keep dizzyingly switching positions with both Andres Iniesta and David Villa up-front.
Yet the Spanish midfield and attack were willing to pack tight for much of the time too, especially whenever Germany tried to break out from their own defence.
The German full-backs had little space to manoeuvre, Piotr Trochowski contributed little – certainly none of the prolific peskiness of Thomas Mueller – and Bastian Schweinsteiger’s compound role tonight involved plenty more tackling than attacking.
Villa could be seen losing his rag as Xavi, Iniesta or Pedro would fail by inches to quite find the right through-pass, but the second half brought a little more pace and precision.
And two thrilling minutes on the hour mark could have brought Spain three goals, the high-point being Xabi Alonso’s backheel, Iniesta’s nimble dribble and the agonising whistle of ball just beyond Villa’s studs.
Here was football no longer simply easy on the eye, and fodder for the brain – but also enough to send the heart surging into the mouth.
Which now waters at the thought of a truly colourful Sunday ahead.
Following, of course, Saturday’s contractual obligation, that at least gives retro-philes a Seventies World Cup rematch after all - just not a repeat of the ’74 final, but the third-place play-off from four years earlier.
By contrast, the Spanish and Dutch have never clashed at a World Cup before – perhaps apt, when hearing the King of Spain tributes in the Netherlands’ national anthem.
Spain’s, of course, is lyric-less – despite witless wordsmiths’ valiant efforts in recent years.
But if their players can improve even on tonight’s slick display, then Wesley Sneijder will have to be at his decisive best – or Mark Van Bommel his destructive worst – if the Dutch aren’t to be the ones struck dumb.
Seldom can wearing an opponent relentlessly down be as compelling as Spain make it, despite what a tentatively-restless backlash from some quarters might be suggesting.
Another 1-0 win, with the goal coming late, tonight put Spain into their first World Cup final – ensuring a new name would be on the trophy at the end of their game against the Netherlands on Sunday.
Yet unlike previous underwhelming performances this summer, this win over Germany – the second half especially – suggested tiki-taka is finally ticking over just right.
The goal that put Spain in their first World Cup final might have been rather basic, when it came.
Carles Puyol’s header was about as emphatic as can be, walloping the ball into the net and almost sending opponents – and team-mates – splaying all the way with it.
A few late crosses aside, Germany had little answer – either to the goal or Spain’s overall control.
Vicente del Bosque’s side looked classy and composed all over, with Sergio Busquets getting everywhere – but always usefully, this time – and Xavi gradually re-locating his range.
Germany’s counter-attacking was contained, with Lahm and Boateng kept pinned back and Ozil either kept isolated between Klose and the four-man midfield or else pickpocketed by the busy Busquets.
At times this summer Spain’s lovely passing has lacked a little joy – as if, while retaining the first ‘slow-slow’ part, they’d mislaid somehow the following ‘quick-quick’ bit.
That looked again the case during the first half, though the passing was mostly shorter and a little less sloppy in earlier matches.
Pedro’s inclusion for the infirm and out-of-form Fernando Torres suggested a little more width in the Spanish attack, and he did keep dizzyingly switching positions with both Andres Iniesta and David Villa up-front.
Yet the Spanish midfield and attack were willing to pack tight for much of the time too, especially whenever Germany tried to break out from their own defence.
The German full-backs had little space to manoeuvre, Piotr Trochowski contributed little – certainly none of the prolific peskiness of Thomas Mueller – and Bastian Schweinsteiger’s compound role tonight involved plenty more tackling than attacking.
Villa could be seen losing his rag as Xavi, Iniesta or Pedro would fail by inches to quite find the right through-pass, but the second half brought a little more pace and precision.
And two thrilling minutes on the hour mark could have brought Spain three goals, the high-point being Xabi Alonso’s backheel, Iniesta’s nimble dribble and the agonising whistle of ball just beyond Villa’s studs.
Here was football no longer simply easy on the eye, and fodder for the brain – but also enough to send the heart surging into the mouth.
Which now waters at the thought of a truly colourful Sunday ahead.
Following, of course, Saturday’s contractual obligation, that at least gives retro-philes a Seventies World Cup rematch after all - just not a repeat of the ’74 final, but the third-place play-off from four years earlier.
By contrast, the Spanish and Dutch have never clashed at a World Cup before – perhaps apt, when hearing the King of Spain tributes in the Netherlands’ national anthem.
Spain’s, of course, is lyric-less – despite witless wordsmiths’ valiant efforts in recent years.
But if their players can improve even on tonight’s slick display, then Wesley Sneijder will have to be at his decisive best – or Mark Van Bommel his destructive worst – if the Dutch aren’t to be the ones struck dumb.
"Beside the seaside, beside the sea..."
THE ATTRACTIVE arch under which Spain and Germany play tonight makes Durban’s Moses Mabhida stadium a little like Wembley.
The three years flat in which the city’s old venue was knocked down and the new one knocked up rather ends the resemblance.
It was a bit of a frantic rush job to top them out in time, but South Africa’s World Cup stadia have proved finer – and longer-lasting – performers than the host nation’s players.
The big question now is: how can they be filled in future?
After all, it’s been trouble enough filling them for World Cup semi-finals – though any orange seats empty this Sunday should at least blend in with the crowd.
Soccer City in Johannesburg is already planning for a future that involves not just international football, but domestic rugby.
The country’s most popular rugby club, the Blue Bulls, contested one pre-World Cup match in the stadium.
In return, the national ‘Bafana Bafana’ football team prepared for the competition with a friendly at the Blue Bulls’ apparently-iconic home, Pretoria’s Loftus Versfeld.
Now the national rugby heroes, the Springboks, are lining up a Soccer City clash with New Zealand's All Blacks next month - perhaps bringing with them the ‘penalty goals’ some felt should have been awarded there when Luis Suarez handballed.
Compared to the sleek yet slightly insipid new stadia at Polokwane and Rustenburg, the old-fashioned rugby grounds ‘borrowed’ for this tournament have offered some of the most exciting vibes.
Wasted on rugby, really.
Loftus Versfeld and Johannesburg’s Ellis Park may lack modernistic elegance, but do boast bulk, straight lines and intensity.
Plus, they don’t double up with already-existing oval-ball strongholds, unlike the controversial new – but Table Mountain-friendly - World Cup stadium in Cape Town and its neglected neighbour Newlands.
The Moses Mabhida, on the other hand, is both spectacular and spine-tingling - while also fitting into a coherent forward plan for sporting showcases.
The ground sits just across the road from international rugby and athletics venues, part of the Kings Park sporting complex – and just a few Kevin Pietersen slogs from the Sahara Stadium that staged the 2003 cricket World Cup.
Little wonder that now a newly-confident South Africa is talking up an Olympics bid, Durban looks the most likely local candidate for 2020 or 2024.
That cluster of top-class sporting venues is even more compact than Stratford’s 2012 Olympic park (and without the threat of West Ham wanting to squat).
And while Brazil’s footballers have this month found themselves playing at 3C in Johannesburg and 25C in Cape Town, Durban in August is one of the surer bets for August Olympic sunshine.
Even if today’s unseasonally snippy winds and grey drizzle made the genteel architecture and palm-lined seafront feel less like Marine Parade, Durban - more Marine Parade, Worthing.
The three years flat in which the city’s old venue was knocked down and the new one knocked up rather ends the resemblance.
It was a bit of a frantic rush job to top them out in time, but South Africa’s World Cup stadia have proved finer – and longer-lasting – performers than the host nation’s players.
The big question now is: how can they be filled in future?
After all, it’s been trouble enough filling them for World Cup semi-finals – though any orange seats empty this Sunday should at least blend in with the crowd.
Soccer City in Johannesburg is already planning for a future that involves not just international football, but domestic rugby.
The country’s most popular rugby club, the Blue Bulls, contested one pre-World Cup match in the stadium.
In return, the national ‘Bafana Bafana’ football team prepared for the competition with a friendly at the Blue Bulls’ apparently-iconic home, Pretoria’s Loftus Versfeld.
Now the national rugby heroes, the Springboks, are lining up a Soccer City clash with New Zealand's All Blacks next month - perhaps bringing with them the ‘penalty goals’ some felt should have been awarded there when Luis Suarez handballed.
Compared to the sleek yet slightly insipid new stadia at Polokwane and Rustenburg, the old-fashioned rugby grounds ‘borrowed’ for this tournament have offered some of the most exciting vibes.
Wasted on rugby, really.
Loftus Versfeld and Johannesburg’s Ellis Park may lack modernistic elegance, but do boast bulk, straight lines and intensity.
Plus, they don’t double up with already-existing oval-ball strongholds, unlike the controversial new – but Table Mountain-friendly - World Cup stadium in Cape Town and its neglected neighbour Newlands.
The Moses Mabhida, on the other hand, is both spectacular and spine-tingling - while also fitting into a coherent forward plan for sporting showcases.
The ground sits just across the road from international rugby and athletics venues, part of the Kings Park sporting complex – and just a few Kevin Pietersen slogs from the Sahara Stadium that staged the 2003 cricket World Cup.
Little wonder that now a newly-confident South Africa is talking up an Olympics bid, Durban looks the most likely local candidate for 2020 or 2024.
That cluster of top-class sporting venues is even more compact than Stratford’s 2012 Olympic park (and without the threat of West Ham wanting to squat).
And while Brazil’s footballers have this month found themselves playing at 3C in Johannesburg and 25C in Cape Town, Durban in August is one of the surer bets for August Olympic sunshine.
Even if today’s unseasonally snippy winds and grey drizzle made the genteel architecture and palm-lined seafront feel less like Marine Parade, Durban - more Marine Parade, Worthing.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
"Gold against the soul..."
AFTER the curse of ‘Goldenballs’ might have struck his England pals – and Andy Murray – a different Golden Ball jinx looms over those in Soccer City this Sunday.
At the last three World Cups, the man voted best player has suffered a memorably forgettable final – making Fifa’s post-match announcement more poignant than triumphant.
In 1998, it was Ronaldo, suffering a fit before his Brazil offered pitiful resistance to the French.
Four years later he thrived as Germany’s Golden Ball – and Golden Gloves – winning goalkeeper Oliver Kahn turned butterfingers at the last.
And in 2006 Zinedine Zidane, having hauled even a Raymond Domenech-led France to the final, then butted them back out of the reckoning against Italy.
The rush to anoint this summer’s stand-out star has been frenetic from the start.
Pity poor Keisuke Honda, Alexis Sanchez or even Lionel Messi, as early bouquets brutally withered in popular consensus – or the unpopular Press.
Germany, whatever Wednesday night’s result, can at least count on a second successive prize for best young player.
Four years ago Lukas Podolski’s three goals, glimmers of brilliance and home favouritism put him above a scratchy field of Antonio Valencia, Cristiano Ronaldo and, er, that’s about it.
This time he and 25-year-old, 78-cap Bastian Schweinsteiger are almost gnarly elder statesmen in a German side faced with slicing the statuette in half for Thomas Müller and Mesut Özil.
But Mueller’s absence this evening is doubly unfortunate –semi-finals are the games that help clinch the bigger, round baubles, good news for Schweinsteiger or Spain’s David Villa.
Better news for Wesley Sneijder, who may have again been quiet for patches of tonight’s win over Uruguay – despite starting the first half of the first half in startlingly tenacious, pressing mood – but got good and slightly lucky with another crucial goal.
(Nice of his pal Robin van Persie to leave the ball, as it passed … if that’s indeed what he meant. Or if indeed it was legal. Both points debatable.)
Sadder news for Diego Forlan, whose passing looked a little off at times this evening, but who cut a dashing figure throughout even while shoved further forward and deprived of Luis Suarez – and scored with another swooshing shot, aided a little by a goalkeeper’s limp wrist.
Alternative contenders who seem surprisingly popular here in South Africa include usually-unfashionable full-backs such as Germany’s hollow-eyed Philipp Lahm or Spain’s wild-eyed Sergio Ramos.
He was a rare subdued Spaniard at Euro 2008, but has been a rampaging asset here – pause for thought, perhaps, for even Jose Mourinho as he ponders shifting him back into the middle in Madrid.
Other outsiders could yet include Iker Casillas, after that penalty save against Paraguay proved Sara Carbanero’s not his only impressive catch.
But he’d presumably prefer to lift another gold prize instead – and show he can do what Oliver Kahn couldn’t.
*
Today’s long drive south to Durban – from bitter to balmy, scorched fields to verdant valleys, mountainous heights to ear-popping sea level – evoked more memories of that 2006 tournament.
If only because after passing familiar-sounding places such as Heidelberg or Frankfort, Durban city centre was decked in German flags and welcomes of ‘Wilkommen’.
Perhaps every other team received similar tribute, though the only others still fluttering were for South Africa itself and long-departed Japan.
Viel Glück, perhaps, for Germany and ominous for those like myself who could happily watch Spain pass the phonebook.
Yet while Joachim Löw might cling to that treasured blue sweater – though tentacled turncoat Paul The Octopus now snubs his adopted Vaterland - tactics and technique should tonight mean more than signs and lucky charms.
Whoever does make the final, however, should maybe cross their fingers they can dodge that Golden Ball – let alone bump into doom-laden David Beckham.
At the last three World Cups, the man voted best player has suffered a memorably forgettable final – making Fifa’s post-match announcement more poignant than triumphant.
In 1998, it was Ronaldo, suffering a fit before his Brazil offered pitiful resistance to the French.
Four years later he thrived as Germany’s Golden Ball – and Golden Gloves – winning goalkeeper Oliver Kahn turned butterfingers at the last.
And in 2006 Zinedine Zidane, having hauled even a Raymond Domenech-led France to the final, then butted them back out of the reckoning against Italy.
The rush to anoint this summer’s stand-out star has been frenetic from the start.
Pity poor Keisuke Honda, Alexis Sanchez or even Lionel Messi, as early bouquets brutally withered in popular consensus – or the unpopular Press.
Germany, whatever Wednesday night’s result, can at least count on a second successive prize for best young player.
Four years ago Lukas Podolski’s three goals, glimmers of brilliance and home favouritism put him above a scratchy field of Antonio Valencia, Cristiano Ronaldo and, er, that’s about it.
This time he and 25-year-old, 78-cap Bastian Schweinsteiger are almost gnarly elder statesmen in a German side faced with slicing the statuette in half for Thomas Müller and Mesut Özil.
But Mueller’s absence this evening is doubly unfortunate –semi-finals are the games that help clinch the bigger, round baubles, good news for Schweinsteiger or Spain’s David Villa.
Better news for Wesley Sneijder, who may have again been quiet for patches of tonight’s win over Uruguay – despite starting the first half of the first half in startlingly tenacious, pressing mood – but got good and slightly lucky with another crucial goal.
(Nice of his pal Robin van Persie to leave the ball, as it passed … if that’s indeed what he meant. Or if indeed it was legal. Both points debatable.)
Sadder news for Diego Forlan, whose passing looked a little off at times this evening, but who cut a dashing figure throughout even while shoved further forward and deprived of Luis Suarez – and scored with another swooshing shot, aided a little by a goalkeeper’s limp wrist.
Alternative contenders who seem surprisingly popular here in South Africa include usually-unfashionable full-backs such as Germany’s hollow-eyed Philipp Lahm or Spain’s wild-eyed Sergio Ramos.
He was a rare subdued Spaniard at Euro 2008, but has been a rampaging asset here – pause for thought, perhaps, for even Jose Mourinho as he ponders shifting him back into the middle in Madrid.
Other outsiders could yet include Iker Casillas, after that penalty save against Paraguay proved Sara Carbanero’s not his only impressive catch.
But he’d presumably prefer to lift another gold prize instead – and show he can do what Oliver Kahn couldn’t.
*
Today’s long drive south to Durban – from bitter to balmy, scorched fields to verdant valleys, mountainous heights to ear-popping sea level – evoked more memories of that 2006 tournament.
If only because after passing familiar-sounding places such as Heidelberg or Frankfort, Durban city centre was decked in German flags and welcomes of ‘Wilkommen’.
Perhaps every other team received similar tribute, though the only others still fluttering were for South Africa itself and long-departed Japan.
Viel Glück, perhaps, for Germany and ominous for those like myself who could happily watch Spain pass the phonebook.
Yet while Joachim Löw might cling to that treasured blue sweater – though tentacled turncoat Paul The Octopus now snubs his adopted Vaterland - tactics and technique should tonight mean more than signs and lucky charms.
Whoever does make the final, however, should maybe cross their fingers they can dodge that Golden Ball – let alone bump into doom-laden David Beckham.
Monday, July 05, 2010
"Monday Monday, can't trust that day..."
THE WORLD may not end when the World Cup does, but even the tournament’s chief evangelist fears a hefty hangover could kick in next Monday morning.
And not just for those enjoying the special ‘locals’ prices’ in South Africa’s throbbing pubs and bars.
In city centres such as Pretoria and Johannesburg, foreigners are typically being charged three times as much for their drinks throughout the World Cup.
Locals, on the other hand, have been gifted ‘loyalty cards’, allowing them to escape any World Cup mark-up.
In keeping with the event’s hail-fellow-well-met vibe, however, many simply lend them to foreign guests at the bar – though with crucial words of advice.
It’s not enough to simply flourish a magic ticket – you have to be wise enough to order in Afrikaans.
Providing a warm welcome to the world has been no problem, but cannily and understandably cashing in at the same time has proved more of a challenge.
Estimates of World Cup visitor numbers, economic benefits and newly-created jobs have been flying around as haphazardly as a first-week Jabulani, and varying as dramatically as a Paraguayan team-sheet.
Latest claims suggest 1million new people entered the country in the last three months, up 25 per cent on the same period last year.
Yet those here just for the football are thought to number just 300,000 or so, forecasts having steadily fallen from the original 500,000 expected.
Pre-World Cup predictions had suggested 415,000 new jobs would be created and £4.8billion raised.
The South African government’s own £4billion infrastructure investment programme has inevitably been given a World Cup focus.
The transport, telecoms and security benefits should at least prove longer-lasting – and better-used – than the more remote and over-sized new stadia such as Nelspruit or Polokwane.
And the competition has certainly done much for the country’s confidence and morale, providing an intangible feelgood factor that has inevitably fuelled talk of a Durban Olympics bid for 2020 or 2024.
But Monday morning could bring an emotional comedown, even ahead of the damaging practical effects of the World Cup circus packing up and jetting off.
Even Danny Jordaan, the organising committee’s chief executive and leading campaigner for a South African World Cup since 1994, admits: ‘For a while we will be depressed.
‘But we can hold our heads high, knowing we have surpassed all expectations.’
Amid the more eye-popping warnings from campaigners, thousands could be added to the country’s already-growing jobless lists as the World Cup bubble bursts.
And senior politicians – including United Nations leaders and the Nelson Mandela Foundation – fear mounting unrest and rivalry for work could spark a new wave of deadly xenophobic attacks.
Many people have been working on fixed-term projects such as the new World Cup stadia only just finished in time or the £2.2billion Johannesburg-Pretoria ‘Gautrain’ railway.
There have already been complaints about local firms being frozen out of producing memorabilia, with contracts instead going overseas.
Street vendors have also faced crackdowns due to deals with sponsors including Budweiser and Adidas.
Yet not everyone will be frantically pounding calculators, working out just how beneficial this tournament might have been beyond ‘merely’ the (eventually) exciting football.
Football’s world governing body Fifa knows it should pocket £2.1billion in profits, having already boasted of sitting on a £131million surplus.
Trebles all round!
*
PARIS Hilton can perhaps count herself lucky – some coming before the ruthless ‘World Cup courts’ have been handed lengthy jail sentences for even ‘minor’ offences such as possessing the drug ‘dagga’.
Then again, it was quite some feat for anyone or thing in the Port Elizabeth stadium that day to prove even dumber – and higher – than Robin Van Persie’s free-kick.
Some suggest what really got Jennifer Rovero into trouble is the fact dagga just isn’t an approved Official Sponsor drug of the 2010 FIFA World Cup ™.
And not just for those enjoying the special ‘locals’ prices’ in South Africa’s throbbing pubs and bars.
In city centres such as Pretoria and Johannesburg, foreigners are typically being charged three times as much for their drinks throughout the World Cup.
Locals, on the other hand, have been gifted ‘loyalty cards’, allowing them to escape any World Cup mark-up.
In keeping with the event’s hail-fellow-well-met vibe, however, many simply lend them to foreign guests at the bar – though with crucial words of advice.
It’s not enough to simply flourish a magic ticket – you have to be wise enough to order in Afrikaans.
Providing a warm welcome to the world has been no problem, but cannily and understandably cashing in at the same time has proved more of a challenge.
Estimates of World Cup visitor numbers, economic benefits and newly-created jobs have been flying around as haphazardly as a first-week Jabulani, and varying as dramatically as a Paraguayan team-sheet.
Latest claims suggest 1million new people entered the country in the last three months, up 25 per cent on the same period last year.
Yet those here just for the football are thought to number just 300,000 or so, forecasts having steadily fallen from the original 500,000 expected.
Pre-World Cup predictions had suggested 415,000 new jobs would be created and £4.8billion raised.
The South African government’s own £4billion infrastructure investment programme has inevitably been given a World Cup focus.
The transport, telecoms and security benefits should at least prove longer-lasting – and better-used – than the more remote and over-sized new stadia such as Nelspruit or Polokwane.
And the competition has certainly done much for the country’s confidence and morale, providing an intangible feelgood factor that has inevitably fuelled talk of a Durban Olympics bid for 2020 or 2024.
But Monday morning could bring an emotional comedown, even ahead of the damaging practical effects of the World Cup circus packing up and jetting off.
Even Danny Jordaan, the organising committee’s chief executive and leading campaigner for a South African World Cup since 1994, admits: ‘For a while we will be depressed.
‘But we can hold our heads high, knowing we have surpassed all expectations.’
Amid the more eye-popping warnings from campaigners, thousands could be added to the country’s already-growing jobless lists as the World Cup bubble bursts.
And senior politicians – including United Nations leaders and the Nelson Mandela Foundation – fear mounting unrest and rivalry for work could spark a new wave of deadly xenophobic attacks.
Many people have been working on fixed-term projects such as the new World Cup stadia only just finished in time or the £2.2billion Johannesburg-Pretoria ‘Gautrain’ railway.
There have already been complaints about local firms being frozen out of producing memorabilia, with contracts instead going overseas.
Street vendors have also faced crackdowns due to deals with sponsors including Budweiser and Adidas.
Yet not everyone will be frantically pounding calculators, working out just how beneficial this tournament might have been beyond ‘merely’ the (eventually) exciting football.
Football’s world governing body Fifa knows it should pocket £2.1billion in profits, having already boasted of sitting on a £131million surplus.
Trebles all round!
*
PARIS Hilton can perhaps count herself lucky – some coming before the ruthless ‘World Cup courts’ have been handed lengthy jail sentences for even ‘minor’ offences such as possessing the drug ‘dagga’.
Then again, it was quite some feat for anyone or thing in the Port Elizabeth stadium that day to prove even dumber – and higher – than Robin Van Persie’s free-kick.
Some suggest what really got Jennifer Rovero into trouble is the fact dagga just isn’t an approved Official Sponsor drug of the 2010 FIFA World Cup ™.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
"Do you remember Walter...?"
THE FIRST England manager – but, alas, not the last – to lead a woeful World Cup campaign had it easy, Fabio Capello might well moan.
So little was thought of Walter Winterbottom, one paper mentioned him just twice during the 1950 tournament.
Once when he advised his players to take afternoon naps, once when he checked hotel chefs could serve steak-and-kidney pudding.
England’s performances this summer can hardly have been less stodgy.
Yet Capello is not the only coach now commanding more column inches than his players have had hot dinners.
The cult of the manager scales new peaks - perhaps aptly, when such superstars as Rooney, Ronaldo and Kaka have been as anonymous as cartoon mascot Zakumi.
At least the leopard can blame vuvuzelas for stealing his symbolic South African thunder.
This World Cup has boasted perhaps the most experienced and prize-laden line-up of coaches, from the trophy-hoarding likes of Capello, Lippi and Hitzfeld to airmile-collectors Le Guen, Queiroz and Eriksson.
Yet after Raymond Domenech’s rudeness, Marcelo Lippi’s melodramatic mea culpa and Matjaz Kek’s press conference punchiness, the four left standing are among the least obtrusive of the lot.
At his second World Cup, Uruguay’s Oscar Tabarez – once Capello’s unfortunate and all-too-brief Milan successor - has been coldly ruthless in killing off not just one but two African challenges.
In those mad final moments against Ghana – sorry, ‘BaGhana BaGhana’ - on Friday, he kept somehow calm amid the most fearsome racket outside Rafael Nadal’s left hand.
His shuttling of the transformed Diego Forlan between poacher and playmaker roles has been inspired, while midfield toilers Perez and Arevalo back up the style – and guile – of Luis Suarez.
Spain’s hangdog Vicente del Bosque – a Champions League double-winning Real Madrid reject – might just be the politest coach here, perhaps why he’s now being linked with Japan.
Not only is he sharing the cameo roles between all of his substitutes, he still insists Fernando Torres is both fit and in-form.
No such delicacy from Holland’s Bert van Marwijk, a grizzled misery whenever dragged away from tinkling the ivories in his hotel lobby.
Yet he has achieved a near-miracle by dragging functional and – just about – unified performances from another traditionally-fractious Dutch squad.
Almost as mysterious is how his son-in-law Mark Van Bommel escaped a second World Cup booking, enjoying the good fortune denied Germany’s Thomas Muller.
Of the semi-final four, Germany’s Joachim Low is the most media-savvy ‘star’ – not something foreseen in unspectacular slogs with clubs in Austria and Turkey.
The suave German coach – well, as suave as cardigan-wearer can be – bears his worldliness rather better than Ghana’s Milovan Rajevac or Paraguay’s Gerardo Martino, men who look to have lived hard lives.
Not just hard lives, but a heavy night before – with Rajevac looking rather like Rising Damp’s Rigsby and Martino rivalling Jose Antonio Camacho as ‘World’s Sweatiest Manager’.
Tabarez may be dubbed the ‘Maestro’, for his schoolteacher previous.
But Low can bear the air of a slightly-smug, just-about-patient lecturer, explaining his schemes to split England’s leaden centre-backs apart or repeatedly tear down Argentina’s right like identifying a computer game glitch.
Curious to recall Capello came into the World Cup with a lavish new contract, while German talks were put icily on ice – the then-unloved Low condemned for alleged greed.
Some reports suggest his contract technically expired last Wednesday, making Saturday’s Argentina annihilation one he provided auf dem Haus.
Not a bad bargaining chip to play against the German FA, who got lucky themselves when landed with Jurgen Klinsmann’s little-heralded assistant six years ago.
If there is, though, no German reunification for Low and his own FA chiefs, perhaps ours might consider a job offer come August.
Doing so might not make us any better – but, after seeing the effect even on Capello, it might be our best hope of making Germans worse.
Even if poor neglected Walter, way back when, might have found such stuff impossible to swallow.
So little was thought of Walter Winterbottom, one paper mentioned him just twice during the 1950 tournament.
Once when he advised his players to take afternoon naps, once when he checked hotel chefs could serve steak-and-kidney pudding.
England’s performances this summer can hardly have been less stodgy.
Yet Capello is not the only coach now commanding more column inches than his players have had hot dinners.
The cult of the manager scales new peaks - perhaps aptly, when such superstars as Rooney, Ronaldo and Kaka have been as anonymous as cartoon mascot Zakumi.
At least the leopard can blame vuvuzelas for stealing his symbolic South African thunder.
This World Cup has boasted perhaps the most experienced and prize-laden line-up of coaches, from the trophy-hoarding likes of Capello, Lippi and Hitzfeld to airmile-collectors Le Guen, Queiroz and Eriksson.
Yet after Raymond Domenech’s rudeness, Marcelo Lippi’s melodramatic mea culpa and Matjaz Kek’s press conference punchiness, the four left standing are among the least obtrusive of the lot.
At his second World Cup, Uruguay’s Oscar Tabarez – once Capello’s unfortunate and all-too-brief Milan successor - has been coldly ruthless in killing off not just one but two African challenges.
In those mad final moments against Ghana – sorry, ‘BaGhana BaGhana’ - on Friday, he kept somehow calm amid the most fearsome racket outside Rafael Nadal’s left hand.
His shuttling of the transformed Diego Forlan between poacher and playmaker roles has been inspired, while midfield toilers Perez and Arevalo back up the style – and guile – of Luis Suarez.
Spain’s hangdog Vicente del Bosque – a Champions League double-winning Real Madrid reject – might just be the politest coach here, perhaps why he’s now being linked with Japan.
Not only is he sharing the cameo roles between all of his substitutes, he still insists Fernando Torres is both fit and in-form.
No such delicacy from Holland’s Bert van Marwijk, a grizzled misery whenever dragged away from tinkling the ivories in his hotel lobby.
Yet he has achieved a near-miracle by dragging functional and – just about – unified performances from another traditionally-fractious Dutch squad.
Almost as mysterious is how his son-in-law Mark Van Bommel escaped a second World Cup booking, enjoying the good fortune denied Germany’s Thomas Muller.
Of the semi-final four, Germany’s Joachim Low is the most media-savvy ‘star’ – not something foreseen in unspectacular slogs with clubs in Austria and Turkey.
The suave German coach – well, as suave as cardigan-wearer can be – bears his worldliness rather better than Ghana’s Milovan Rajevac or Paraguay’s Gerardo Martino, men who look to have lived hard lives.
Not just hard lives, but a heavy night before – with Rajevac looking rather like Rising Damp’s Rigsby and Martino rivalling Jose Antonio Camacho as ‘World’s Sweatiest Manager’.
Tabarez may be dubbed the ‘Maestro’, for his schoolteacher previous.
But Low can bear the air of a slightly-smug, just-about-patient lecturer, explaining his schemes to split England’s leaden centre-backs apart or repeatedly tear down Argentina’s right like identifying a computer game glitch.
Curious to recall Capello came into the World Cup with a lavish new contract, while German talks were put icily on ice – the then-unloved Low condemned for alleged greed.
Some reports suggest his contract technically expired last Wednesday, making Saturday’s Argentina annihilation one he provided auf dem Haus.
Not a bad bargaining chip to play against the German FA, who got lucky themselves when landed with Jurgen Klinsmann’s little-heralded assistant six years ago.
If there is, though, no German reunification for Low and his own FA chiefs, perhaps ours might consider a job offer come August.
Doing so might not make us any better – but, after seeing the effect even on Capello, it might be our best hope of making Germans worse.
Even if poor neglected Walter, way back when, might have found such stuff impossible to swallow.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
"Mit der Bang, mit der Boom, mit der Bing-Bang Bing-Bang Boom..."
SO it was nothing like anything before, after all.
None of the closeness of, in their different ways, 1986 or four years later – even if today’s game was settled by Klose.
No chance for Messi to squeeze a match-winning performance out of himself – or the German defence – as Maradona had ultimately done 24 years ago.
Nor the kind of Argentine self-combustion, or German drabness, that characterised the turning of the tables four years later.
Argentina even took today’s 4-0 quarter-final trouncing with good grace, Maradona raging but perhaps mostly at himself – Messi sunk in sad resignation, before sobbing behind closed dressing-room doors.
But it was the way Germany performed such a demolition job that was both brutal and unique – unless you were to count, say, last Sunday’s dismantling of England.
This was another devastating display by Joachim Low’s renovated, re-energised side, doing the unpicking of Argentina that many had forecast – but not in quite such an exhilarating fashion.
Perhaps it was the early goal that was most important, slackness from Nicholas Otamendi – for the first but not the last time today, alas – allowing young-man-of-the-moment Thomas Muller to glance Germany into the lead.
How they might recover from going behind is a challenge for Spain or (presumably not) Paraguay to discover.
Yet for all the Argentine pressure to respond, the probing of Messi or the usual lung-busting from Tevez, the German defence proved impregnable throughout.
Messi was restricted to daftly-lofted, long range shots, while Di Maria stayed bafflingly isolated out on the right – barely given a run down his more natural left, though even there he might well have been stymised by the impeccable Philipp Lahm.
As against England, a 15-20-minute spell at the start of the second half looked the most likely time for an equaliser, but Germany remained stout – parking the VW camper van, perhaps?
Mertesacker and Friedrich hardly allowed any space behind them, while Schweinsteiger and Khedira maintained a kind of forcefield in front – and confident young ‘keeper Manuel Neuer gave an uncompromising wallop to any cross coming his way.
Schweinsteiger was, as against England, immense – performing both a composed role as a defensive shield, ushering the ball out of defence and into attack with briskness, and again occasionally remembering he used to be a pretty decent winger.
The slithering run through the Argentine defence, to tee up Germany’s third for Friedrich, was Messi-esquely irresistible – even if said Argentine defence included the lesser-tackling likes of Higuain and Di Maria.
Even when Argentina were battering at Germany’s door without the merest shaving slicing off, Maradona was maybe to slow to refresh his own, increasingly tired-looking team.
Milito was about to come on, perhaps for a blunt-again Higuain, only for Podolski’s scything run and Klose’s poached finish to double Germany’s lead – and effectively settle the game.
Pastore was eventually given 20 minutes to add to his meagre 16 before now, while Veron stayed on the bench throughout – presumably injured, especially since his presence had allegedly helped keep Cambiasso and Zanetti cast out of the squad.
But by the end, Argentina looked and were well-beaten, suffocated at one end and exposed at the other by a German team high on high-energy youth and vigour, counter-attacking cleverness – and unselfish teamwork.
Spain look about the most likely – or even the only – side who could outpass and outclass them. Simply by denying even these Germans the ball, especially with Muller so harshly suspended.
Schweinsteiger’s passing stats from today – just 52 from 84 were actually completed – are somewhat surprising, much less impressive or describe than his overall performance really proved to be.
No such supposed ‘slacking’ is likely from Spain. But now it’s Germany setting a very high standard, not necessarily for dominating possession but doing the most ruthless things with the ball.
Ruthless and efficient, those hoary old clichés – but undoubtedly attractive as well.
None of the closeness of, in their different ways, 1986 or four years later – even if today’s game was settled by Klose.
No chance for Messi to squeeze a match-winning performance out of himself – or the German defence – as Maradona had ultimately done 24 years ago.
Nor the kind of Argentine self-combustion, or German drabness, that characterised the turning of the tables four years later.
Argentina even took today’s 4-0 quarter-final trouncing with good grace, Maradona raging but perhaps mostly at himself – Messi sunk in sad resignation, before sobbing behind closed dressing-room doors.
But it was the way Germany performed such a demolition job that was both brutal and unique – unless you were to count, say, last Sunday’s dismantling of England.
This was another devastating display by Joachim Low’s renovated, re-energised side, doing the unpicking of Argentina that many had forecast – but not in quite such an exhilarating fashion.
Perhaps it was the early goal that was most important, slackness from Nicholas Otamendi – for the first but not the last time today, alas – allowing young-man-of-the-moment Thomas Muller to glance Germany into the lead.
How they might recover from going behind is a challenge for Spain or (presumably not) Paraguay to discover.
Yet for all the Argentine pressure to respond, the probing of Messi or the usual lung-busting from Tevez, the German defence proved impregnable throughout.
Messi was restricted to daftly-lofted, long range shots, while Di Maria stayed bafflingly isolated out on the right – barely given a run down his more natural left, though even there he might well have been stymised by the impeccable Philipp Lahm.
As against England, a 15-20-minute spell at the start of the second half looked the most likely time for an equaliser, but Germany remained stout – parking the VW camper van, perhaps?
Mertesacker and Friedrich hardly allowed any space behind them, while Schweinsteiger and Khedira maintained a kind of forcefield in front – and confident young ‘keeper Manuel Neuer gave an uncompromising wallop to any cross coming his way.
Schweinsteiger was, as against England, immense – performing both a composed role as a defensive shield, ushering the ball out of defence and into attack with briskness, and again occasionally remembering he used to be a pretty decent winger.
The slithering run through the Argentine defence, to tee up Germany’s third for Friedrich, was Messi-esquely irresistible – even if said Argentine defence included the lesser-tackling likes of Higuain and Di Maria.
Even when Argentina were battering at Germany’s door without the merest shaving slicing off, Maradona was maybe to slow to refresh his own, increasingly tired-looking team.
Milito was about to come on, perhaps for a blunt-again Higuain, only for Podolski’s scything run and Klose’s poached finish to double Germany’s lead – and effectively settle the game.
Pastore was eventually given 20 minutes to add to his meagre 16 before now, while Veron stayed on the bench throughout – presumably injured, especially since his presence had allegedly helped keep Cambiasso and Zanetti cast out of the squad.
But by the end, Argentina looked and were well-beaten, suffocated at one end and exposed at the other by a German team high on high-energy youth and vigour, counter-attacking cleverness – and unselfish teamwork.
Spain look about the most likely – or even the only – side who could outpass and outclass them. Simply by denying even these Germans the ball, especially with Muller so harshly suspended.
Schweinsteiger’s passing stats from today – just 52 from 84 were actually completed – are somewhat surprising, much less impressive or describe than his overall performance really proved to be.
No such supposed ‘slacking’ is likely from Spain. But now it’s Germany setting a very high standard, not necessarily for dominating possession but doing the most ruthless things with the ball.
Ruthless and efficient, those hoary old clichés – but undoubtedly attractive as well.
"And now you're gonna believe us, we've got the Argentinas..."
IF YOU’RE only ever going to play two minutes of World Cup football, then Marcelo Trobbiani’s might be hard to beat.
He may not have scored the winner when appearing – briefly – for Argentina, in their 3-2 victory over West Germany in the 1986 final (the first I remember watching, aptly rapt).
In fact, he was replacing the man who had just scampered on to Diego Maradona’s needle-threaded through-ball to restore, this time decisively, Argentina’s lead.
But with the West Germans finally flagging, with no hope of clawing their way back into the match once more, Trobbiani could come on for the last two minutes of stoppage-time – just, well, to be there.
And while the one touch of the ball he did manage wasn’t the winner, or even a goal, or even an assist, it was simply stylish.
Just for being a backheel, the insouciance of a man who – having failed to feature in any of the preceding six matches – knows by just walking on to the pitch he’s strode into history. However glancingly.
Today’s quarter-final between Argentina and Germany has become the must-see match of the tournament so far, especially with Maradona not at the helm – however quixotically – of an Argentina team who have gone from abysmal in the qualifiers to rampant in the tournament itself.
Germany may have been a refreshing pleasure to watch so far, at least against Australia and England when Mesut Ozil has been dodging the attempts of defence or midfielder markers to tie him down or freeze him out. His passing and shooting have both been deft, but even without touching the ball he’s made opponents look leaden.
Plenty of credit, too, to Low’s mid-Euro 2008 rethink, the 4-2-3-1 revamp that so unsettled Portugal in the quarter-finals - now boosted further by Michael Ballack’s absence and the maturing of Bastian Schweinsteiger in a controlling new role.
Yet if any holding midfield enforcer is to keep Ozul quiet, then it should be Javier Mascherano – another dedicated yellow card-collector, but an expert reader of opposing attacks.
Like Butch Cassidy – he got vision, and the rest of the world (cup)’s wearing bifocals. Especially such squinters as, say, Vince Grella or Gareth Barry. Even Anthony Annan, industrious as ever, let Ozul slip his shackles for one punished moment.
While Ozil might be expected to dovetail with Muller down the wings, Messi this tournament has been more often picking up the ball in central positions – and with plenty of the pitch ahead of him.
Whether Schweinsteiger and Sami Khedira can not only keep him tightly enough constrained – and who better to wriggle free, but Messi – could be crucial.
Especially since, behind them, Friedrich and Mertesacker have looked vulnerable when exposed – and will also have the likes of Tevez and Higuain to trouble them anyway, whether the defence is being turned or being dragged wide.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of my childhood bedroom – how spoilt my brother and I must have been, I realise – watching that 1986 final, even the eight-year-old mini-me could appreciate the villainous Maradona by then.
We’d already seen him close at, er, hand, having such ball-juggling fun in a Spurs shirt for Ossie Ardiles’s White Hart Lane testimonial the previous year.
He remains exhilarating to watch, whether demanding a football dance to his command, or compelling a Press pack to virtually eat out of that famous hand.
Just some of the 1986 final’s compelling competitiveness, lurching momentum, and irresistible flow of a football would be a treat today – hey, just half of last night’s drama should be enough to exhaust.
Let’s just draw a discreet veil over one rematch, that 1990 climax that was anything but. No one, not even Andreas Brehme’s nearest and dearest, could surely bear to see something like that again...
He may not have scored the winner when appearing – briefly – for Argentina, in their 3-2 victory over West Germany in the 1986 final (the first I remember watching, aptly rapt).
In fact, he was replacing the man who had just scampered on to Diego Maradona’s needle-threaded through-ball to restore, this time decisively, Argentina’s lead.
But with the West Germans finally flagging, with no hope of clawing their way back into the match once more, Trobbiani could come on for the last two minutes of stoppage-time – just, well, to be there.
And while the one touch of the ball he did manage wasn’t the winner, or even a goal, or even an assist, it was simply stylish.
Just for being a backheel, the insouciance of a man who – having failed to feature in any of the preceding six matches – knows by just walking on to the pitch he’s strode into history. However glancingly.
Today’s quarter-final between Argentina and Germany has become the must-see match of the tournament so far, especially with Maradona not at the helm – however quixotically – of an Argentina team who have gone from abysmal in the qualifiers to rampant in the tournament itself.
Germany may have been a refreshing pleasure to watch so far, at least against Australia and England when Mesut Ozil has been dodging the attempts of defence or midfielder markers to tie him down or freeze him out. His passing and shooting have both been deft, but even without touching the ball he’s made opponents look leaden.
Plenty of credit, too, to Low’s mid-Euro 2008 rethink, the 4-2-3-1 revamp that so unsettled Portugal in the quarter-finals - now boosted further by Michael Ballack’s absence and the maturing of Bastian Schweinsteiger in a controlling new role.
Yet if any holding midfield enforcer is to keep Ozul quiet, then it should be Javier Mascherano – another dedicated yellow card-collector, but an expert reader of opposing attacks.
Like Butch Cassidy – he got vision, and the rest of the world (cup)’s wearing bifocals. Especially such squinters as, say, Vince Grella or Gareth Barry. Even Anthony Annan, industrious as ever, let Ozul slip his shackles for one punished moment.
While Ozil might be expected to dovetail with Muller down the wings, Messi this tournament has been more often picking up the ball in central positions – and with plenty of the pitch ahead of him.
Whether Schweinsteiger and Sami Khedira can not only keep him tightly enough constrained – and who better to wriggle free, but Messi – could be crucial.
Especially since, behind them, Friedrich and Mertesacker have looked vulnerable when exposed – and will also have the likes of Tevez and Higuain to trouble them anyway, whether the defence is being turned or being dragged wide.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of my childhood bedroom – how spoilt my brother and I must have been, I realise – watching that 1986 final, even the eight-year-old mini-me could appreciate the villainous Maradona by then.
We’d already seen him close at, er, hand, having such ball-juggling fun in a Spurs shirt for Ossie Ardiles’s White Hart Lane testimonial the previous year.
He remains exhilarating to watch, whether demanding a football dance to his command, or compelling a Press pack to virtually eat out of that famous hand.
Just some of the 1986 final’s compelling competitiveness, lurching momentum, and irresistible flow of a football would be a treat today – hey, just half of last night’s drama should be enough to exhaust.
Let’s just draw a discreet veil over one rematch, that 1990 climax that was anything but. No one, not even Andreas Brehme’s nearest and dearest, could surely bear to see something like that again...
Friday, July 02, 2010
Blame it on the Black Stars...
WELL, where do you begin with all that? Probably at the end, a very good place to start.
Or, at least, what should have been the end, but wasn’t quite.
The penalty box pinball, the Luis Suarez handball on the goal-line, Luis Suarez’s post-red card tears on the touchline, Luis Suarez’s post-penalty turn and air-punching and cheers halfway down the tunnel, after Asamoah Gyan’s penalty lofts up on to the crossbar and over.
All this in stoppage-time of extra-time in a World Cup quarter-final in the World Cup’s heartland stadium.
And all this accompanied by the most fearsome, awesome din, within the red-hot ‘calabash’ – or should that be, cauldron? – Soccer City.
Tonight, perhaps even more so than any of the three South Africa matches, the vuvuzelas really came into their own as ‘BaGhana BaGhana’ came so close to becoming the continent’s first World Cup semi-finalists.
Ah, but alas, someone must have stuffed the wrong final page into the script for tonight – for Ghana, for apparently Africa and certainly the 80,000+ here tonight cheering any Uruguayan error with as much hearty passion as they bestowed on Ghana’s positive play.
For the third time this tournament, Ghana were gifted a penalty due to handball, with Suarez proving as generous as Serbia’s Kuzmanovic and Australia’s Kewell.
Yet it was third time unlucky for Gyan, who may now sadly face rather more of the barracking back home in Ghana that almost prompted his international retirement two years ago.
He deserves admiration for, just a few minutes later, lofting a very similar spot-kick high into the net to level the shoot-out at 1-1.
Unfortunately, his captain John Mensah would then be audacious in his own way – but, despite the name, rather dumb – with a stodgy one-paced run-up and unconvincing prod straight at Fernando Muslera.
Maxi Pereira’s next spot-kick for Uruguay was as bad, but just differently, with a satellite-endangering effort, compared to which Chris Waddle’s was a daisy-cutter.
Yet it was then, oh dear, Odiyiah, and Inter Milan rookie Dominic saw his shot saved by Muslera, and phew, Abreu, as lumbering, lanky Sebastian gave Uruguay victory with that rare thing: a “Panenka” which was actually sad to see.
Ah, but the match itself … well, it was just a bit better than the ordeal which dragged all the way through to this tournament’s previous penalty shoot-out, the turgid clash between Japan and Paraguay.
Suarez’s selfless act at the death came after 120 minutes of selfishness at the other end, too often snatching at half-chances when colleagues might have been better positioned – or simply blasting witlessly at Richard Kingson or high and wide.
Yet Ghana too had their opportunities, often rather more clear-cut than Uruguay’s, especially after a first half-hour in which they looked in danger of being over-run and outclassed by the ever-probing Diego Forlan.
After being so impressed by the diligent Anthony Annan before now, it was a little dismaying to see him so sloppy in both passing and ball control this evening.
Both he and his team-mates looked a little nervy, perhaps feeling not the ‘ayoba’ but the weight of expectation – or, at least, ardent pan-African hope – now piled upon them.
Yet the sudden surge out of nowhere by Isaac Vorsah at a corner, when he thudded a header wide that should really have hit the target, appeared to inspire Ghana and inject them with confidence.
Kevin-Prince Boateng, especially, who responded to that miss with arm-pumping gestures either to his colleagues – or the crowd – and then a driving run that almost created the opener for Gyan.
Sulley Muntari’s blasé turn and sweeping shot past Muslera from about 40 yards ended the first half startlingly – though this was, of course, merely a taste of climactic action to come.
Forlan, conducting the game with such composure throughout, swirled in a typically elegant equaliser not long into the second half, and always looked dangerous – whether floating through midfield or fluttering wide and on the tip of offside.
Substitute playmaker Nicolas Lodeiro also enjoyed a rather more productive cameo than against France – then again, it could hardly be worse.
He provided neat and precises touches as Uruguay battled to weather Ghana’s extra-time storm, which at times had the four front players bombing forward as if racing each other to reach Muslera first.
Extra-time was end-to-end indeed, though Ghana had the stronger of the last five minutes, backed by a crazy crescendo of vuvuzela din from all those draped or painted in Ghana colours and brandishing banners urging them to ‘Make Africa proud’.
It was only when Abreu’s penalty dropped daintily in that the stadium seemed to empty, in an instant, of both sound and population, as this particular African dream died.
By the time the final rolls around, ‘ayoba’ should reassert itself and the distinctive host nation flavouring prioritised above pan-continental loyalties – but tonight there was a touching desperation to the belief invested in a neighbour.
Uruguay perhaps deserved a little more acclaim than merely the pantomime jeers and whistles greeting their every injury, but they had their part to play tonight – it just proved to be party-pooping done with both style … and guile.
Even as he misses the semi-final through suspension, Suarez certainly got away with it. All of Ghana, even Africa, will also miss out on Tuesday – and will be missed.
Or, at least, what should have been the end, but wasn’t quite.
The penalty box pinball, the Luis Suarez handball on the goal-line, Luis Suarez’s post-red card tears on the touchline, Luis Suarez’s post-penalty turn and air-punching and cheers halfway down the tunnel, after Asamoah Gyan’s penalty lofts up on to the crossbar and over.
All this in stoppage-time of extra-time in a World Cup quarter-final in the World Cup’s heartland stadium.
And all this accompanied by the most fearsome, awesome din, within the red-hot ‘calabash’ – or should that be, cauldron? – Soccer City.
Tonight, perhaps even more so than any of the three South Africa matches, the vuvuzelas really came into their own as ‘BaGhana BaGhana’ came so close to becoming the continent’s first World Cup semi-finalists.
Ah, but alas, someone must have stuffed the wrong final page into the script for tonight – for Ghana, for apparently Africa and certainly the 80,000+ here tonight cheering any Uruguayan error with as much hearty passion as they bestowed on Ghana’s positive play.
For the third time this tournament, Ghana were gifted a penalty due to handball, with Suarez proving as generous as Serbia’s Kuzmanovic and Australia’s Kewell.
Yet it was third time unlucky for Gyan, who may now sadly face rather more of the barracking back home in Ghana that almost prompted his international retirement two years ago.
He deserves admiration for, just a few minutes later, lofting a very similar spot-kick high into the net to level the shoot-out at 1-1.
Unfortunately, his captain John Mensah would then be audacious in his own way – but, despite the name, rather dumb – with a stodgy one-paced run-up and unconvincing prod straight at Fernando Muslera.
Maxi Pereira’s next spot-kick for Uruguay was as bad, but just differently, with a satellite-endangering effort, compared to which Chris Waddle’s was a daisy-cutter.
Yet it was then, oh dear, Odiyiah, and Inter Milan rookie Dominic saw his shot saved by Muslera, and phew, Abreu, as lumbering, lanky Sebastian gave Uruguay victory with that rare thing: a “Panenka” which was actually sad to see.
Ah, but the match itself … well, it was just a bit better than the ordeal which dragged all the way through to this tournament’s previous penalty shoot-out, the turgid clash between Japan and Paraguay.
Suarez’s selfless act at the death came after 120 minutes of selfishness at the other end, too often snatching at half-chances when colleagues might have been better positioned – or simply blasting witlessly at Richard Kingson or high and wide.
Yet Ghana too had their opportunities, often rather more clear-cut than Uruguay’s, especially after a first half-hour in which they looked in danger of being over-run and outclassed by the ever-probing Diego Forlan.
After being so impressed by the diligent Anthony Annan before now, it was a little dismaying to see him so sloppy in both passing and ball control this evening.
Both he and his team-mates looked a little nervy, perhaps feeling not the ‘ayoba’ but the weight of expectation – or, at least, ardent pan-African hope – now piled upon them.
Yet the sudden surge out of nowhere by Isaac Vorsah at a corner, when he thudded a header wide that should really have hit the target, appeared to inspire Ghana and inject them with confidence.
Kevin-Prince Boateng, especially, who responded to that miss with arm-pumping gestures either to his colleagues – or the crowd – and then a driving run that almost created the opener for Gyan.
Sulley Muntari’s blasé turn and sweeping shot past Muslera from about 40 yards ended the first half startlingly – though this was, of course, merely a taste of climactic action to come.
Forlan, conducting the game with such composure throughout, swirled in a typically elegant equaliser not long into the second half, and always looked dangerous – whether floating through midfield or fluttering wide and on the tip of offside.
Substitute playmaker Nicolas Lodeiro also enjoyed a rather more productive cameo than against France – then again, it could hardly be worse.
He provided neat and precises touches as Uruguay battled to weather Ghana’s extra-time storm, which at times had the four front players bombing forward as if racing each other to reach Muslera first.
Extra-time was end-to-end indeed, though Ghana had the stronger of the last five minutes, backed by a crazy crescendo of vuvuzela din from all those draped or painted in Ghana colours and brandishing banners urging them to ‘Make Africa proud’.
It was only when Abreu’s penalty dropped daintily in that the stadium seemed to empty, in an instant, of both sound and population, as this particular African dream died.
By the time the final rolls around, ‘ayoba’ should reassert itself and the distinctive host nation flavouring prioritised above pan-continental loyalties – but tonight there was a touching desperation to the belief invested in a neighbour.
Uruguay perhaps deserved a little more acclaim than merely the pantomime jeers and whistles greeting their every injury, but they had their part to play tonight – it just proved to be party-pooping done with both style … and guile.
Even as he misses the semi-final through suspension, Suarez certainly got away with it. All of Ghana, even Africa, will also miss out on Tuesday – and will be missed.
"Ain't understanding Melo..."
DUNGA and Brazil had already been jolted out of their comfort zone even before Felipe Melo inexplicably lost the plot and cost his country World Cup glory.
Even as fans were still streaming away from Monday night’s emphatic win over Chile, Dunga was moaning about having to up sticks from their favourite Bloemfontein hotel and hit the road for the rest of the tournament.
‘It does interfere with our original plans because we were very well settled in our hotel in a very favourable atmosphere,’ he pouted, the poor lamb.
‘Now obviously we’re going to have to move from city to city, hotel to hotel, and this generates a certain degree of confusion.
‘But we only consider each situation game by game, though it would be advantageous to stay where we are. It has good training conditions.
‘We’re now going to have to confront a new situation, a new reality.’
Well, he need worry no longer, since soon he should find himself safely ensconced in home, unsweet home, after this afternoon’s elimination by the Dutch in Port Elizabeth.
Dunga was already distrusted by many Selecao supporters for his perceived negativity in team selection, both in defensive tactics and the exclusion of names such as Ronaldinho and Alexandre Pato.
Presumably, despite earlier Copa America and Confederations Cup glory, demands for Dunga’s head will make Fabio Capello look like a national treasure by comparison.
Yet in calculated measures against Chile, and for the first half today, Brazil looked to have the right blend of thrilling skill – and discipline.
It was the Dutch team, after four underwhelming wins in a row, who opened today’s match looking suddenly incoherent, especially the increasingly-antsy Robin van Persie and an Arjen Robben over-reliant on his favourite trick of cutting in from the right.
Robinho, in contrast, was proving much more elusive and penetrating, especially faced by a Dutch defence being properly tested for the first time by an opponent – and also disrupted by the last-minute injury to Joris Mathijsen.
Surely they could come up with a more reassuring reserve than Blackburn reject Andre Ooijer? Then again, seeing Khalid Boulahrouz next in line on the bench, perhaps not…
The through-ball bisecting the Dutch defence for Robinho’s opening goal was planted uncharacteristly sweetly Felipe Melo, at least.
But while the organisation of the Dutch defence was so haphazard, the Brazilians went one worse in the second half when opponents who had looked clueless before half-time were given a lifeline.
Julio Cesar, regularly described as one of the best goalkeepers in the world, should have done better – or, at least, something – when Wesley Sneijder’s free-kick curled past him and off Melo’s head into the net.
Substitute goalkeeper Heurelho Gomes would surely never have allowed such a soft goal to go in like that.
Presumably he’d either have given the ball a thumping punch clear – or given Melo’s head a thumping punch well out of the way.
Melo was to blame again for not marking stringently enough when Sneijder nodded in what proved to be the winner, from a corner that swept across the box like a stone skipping across water.
And, just for the hat-trick, Melo ensured not only his own Juventus fans will despise him by getting sent off for a daft stamp on Robben – before looking about as bemusingly nonchalant as anyone can be, having just killed off an entire country’s World Cup ambitions.
The whole team seemed to follow him in losing the plot after that.
Kaka’s close control was nowhere near as impeccable as usual, Dani Alves’ set-pieces were getting no better, and there was no real intelligent interplay or drive from the midfield onwards – especially in the absence of Ramires and the presence of Gilberto Silva.
Despite Sneijder again pressing his case for this year’s Ballon d’Or, the Dutch still looked unconvincing, with Kuyt anonymous save for a few ineffectual trudges and Marc van Bommel a walking red-card-in-waiting.
Perhaps those celebrating most will be whoever wins here in Soccer City this evening, as all Africa – well, most of it, surely, anyway – throws its hollersome weight behind Ghana.
Or, as today’s South African papers insist: ‘BaGhana BaGhana’.
Rather endearing? Or just a bit desperate? One or the other, at least – perhaps both...
Even as fans were still streaming away from Monday night’s emphatic win over Chile, Dunga was moaning about having to up sticks from their favourite Bloemfontein hotel and hit the road for the rest of the tournament.
‘It does interfere with our original plans because we were very well settled in our hotel in a very favourable atmosphere,’ he pouted, the poor lamb.
‘Now obviously we’re going to have to move from city to city, hotel to hotel, and this generates a certain degree of confusion.
‘But we only consider each situation game by game, though it would be advantageous to stay where we are. It has good training conditions.
‘We’re now going to have to confront a new situation, a new reality.’
Well, he need worry no longer, since soon he should find himself safely ensconced in home, unsweet home, after this afternoon’s elimination by the Dutch in Port Elizabeth.
Dunga was already distrusted by many Selecao supporters for his perceived negativity in team selection, both in defensive tactics and the exclusion of names such as Ronaldinho and Alexandre Pato.
Presumably, despite earlier Copa America and Confederations Cup glory, demands for Dunga’s head will make Fabio Capello look like a national treasure by comparison.
Yet in calculated measures against Chile, and for the first half today, Brazil looked to have the right blend of thrilling skill – and discipline.
It was the Dutch team, after four underwhelming wins in a row, who opened today’s match looking suddenly incoherent, especially the increasingly-antsy Robin van Persie and an Arjen Robben over-reliant on his favourite trick of cutting in from the right.
Robinho, in contrast, was proving much more elusive and penetrating, especially faced by a Dutch defence being properly tested for the first time by an opponent – and also disrupted by the last-minute injury to Joris Mathijsen.
Surely they could come up with a more reassuring reserve than Blackburn reject Andre Ooijer? Then again, seeing Khalid Boulahrouz next in line on the bench, perhaps not…
The through-ball bisecting the Dutch defence for Robinho’s opening goal was planted uncharacteristly sweetly Felipe Melo, at least.
But while the organisation of the Dutch defence was so haphazard, the Brazilians went one worse in the second half when opponents who had looked clueless before half-time were given a lifeline.
Julio Cesar, regularly described as one of the best goalkeepers in the world, should have done better – or, at least, something – when Wesley Sneijder’s free-kick curled past him and off Melo’s head into the net.
Substitute goalkeeper Heurelho Gomes would surely never have allowed such a soft goal to go in like that.
Presumably he’d either have given the ball a thumping punch clear – or given Melo’s head a thumping punch well out of the way.
Melo was to blame again for not marking stringently enough when Sneijder nodded in what proved to be the winner, from a corner that swept across the box like a stone skipping across water.
And, just for the hat-trick, Melo ensured not only his own Juventus fans will despise him by getting sent off for a daft stamp on Robben – before looking about as bemusingly nonchalant as anyone can be, having just killed off an entire country’s World Cup ambitions.
The whole team seemed to follow him in losing the plot after that.
Kaka’s close control was nowhere near as impeccable as usual, Dani Alves’ set-pieces were getting no better, and there was no real intelligent interplay or drive from the midfield onwards – especially in the absence of Ramires and the presence of Gilberto Silva.
Despite Sneijder again pressing his case for this year’s Ballon d’Or, the Dutch still looked unconvincing, with Kuyt anonymous save for a few ineffectual trudges and Marc van Bommel a walking red-card-in-waiting.
Perhaps those celebrating most will be whoever wins here in Soccer City this evening, as all Africa – well, most of it, surely, anyway – throws its hollersome weight behind Ghana.
Or, as today’s South African papers insist: ‘BaGhana BaGhana’.
Rather endearing? Or just a bit desperate? One or the other, at least – perhaps both...
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
"You and I travel to the beat of a different drum..."
ENGLAND’S World Cup flops didn’t leave the World Cup entirely empty-handed – and that’s without counting the smokes and booze.
Ashley Cole and Jermain Defoe both have bulky new adornments for the mantelpiece, whether at Jermain’s dear old mum’s house or wherever Ashley lays his hat at nights these days.
In the face of non-existent competition, both players picked up official man of the match awards this summer – Cole against Algeria, Defoe versus Slovenia.
Not for prize sponsors Budweiser a same-old-same-old silver plate, trophy or figurine.
Instead, they are handing players a more distinctive keepsake, designed by a South African graduate and modelled on a traditional ‘djembe’ drum.
Jonathan Fundudis said he wanted his glass-and-wood sculpture to capture ‘the universal languages of rhythm and football in the form of an iconic African instrument’.
‘Drumming is an integral part of African life – it celebrates life and unity,’ he added.
‘The same can be said of this beautiful game of football – look at how the World Cup has unified our country.’
Ten players have received two of the trophies, including Keisuke Honda and Cristiano Ronaldo who both go home with three tucked under their arms.
But the drums now back on English soil might end up in a home no one could have expected – that is, poor hapless Emile Heskey’s.
As the England squad slunk off their plane at Heathrow on Tuesday morning, the misfiring striker’s young children could be seen playing with one of the prizes.
While, incidentally, grinning at the same time, but perhaps they at least can be let off for that.
*
WHAT with all their provocative cigar-smoking, lunch-guzzling, holiday-booking and – get this - smiling, England’s World Cup flops continue to leave a bad impression.
Yet they responded to earlier exits by enjoying a rather better impression.
It’s tricky to imagine Fabio Capello responding with calm if he caught a member of the England camp impersonating him behind his back.
Yes, even the rather desperate Capello of recent days, forcibly grinning Gordon Brown-style when joking about free beers or now pleading about how much he ‘likes’ his job.
Yet former FA insider Dan Freedman found himself confronted by Sven-Goran Eriksson in the hours after the 2002 quarter-final defeat to Brazil – and ordered to ‘do’ the Swede in front of the class, to help lighten the tension.
Freedman, now author of children’s football fiction including new book Man Of The Match, recalls: ‘He took it in good spirits, but I was absolutely full of nerves at the time.’
He now writes football novels for children about wonderkid winger Jamie Johnson, including new book Man Of The Match – promising a happier ending than England’s woeful World Cup.
‘I had to create Jamie Johnson because, at the moment, we simply don't have a player like him in reality,’ he added.
According to another incident Freedman remembers, Capello’s men might count themselves lucky only to be showered in abuse this time.
‘When we lost away in Croatia, some fans who were kept in the upper part of the ground after the game even urinated on the players as they made their way on to the team coach,’ he shuddered.
Perhaps the players’ displays this summer were their own way of doing it back.
*
LIONEL Messi is ‘The Spark’, Diego Forlan is ‘The Bomber’, David Villa is ‘The Blaze' and John Paintsil is ‘The Engine’.
No, it’s not the set-up for a new Fifa film franchise, a World Cup version of ‘The Fantastic Four’ – even if the basso profundo film-trailer voiceover man could really give some oomph to Bastian Schweinsteiger.
(‘The Illusionist, in case you were wondering – perhaps it was he who convinced Mauricio Espinosa the ball didn’t cross the line.)
Instead, these are just some of the try-hard titles given to a set of paintings on display in the swanky Johannesburg suburb of Sandton.
According to the exhibition’s major sportswear firm backers, Steve Gerrard is, apparently, ‘The Powerhouse’.
Alas, his portrait appears to have been based not on the kind of all-action display sadly missing this summer, but an old photo of Gerrard as a perky-faced schoolboy.
The kind of picture to make even the most rampant powerhouse wail: ‘Muuuuuum!’
Jozy Altidore, incidentally, is described as ‘The Trigger’, even if he played more like a carthorse last Saturday.
And here's Kaka, looking like his much-discussed fitness concerns aren't necessarily injury-related:
*
MISCHIEVOUS Diego Maradona keeps on happily lashing out at Press conferences that have had to become ticket-only.
Now Italian hardman Claudio Gentile has retaliated after being labelled ‘a killer’, by dismissing the Argentina coach as ‘a buffoon’.
The pair went toe to toe – or, rather, boot to shin – in a 1982 World Cup clash, after which the less-than-genteel Gentile reminded his indignant victim this wasn’t dancing-class.
Maradona could dish out a kicking himself, as shown by a red card that tournament and infamous streetfight-style footage from the 1984 Spanish Cup final.
Earlier this week, he condemned Ricardo La Volpe as ‘a traitor’ after the former Argentina goalkeeper and ex-Mexico coach said he would cheer on the Mexicans last Sunday.
Twenty years ago, Maradona was provocatively urging the locals to snub their own homeland and support Argentina in their Naples semi-final at Italia 90.
Consistency has never really been part of Maradona’s make-up – and perhaps that’s all just part of the fun.
*
AFTER all the doomy, gloomy fears and warnings yesterday finally brought the nightmare everyone knew must come but no one wanted to imagine.
For the first time in 20 days, there was not a single minute of live football.
And what’s more, there’s another 24 hours without it today.
Stay strong. Together we can get through this. See you on the other side.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
"All we are saying is give pace a chance..."
“We failed to slow them down.”
Perhaps it was just the customary sombre tone – and slumping head – that made Marcelo Bielsa’s resigned post-match verdict sound so sad, as if he was announcing the end of the world rather than Chile’s World Cup.
Yet there was something both poignant in his distress, and yet admirable in the reminder his words gave of Brazil’s thrilling pace in attack – and Chile’s valiant attempts to fight back.
Even when 3-0 down, an unfortunately emphatic scoreline, Bielsa’s now widely-admired team kept pressing, kept passing, kept trying to keep Brazil pinned back without sacrificing their own commitment to open spaces and fluid movement.
Quality tells in the end too, of course – meaning Brazil could not only ultimately overpower their willing opponents, but also counter-attack with more devastating effect than Portugal could manage 24 hours on.
Like their brothers-in-language, Portugal were set up against Spain to absorb pressure and hit back on the break.
But unlike Dunga’s men, Portugal lacked – as, seemingly, ever – a lethal finisher after the fashion of Luis Fabiano, or playmakers accelerating quite like Kaka or Robinho.
While Chile – as against Spain – hurtled forward from kick-off in high-energy style, they were a little too fuzzy up-front with enganche Jean Beausejour less menacing than he might have been on the wing – or Valdivia or Fernandez might have been in his place.
Humberto Suazo almost tried to do too much, proving somehow too elusive, as he flitted from tip of attack to deep in midfield – and claiming almost every set-piece for himself.
Yet they remained attractive to watch as ever, even after being undone by a quickfire brace – Juan’s basic pummelling header from a basic lofted corner, then a treat of technique linking Robinho, Kaka and scorer Fabiano.
Brazil’s third goal, while harsh, was another one whisked out of the (yellow-and-)blue, created by a driving-running Ramires and swept home by Santos homeboy, the rejuvenated Robinho.
Dunga, talking a surprisingly patient and informative game afterwards, suggested Robinho was now combining both tactical nous – and free-spirited fulfilment.
‘Robinho’s played in varied positions and he asked me, “What is my function?”
‘I asked if he didn’t feel a bit constrained with his positioning. He said, “No, I just want to play and I just want to score.”’
The man who once boasted of ‘no more joga bonito’ is placing trust in his players to at least make their own minds up, though evidently with instructions when it comes to defending – seven men, at least, back when conceding possession – and other (almost-paradoxical) commands to be flexible.
‘My players have the liberty to play,’ he insists.
‘I try to give them advice, to guide them to have the best performance. So we know when the midfield is very closed, we try to go down the flanks, for example.
‘We’re fortunate enough to have players who can play in different positions. Robinho can exchange positions with Kaka, for example.
‘Kaka moved more down the wings and Robinho’s positioning confused the Chilean defence a little bit and this allowed us to score.’
Very big on giving a ‘for example’ each time, perhaps this is Dunga the pragmatist, Dunga the empiricist.
But as Woody Allen’s new film suggests, Whatever Works, and so far the Brazilian approach does, and with slightly more dazzle than the Dunga reputation going before him.
They’ve certainly offered a little more excitement than a Dutch team that really is grinding out results, though always with the promise of more expansiveness ahead – whenever they want, whenever they need.
A third World Cup meeting with Brazil since 1994 this Friday will surely have to enliven them, especially in revenge for those two previous defeats.
Spain, of course, should have a much smoother task ahead when facing Paraguay on Sunday, especially after Gerardo Martino’s men barely squeezed past Japan.
Their penalty shoot-out in Pretoria was of a much higher quality than the 120 minutes preceding, both teams looking understandably cautious as each teetered on the brink of a first ever last-eight place.
Yet Spain too still looked to be playing a little within themselves, in inching past Iberian rivals Portugal thanks to another David Villa goal.
The fact he fluffed the first shot before sweeping in the rebound with his other foot might detract slightly from the majesty of the winner, though yet again it was his new Barca team-mate Andres Iniesta providing an assist with utmost precision.
In fact, the (eventual) finish only emphasised what an inexorable goalscorer Villa is – his seventh in seven World Cup appearances suggested even when he does miss, he still scores merely a split-second later.
The breakthrough goal came just minutes after Fernando Torres was withdrawn, having looked – if anything – even more lumpen than ever. If he’s the Spanish Emile Heskey – ideally, creating the space allowing Villa to flourish – then tonight he proved as irrelevant as the actual Heskey is to the other Villa.
More encouraging signs were there, including another rampant display by Sergio Ramos – one of the few who were relatively subdued at Euro 2008, but here in South Africa storming down the right without looking too much of a liability behind.
Rumours suggest Jose Mourinho intends to shift him back into the middle of the backline at Real Madrid, but even ‘The Special One’ might struggle to restrain him entirely.
Despite all Spain’s possession, Portugal did manage to stymie them for more than an hour – and not only thanks to some robust and well-timed heroics from Braga goalkeeper Eduardo.
The Portuguese even managed to create the most clear-cut – if opportunistic – chances in the first half, only to be let down as ever by their substandard striking. Echoes of Pauleta – at tournaments, anyway – all over again.
And a subdued – and, later, sullen – Ronaldo certainly didn’t help, either the team he was supposedly captaining or those sportswear executives spooked by an alleged ‘Nike curse’.
A shamelessly blame-shifting Ronaldo suggested after the game, perhaps having received tuition at Patrice Evra’s captaincy academy: ‘Blame Queiroz.’
But his peripheral performances, both in qualifying and on the South African stage, will reasonably see questions asked of by far the world’s most expensive player.
As one of his Nike pals might put it instead – all together, one two three: ‘D’oh!’
Perhaps it was just the customary sombre tone – and slumping head – that made Marcelo Bielsa’s resigned post-match verdict sound so sad, as if he was announcing the end of the world rather than Chile’s World Cup.
Yet there was something both poignant in his distress, and yet admirable in the reminder his words gave of Brazil’s thrilling pace in attack – and Chile’s valiant attempts to fight back.
Even when 3-0 down, an unfortunately emphatic scoreline, Bielsa’s now widely-admired team kept pressing, kept passing, kept trying to keep Brazil pinned back without sacrificing their own commitment to open spaces and fluid movement.
Quality tells in the end too, of course – meaning Brazil could not only ultimately overpower their willing opponents, but also counter-attack with more devastating effect than Portugal could manage 24 hours on.
Like their brothers-in-language, Portugal were set up against Spain to absorb pressure and hit back on the break.
But unlike Dunga’s men, Portugal lacked – as, seemingly, ever – a lethal finisher after the fashion of Luis Fabiano, or playmakers accelerating quite like Kaka or Robinho.
While Chile – as against Spain – hurtled forward from kick-off in high-energy style, they were a little too fuzzy up-front with enganche Jean Beausejour less menacing than he might have been on the wing – or Valdivia or Fernandez might have been in his place.
Humberto Suazo almost tried to do too much, proving somehow too elusive, as he flitted from tip of attack to deep in midfield – and claiming almost every set-piece for himself.
Yet they remained attractive to watch as ever, even after being undone by a quickfire brace – Juan’s basic pummelling header from a basic lofted corner, then a treat of technique linking Robinho, Kaka and scorer Fabiano.
Brazil’s third goal, while harsh, was another one whisked out of the (yellow-and-)blue, created by a driving-running Ramires and swept home by Santos homeboy, the rejuvenated Robinho.
Dunga, talking a surprisingly patient and informative game afterwards, suggested Robinho was now combining both tactical nous – and free-spirited fulfilment.
‘Robinho’s played in varied positions and he asked me, “What is my function?”
‘I asked if he didn’t feel a bit constrained with his positioning. He said, “No, I just want to play and I just want to score.”’
The man who once boasted of ‘no more joga bonito’ is placing trust in his players to at least make their own minds up, though evidently with instructions when it comes to defending – seven men, at least, back when conceding possession – and other (almost-paradoxical) commands to be flexible.
‘My players have the liberty to play,’ he insists.
‘I try to give them advice, to guide them to have the best performance. So we know when the midfield is very closed, we try to go down the flanks, for example.
‘We’re fortunate enough to have players who can play in different positions. Robinho can exchange positions with Kaka, for example.
‘Kaka moved more down the wings and Robinho’s positioning confused the Chilean defence a little bit and this allowed us to score.’
Very big on giving a ‘for example’ each time, perhaps this is Dunga the pragmatist, Dunga the empiricist.
But as Woody Allen’s new film suggests, Whatever Works, and so far the Brazilian approach does, and with slightly more dazzle than the Dunga reputation going before him.
They’ve certainly offered a little more excitement than a Dutch team that really is grinding out results, though always with the promise of more expansiveness ahead – whenever they want, whenever they need.
A third World Cup meeting with Brazil since 1994 this Friday will surely have to enliven them, especially in revenge for those two previous defeats.
Spain, of course, should have a much smoother task ahead when facing Paraguay on Sunday, especially after Gerardo Martino’s men barely squeezed past Japan.
Their penalty shoot-out in Pretoria was of a much higher quality than the 120 minutes preceding, both teams looking understandably cautious as each teetered on the brink of a first ever last-eight place.
Yet Spain too still looked to be playing a little within themselves, in inching past Iberian rivals Portugal thanks to another David Villa goal.
The fact he fluffed the first shot before sweeping in the rebound with his other foot might detract slightly from the majesty of the winner, though yet again it was his new Barca team-mate Andres Iniesta providing an assist with utmost precision.
In fact, the (eventual) finish only emphasised what an inexorable goalscorer Villa is – his seventh in seven World Cup appearances suggested even when he does miss, he still scores merely a split-second later.
The breakthrough goal came just minutes after Fernando Torres was withdrawn, having looked – if anything – even more lumpen than ever. If he’s the Spanish Emile Heskey – ideally, creating the space allowing Villa to flourish – then tonight he proved as irrelevant as the actual Heskey is to the other Villa.
More encouraging signs were there, including another rampant display by Sergio Ramos – one of the few who were relatively subdued at Euro 2008, but here in South Africa storming down the right without looking too much of a liability behind.
Rumours suggest Jose Mourinho intends to shift him back into the middle of the backline at Real Madrid, but even ‘The Special One’ might struggle to restrain him entirely.
Despite all Spain’s possession, Portugal did manage to stymie them for more than an hour – and not only thanks to some robust and well-timed heroics from Braga goalkeeper Eduardo.
The Portuguese even managed to create the most clear-cut – if opportunistic – chances in the first half, only to be let down as ever by their substandard striking. Echoes of Pauleta – at tournaments, anyway – all over again.
And a subdued – and, later, sullen – Ronaldo certainly didn’t help, either the team he was supposedly captaining or those sportswear executives spooked by an alleged ‘Nike curse’.
A shamelessly blame-shifting Ronaldo suggested after the game, perhaps having received tuition at Patrice Evra’s captaincy academy: ‘Blame Queiroz.’
But his peripheral performances, both in qualifying and on the South African stage, will reasonably see questions asked of by far the world’s most expensive player.
As one of his Nike pals might put it instead – all together, one two three: ‘D’oh!’
"Just like a wavin' flag..."
WORLD Cup referees went back to school today – and not before time, you might well think.
All those not on match duty elsewhere were called to class at Pretoria's F H Odendaal school, to practice such fiendish tasks as running with a flag in hand or not getting hit by the ball.
Well, not quite everyone was there to answer the register – predictably enough, despite assurances to the contrary, two under-fire refs sent notes to excuse their absence.
Roberto Rossi and England’s villain Jorge Larrionda both opted to spend the day in their hotel rooms instead of facing colleagues – or, more understandably perhaps, the mouth-foaming Press.
While those two dunces stayed in bed, England’s last man standing Howard Webb could saunter around as school swot having achieved the remarkable feat of ... making no major blunders so far.
(While, admittedly, doing about as sensibly as could be when both Italy and Slovenia started playing silly beggars - resisting temptation to flash a red card or several, that might only have turned the closing moments even more chaotic.)
He even felt comfortable enough chatting about – while, of course, playing down – his chances of being given the final, the refereeing equivalent of being made head boy.
And there was a visit by former pupil Urs Meier, who might have offered Larrionda advice on being England’s public enemy number one – though there’s more competition this time from the coach and players.
Meier was the Euro 2004 official who had the audacity to disallow Sol Campbell’s late ‘winner’ against Portugal, merely because an opponent attacked the elbow of England’s Brave John Terry.
But despite suffering torment by tabloid in 2004 – with nuisance calls and death threats from England’s lunatic fringe – magnanimous Meier was yesterday surprisingly sympathetic.
He spoke out in favour of goal-line technology – and insisted serving officials all agreed, but were too frightened to speak out until safely retired.
Those running today’s lessons – including hapless headmaster figure, refs’ boss Jose Maria Aranda - had done their best to recreate match conditions.
The portable plastic goals and patchy training pitches, overlooked by stern redbrick school halls, looked more village green than Soccer City.
But some rickety speakers blared out a recording of incessant vuvuzelas, one to file on your shelves next to Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music.
Meanwhile, elsewhere Sepp Blatter was making an astonishing apology – and U-turn on video technology – in rather plusher surroundings, a swanky hotel in upmarket Sandton.
His words still got quickly back to refs’ school, however – printed on 200 sheets of A4 and rushed to Pretoria by police escort.
Over-reaction or otherwise, Sepp’s statement was weighty indeed, marking a ‘road to Damascus’ conversion – if, indeed, this proves more than just a time-stalling sop to be kicked back into long grass when – that is, if – the current fuss fades.
It could yet mean war with Uefa president Michel Platini, if his pet project of two extra assistant referees on the touchlines actually gets moved to the sidelines instead.
But then, Blatter is bidding for Fifa re-election next summer and might be vulnerable to someone promising populist reform.
And ven the folksy-talking, ‘Teflon Sepp’ must have felt embarrassed on Sunday, the afternoon that left English, Uruguayans and Swiss all for various reasons sent to the bottom of the class.
All those not on match duty elsewhere were called to class at Pretoria's F H Odendaal school, to practice such fiendish tasks as running with a flag in hand or not getting hit by the ball.
Well, not quite everyone was there to answer the register – predictably enough, despite assurances to the contrary, two under-fire refs sent notes to excuse their absence.
Roberto Rossi and England’s villain Jorge Larrionda both opted to spend the day in their hotel rooms instead of facing colleagues – or, more understandably perhaps, the mouth-foaming Press.
While those two dunces stayed in bed, England’s last man standing Howard Webb could saunter around as school swot having achieved the remarkable feat of ... making no major blunders so far.
(While, admittedly, doing about as sensibly as could be when both Italy and Slovenia started playing silly beggars - resisting temptation to flash a red card or several, that might only have turned the closing moments even more chaotic.)
He even felt comfortable enough chatting about – while, of course, playing down – his chances of being given the final, the refereeing equivalent of being made head boy.
And there was a visit by former pupil Urs Meier, who might have offered Larrionda advice on being England’s public enemy number one – though there’s more competition this time from the coach and players.
Meier was the Euro 2004 official who had the audacity to disallow Sol Campbell’s late ‘winner’ against Portugal, merely because an opponent attacked the elbow of England’s Brave John Terry.
But despite suffering torment by tabloid in 2004 – with nuisance calls and death threats from England’s lunatic fringe – magnanimous Meier was yesterday surprisingly sympathetic.
He spoke out in favour of goal-line technology – and insisted serving officials all agreed, but were too frightened to speak out until safely retired.
Those running today’s lessons – including hapless headmaster figure, refs’ boss Jose Maria Aranda - had done their best to recreate match conditions.
The portable plastic goals and patchy training pitches, overlooked by stern redbrick school halls, looked more village green than Soccer City.
But some rickety speakers blared out a recording of incessant vuvuzelas, one to file on your shelves next to Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music.
Meanwhile, elsewhere Sepp Blatter was making an astonishing apology – and U-turn on video technology – in rather plusher surroundings, a swanky hotel in upmarket Sandton.
His words still got quickly back to refs’ school, however – printed on 200 sheets of A4 and rushed to Pretoria by police escort.
Over-reaction or otherwise, Sepp’s statement was weighty indeed, marking a ‘road to Damascus’ conversion – if, indeed, this proves more than just a time-stalling sop to be kicked back into long grass when – that is, if – the current fuss fades.
It could yet mean war with Uefa president Michel Platini, if his pet project of two extra assistant referees on the touchlines actually gets moved to the sidelines instead.
But then, Blatter is bidding for Fifa re-election next summer and might be vulnerable to someone promising populist reform.
And ven the folksy-talking, ‘Teflon Sepp’ must have felt embarrassed on Sunday, the afternoon that left English, Uruguayans and Swiss all for various reasons sent to the bottom of the class.
"Whistle a tune and think of a catchy, happy little song..."
LOOK a little on the sunny side, advised the Kinks – even when you feel you’re on the slide.
Easier said done yesterday morning after the nightmare before, especially with the usually crystal-clear sky above South Africa surprisingly clogged by grey clouds – just waiting to envelop England’s plane.
The drizzly gloom made it more of an effort to find signs of cheer, though for those of us lucky to be sticking around there are of course plenty – from the richest enjoyment to the smallest of pleasures.
For a start, not everyone in the England squad comes out badly – Michael Dawson, at least, has played a blinder.
Just recalling his beaming, tongue-wagging excitement when bounding on to a Rustenburg-bound plane must toast even the chilliest heart – even if he did probably spend his surprise holiday parked with Rodney Trotter’s ‘Groovy Gang’ kids.
Then there’s the finishing of Spain’s happy slapper number seven, David proving the most audacious Villa outside a Donald Trump estate.
Or the finishing, for alternative entertainment, of Nigeria’s too-well-fed Yak.
That wise(ish) new greybeard Diego Maradona, on the touchline or at ticket-only press briefings, in both settings kicking as many balls as he can.
Or his lumbering full-back Gabriel Heinze getting nutted by a camera, then giving it a bit of a slap in return.
The legions of stadium volunteers who refuse to simply point to an allotted seat but insist on clambering all the way with you – only to invariably need extra sherpas sent out for themselves.
Or else the Cameroon fan who made his vuvuzela sound like the chilling saxophone stabs from Bernard Herrmann’s ‘Taxi Driver’ score.
The under-rated ‘keeping of Wigan’s number three Richard Kingson, and the clever tenacity of Kofi’s alleged nephew Anthony Annan – despite looking about as well-built for a holding role as Lionel Messi or Shaun Wright-Phllips.
And the whole Ghana team’s Roy Of The Rovers exploits, from the winner against America to their Melchester Rovers borrowed colours.
Or Jogi Löw’s strangely lovable German whizzkids, or Dunga’s silky yet street-tough Brazilians, or the Uruguay of Sally Gunnell double Diego Forlan – a revelation as poacher-turned-playmaker, even if we’ve probably heard enough now of how he flopped at Old Trafford.
The prospect of Messi taking on his Barca mates, and the laughable fact he somehow still hasn’t scored – and the feeling that after a first, he might just hit five in the final.
And the assurance that an exciting climax can’t now be bogged down by that most tainted ‘golden generation’, stinking out 2010 as they did 2006.
A fair few breaks in the clouds, then, at least.
Even if, for England, it might feel like – to flick to another Kinks track – there was no hope, no reasoning, this rainy day in June.
Easier said done yesterday morning after the nightmare before, especially with the usually crystal-clear sky above South Africa surprisingly clogged by grey clouds – just waiting to envelop England’s plane.
The drizzly gloom made it more of an effort to find signs of cheer, though for those of us lucky to be sticking around there are of course plenty – from the richest enjoyment to the smallest of pleasures.
For a start, not everyone in the England squad comes out badly – Michael Dawson, at least, has played a blinder.
Just recalling his beaming, tongue-wagging excitement when bounding on to a Rustenburg-bound plane must toast even the chilliest heart – even if he did probably spend his surprise holiday parked with Rodney Trotter’s ‘Groovy Gang’ kids.
Then there’s the finishing of Spain’s happy slapper number seven, David proving the most audacious Villa outside a Donald Trump estate.
Or the finishing, for alternative entertainment, of Nigeria’s too-well-fed Yak.
That wise(ish) new greybeard Diego Maradona, on the touchline or at ticket-only press briefings, in both settings kicking as many balls as he can.
Or his lumbering full-back Gabriel Heinze getting nutted by a camera, then giving it a bit of a slap in return.
The legions of stadium volunteers who refuse to simply point to an allotted seat but insist on clambering all the way with you – only to invariably need extra sherpas sent out for themselves.
Or else the Cameroon fan who made his vuvuzela sound like the chilling saxophone stabs from Bernard Herrmann’s ‘Taxi Driver’ score.
The under-rated ‘keeping of Wigan’s number three Richard Kingson, and the clever tenacity of Kofi’s alleged nephew Anthony Annan – despite looking about as well-built for a holding role as Lionel Messi or Shaun Wright-Phllips.
And the whole Ghana team’s Roy Of The Rovers exploits, from the winner against America to their Melchester Rovers borrowed colours.
Or Jogi Löw’s strangely lovable German whizzkids, or Dunga’s silky yet street-tough Brazilians, or the Uruguay of Sally Gunnell double Diego Forlan – a revelation as poacher-turned-playmaker, even if we’ve probably heard enough now of how he flopped at Old Trafford.
The prospect of Messi taking on his Barca mates, and the laughable fact he somehow still hasn’t scored – and the feeling that after a first, he might just hit five in the final.
And the assurance that an exciting climax can’t now be bogged down by that most tainted ‘golden generation’, stinking out 2010 as they did 2006.
A fair few breaks in the clouds, then, at least.
Even if, for England, it might feel like – to flick to another Kinks track – there was no hope, no reasoning, this rainy day in June.
Monday, June 28, 2010
"They'll hit you and hurt you..."
‘SOME things you will see – and some you will not see.’
So smiled Jerome Valcke, Sepp Blatter’s right-hand man at Fifa, as he talked up officials on the eve of yesterday’s England-Germany encounter.
But he was talking about those providing extra security outside the ground, not the match officials doing so much for English insecurity within.
What at least 15,000 England fans did see – but not one Uruguayan in charge – was that rarest of sightings: a World Cup ‘goal’ by Frank Lampard.
A World Cup shot in target by Lampard was startling enough, which might explain Mauricio Espinosa’s apparent daze.
What then went missing was the equalizer for England, surely sparking campaigns for not only (Monte)video technology, but a 43-year statute of limitations on claiming for goal-line karma.
All this will have been seen by Valcke’s boss Sepp Blatter, a strangely low-profile presence at this World Cup – apart from Blatter’s ‘tweets’, or ‘bleats’, on Twitter.
He had let followers know he was on his way to Bloemfontein, though probably didn’t see the same traffic jams as England fans taking the only main road in – the N1 from Johannesburg.
Struggling along that highway from Jo’burg wouldn’t be England’s last difficulty of the day caused by the route-one approach.
An abandoned, emergency-landed light aircraft sat by the side of the road, about 25km north of the stadium – another odd sight, and perhaps an omen.
A warning that sky-high aspirations might be brought down to earth with a bump?
Or that you won’t go far if you set out with only one proper wing.
Supporters making their way along Bloemfontein’s Nelson Mandela Drive – no South African city should be without one – might have noticed Swiss fans had left a more lasting mark than their team managed.
Spraypainted across street furniture was the optimistic – or perhaps ambiguous – ‘Allez Suisse’. Allez oops.
Perhaps that was done by mischievous Swiss mister Blatter himself.
What no one could have missed inside the stadium itself were English flags everywhere – just as there had been in Rustenburg the previous evening, reminders of how the journey to glory was supposed to pan out.
Back in Bloemfontein when the ref finally ended yesterday’s misery, England fans stooped in the stands or slumped in their seats seemed in no mood to blame him – well, not blame him alone, anyway.
How typically, eccentrically English it all felt, to be so authentically robbed – and yet so emphatically outclassed at the same time.
For what everyone did see yesterday was a sluggish, unimaginative England bamboozled by Germans showing more devastating intelligence, incisiveness and just counter-attacking zip.
Mesut Ozil and Thomas Muller rightly enjoyed the acclaim - along with Joachim Low, who had the faith to promote them from the U-21s, just as Louis Van Gaal fast-tracked and transformed raw Bayern talents into Champions League finalists.
But Bastian Schweinsteiger also showed up - even more - the sorry and out-of-shape Gareth Barry, combining composed rigour in defensive midfield with dynamic and intelligent surges into attack when suitable. A holding-midfielder-PLUS, the instincts and technique of a winger still simmering.
Meanwhile, England - having shifted John Terry uncomfortably to the right of central defence, all the better to showcase Matthew Upson's clod-hopping left foot - remained dulled and doltish throughout.
Even when they did put a few passes together, they tended to be the shortest and most exchanged across a flat-back-four, as if filling a quota before invariably allowing themselves the treat of ... an aimless, witless punt up-field.
Pass-pass-pass-pass ... hoof, back to Neuer.
Germany even did that old English staple, the long ball, better.
On the eve of the match, Valcke also said Fifa never expected a ‘zero-fault’ tournament.
That time he was talking about referees and linesmen – and this time few could argue.
Though he could have been referring to English defenders.
So smiled Jerome Valcke, Sepp Blatter’s right-hand man at Fifa, as he talked up officials on the eve of yesterday’s England-Germany encounter.
But he was talking about those providing extra security outside the ground, not the match officials doing so much for English insecurity within.
What at least 15,000 England fans did see – but not one Uruguayan in charge – was that rarest of sightings: a World Cup ‘goal’ by Frank Lampard.
A World Cup shot in target by Lampard was startling enough, which might explain Mauricio Espinosa’s apparent daze.
What then went missing was the equalizer for England, surely sparking campaigns for not only (Monte)video technology, but a 43-year statute of limitations on claiming for goal-line karma.
All this will have been seen by Valcke’s boss Sepp Blatter, a strangely low-profile presence at this World Cup – apart from Blatter’s ‘tweets’, or ‘bleats’, on Twitter.
He had let followers know he was on his way to Bloemfontein, though probably didn’t see the same traffic jams as England fans taking the only main road in – the N1 from Johannesburg.
Struggling along that highway from Jo’burg wouldn’t be England’s last difficulty of the day caused by the route-one approach.
An abandoned, emergency-landed light aircraft sat by the side of the road, about 25km north of the stadium – another odd sight, and perhaps an omen.
A warning that sky-high aspirations might be brought down to earth with a bump?
Or that you won’t go far if you set out with only one proper wing.
Supporters making their way along Bloemfontein’s Nelson Mandela Drive – no South African city should be without one – might have noticed Swiss fans had left a more lasting mark than their team managed.
Spraypainted across street furniture was the optimistic – or perhaps ambiguous – ‘Allez Suisse’. Allez oops.
Perhaps that was done by mischievous Swiss mister Blatter himself.
What no one could have missed inside the stadium itself were English flags everywhere – just as there had been in Rustenburg the previous evening, reminders of how the journey to glory was supposed to pan out.
Back in Bloemfontein when the ref finally ended yesterday’s misery, England fans stooped in the stands or slumped in their seats seemed in no mood to blame him – well, not blame him alone, anyway.
How typically, eccentrically English it all felt, to be so authentically robbed – and yet so emphatically outclassed at the same time.
For what everyone did see yesterday was a sluggish, unimaginative England bamboozled by Germans showing more devastating intelligence, incisiveness and just counter-attacking zip.
Mesut Ozil and Thomas Muller rightly enjoyed the acclaim - along with Joachim Low, who had the faith to promote them from the U-21s, just as Louis Van Gaal fast-tracked and transformed raw Bayern talents into Champions League finalists.
But Bastian Schweinsteiger also showed up - even more - the sorry and out-of-shape Gareth Barry, combining composed rigour in defensive midfield with dynamic and intelligent surges into attack when suitable. A holding-midfielder-PLUS, the instincts and technique of a winger still simmering.
Meanwhile, England - having shifted John Terry uncomfortably to the right of central defence, all the better to showcase Matthew Upson's clod-hopping left foot - remained dulled and doltish throughout.
Even when they did put a few passes together, they tended to be the shortest and most exchanged across a flat-back-four, as if filling a quota before invariably allowing themselves the treat of ... an aimless, witless punt up-field.
Pass-pass-pass-pass ... hoof, back to Neuer.
Germany even did that old English staple, the long ball, better.
On the eve of the match, Valcke also said Fifa never expected a ‘zero-fault’ tournament.
That time he was talking about referees and linesmen – and this time few could argue.
Though he could have been referring to English defenders.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
"Never Ghana give you up..."
IN A parallel universe, Wayne Rooney is currently stewing over the second World Cup red card of his career – emulating Rigobert Song and Zinedine Zidane – after again lashing out as England are crashing out.
Perhaps that’s just a little harsh on newly-matured, new father Rooney – or maybe instead tempting fate, as England prepare for that German clash on Sunday afternoon.
Yet it was tempting to imagine, as the US toiled – only to be foiled – against the ‘Black Stars’ of Ghana, just how England might have coped in this apparently-easier fixture.
Having struggled so dismally to penetrate both the US and Algerian defences already, England could well have struggled some more against a formidably compact and well-organised Ghana backline.
A few weary lapses aside - especially as tonight’s extra-time encounter dragged on - it was hard not to admire a defence marshalled by John Mensah and bravely (sometimes foolhardily) bolstered by his young namesake John.
And in front of that granite-hard back four, the ever-diligent, always-pressing, under-sized Anthony Annan – a nephew of Kofi’s, he claims – was keeping both defence and attack ticking neatly over, despite looking like a mascot who just won’t be shooed-off.
For the unlucky USA, twice more caught napping after an opening whistle, Landon Donovan yet again emerged as “Mandon” Donovan.
As dynamic on the pitch this summer as he has been drably taciturn off it, it was his seizing of momentum and surging more purposively forward after half-time that threatened to upend Ghanaian control of the game.
His neat through-ball led to the penalty he himself clipped past the otherwise-excellent – and under-heralded – Wigan sub ‘keeper Richard Kingson.
But despite drawing level, when they should have shifted up several gears more the American momentum somehow again stalled – and Ghana could see out the match if not quite in comfort, then certainly at their own preferred pace.
Perhaps, in the end, the likes of Donovan, Dempsey and coach’s son Michael could do strive so much when carrying lesser drudges such as the error-prone Richard Clark and too many blunt-edged, surprise-call-up strikers.
The sprawling Rustenburg athletics-track stadium perhaps does not quite do full justice to a breakthrough sure to be acclaimed as redemptive for an entire continent, at this African World Cup.
Ghana can certainly expect to benefit from full-throated support throughout the rest of their run – though, as cold-conscious medics are now imploring, do make sure only your own throat has been filling that vuvuzela.
And Soccer City – twice the size – next Friday should certainly be crackling with just a little more charge, even before
But then, before Asamoah Gyan powered his way through to that extra-time winner – his fourth World Cup goal, just one behind the continent’s top scorer, that man Roger Milla – Ghana looked badly in need of a prolific, pure finisher.
Someone like, say, Diego Forlan – or Luis Suarez, this afternoon’s hero with a pearler of a curler, just when it looked like sitting back to soak up South Korean possession might just Uruguay and their unusually-sloppy defenders.
Next Friday should provide, then, an engaging battle between two contrasting – yet both attractive – styles.
In the meantime, Ghana’s energy-sapped, collapsing ‘Black Stars’ should probably catch up on plenty of rest.
They might need it – and they certainly deserve it.
Perhaps that’s just a little harsh on newly-matured, new father Rooney – or maybe instead tempting fate, as England prepare for that German clash on Sunday afternoon.
Yet it was tempting to imagine, as the US toiled – only to be foiled – against the ‘Black Stars’ of Ghana, just how England might have coped in this apparently-easier fixture.
Having struggled so dismally to penetrate both the US and Algerian defences already, England could well have struggled some more against a formidably compact and well-organised Ghana backline.
A few weary lapses aside - especially as tonight’s extra-time encounter dragged on - it was hard not to admire a defence marshalled by John Mensah and bravely (sometimes foolhardily) bolstered by his young namesake John.
And in front of that granite-hard back four, the ever-diligent, always-pressing, under-sized Anthony Annan – a nephew of Kofi’s, he claims – was keeping both defence and attack ticking neatly over, despite looking like a mascot who just won’t be shooed-off.
For the unlucky USA, twice more caught napping after an opening whistle, Landon Donovan yet again emerged as “Mandon” Donovan.
As dynamic on the pitch this summer as he has been drably taciturn off it, it was his seizing of momentum and surging more purposively forward after half-time that threatened to upend Ghanaian control of the game.
His neat through-ball led to the penalty he himself clipped past the otherwise-excellent – and under-heralded – Wigan sub ‘keeper Richard Kingson.
But despite drawing level, when they should have shifted up several gears more the American momentum somehow again stalled – and Ghana could see out the match if not quite in comfort, then certainly at their own preferred pace.
Perhaps, in the end, the likes of Donovan, Dempsey and coach’s son Michael could do strive so much when carrying lesser drudges such as the error-prone Richard Clark and too many blunt-edged, surprise-call-up strikers.
The sprawling Rustenburg athletics-track stadium perhaps does not quite do full justice to a breakthrough sure to be acclaimed as redemptive for an entire continent, at this African World Cup.
Ghana can certainly expect to benefit from full-throated support throughout the rest of their run – though, as cold-conscious medics are now imploring, do make sure only your own throat has been filling that vuvuzela.
And Soccer City – twice the size – next Friday should certainly be crackling with just a little more charge, even before
But then, before Asamoah Gyan powered his way through to that extra-time winner – his fourth World Cup goal, just one behind the continent’s top scorer, that man Roger Milla – Ghana looked badly in need of a prolific, pure finisher.
Someone like, say, Diego Forlan – or Luis Suarez, this afternoon’s hero with a pearler of a curler, just when it looked like sitting back to soak up South Korean possession might just Uruguay and their unusually-sloppy defenders.
Next Friday should provide, then, an engaging battle between two contrasting – yet both attractive – styles.
In the meantime, Ghana’s energy-sapped, collapsing ‘Black Stars’ should probably catch up on plenty of rest.
They might need it – and they certainly deserve it.
Hod one out...
NICOLAS Sarkozy has been shown a yellow card as the French farce that dumped the country out of this World Cup could now see them barred from future competitions - though the threat could puzzle one ex-England boss with a penchant already for scratching his head...
The French president has ordered an investigation into all that went so disastrously wrong with Raymond Domenech’s revolting squad, who flew home in economy and as first-round flops this week.
But world football chiefs have already been on the phone, warning French politicians to be careful – after all, government interference could break Fifa rules.
Other countries have been suspended from playing international matches – and receiving Fifa money – when governments have meddled in football federation affairs.
At least 15 nations have not only had their wrists slapped but their Fifa membership suspended during the past few years – including three-time offenders Iraq, Euro 2012 hosts Poland and then-reigning European champions Greece.
Euro 2008 winners Spain have also been threatened with Fifa action, a case cited today by Fifa chief executive Jerome Valcke as he insisted the ‘bigger’ footballing countries were not protected species.
He said: ‘It’s like Iraq and other countries, it’s not that because it’s in Europe it’s treated differently.
‘I spoke to the sports ministry office and told them to be very careful, that there can’t be political interference in what’s happened.
‘They can meet, they can discuss, they can ask for apologies from the different people that have been involved.
‘But any time there is interference Fifa will react, for France as for any other country in the world.’
Suspension also means a country loses its vote at Fifa congress – something El Salvador recovered just in time for the summit earlier this month, when their recent ban was lifted.
Iraq received their third sanction in quick succession last November, when the country’s government ordered security forces into the Iraqi Football Federation’s HQ.
Other nations to suffer similar punishments in recent years include Peru, Madagascar, Chad, Ethiopia, Brunei Darussalam and Kuwait (twice).
Poland almost had the Fifa whip withdrawn in 2008 when the government threatened to replace the country’s football association with an administrator, in a row over co-hosting plans for Euro 2012.
And Spain were threatened with similar that year, when the sports minister demanded all sporting bodies hold new presidential elections – before backing down when the Fifa call came through.
What Sarkozy or his motormouthed sports minister Roselyne Bachelot could have done is express their disapproval on a French equivalent of This Morning – Ce matin, perhaps?
After all, it was when subjecting himself to yet another of TV’s toughest grillings that Tony Blair did for England coach Glenn Hoddle, over his comments about the disabled in 1999.
Blair gave just the simple, fateful word ‘Yes’, when worn down by fearsome interrogator Richard Madeley and the query: ‘If Glenn Hoddle has said what he is reported to have said, should he go?’
Within hours the Evening Standard was splashing with his alleged demand for Hod’s head, and sure enough FA bosses quickly made sure Glenn atoned with his job for his current-life sins.
To be fair, this was one regime change that Mr Blair did swiftly regret.
Alistair Campbell’s diaries tell of a genuine camaraderie between the men, sharing sympathy over scrutiny of their respective ‘toughest jobs’ and both being committed to England’s bid to stage the 2006 World Cup.
Well, someone had to be.
Campbell does seem genuine – or, at least as close to genuine as can be – when describing the gloom he and the PM felt, when realising the effect of those This Morning words.
The man who allegedly ‘never said them things I said’ would later admit feeling ‘surprised’ at the PM’s intervention – ‘because he didn’t know the facts, that is what saddened me’.
Glenn’s goose was probably already reaching roasting point, alas, after that diary of his own and the lacklustre opening Euro 2000 qualifiers.
But it’s still sad to recall just how his truly-promising England team of 1997-1998 – well-knitted, composed on the ball and with added Owen – under-achieved, their qualities so quickly squandered.
Graeme Le Saux’s doziness against Romania, David Beckham’s petulance against Argentina – two aberrations that prematurely ended England’s World Cup, in a tournament where only Brazil looked unbeatable.
Only to go on to half-beat themselves.
Tony Blair and the English FA escaped back then – though perhaps it’s only fair Fifa inexplicably weren’t tuning in to Richard and Judy that day.
Both parties would put themselves through plenty of suffering, if not actually sanctions, in the torrid and conflicted years to come. Could be karma...
The French president has ordered an investigation into all that went so disastrously wrong with Raymond Domenech’s revolting squad, who flew home in economy and as first-round flops this week.
But world football chiefs have already been on the phone, warning French politicians to be careful – after all, government interference could break Fifa rules.
Other countries have been suspended from playing international matches – and receiving Fifa money – when governments have meddled in football federation affairs.
At least 15 nations have not only had their wrists slapped but their Fifa membership suspended during the past few years – including three-time offenders Iraq, Euro 2012 hosts Poland and then-reigning European champions Greece.
Euro 2008 winners Spain have also been threatened with Fifa action, a case cited today by Fifa chief executive Jerome Valcke as he insisted the ‘bigger’ footballing countries were not protected species.
He said: ‘It’s like Iraq and other countries, it’s not that because it’s in Europe it’s treated differently.
‘I spoke to the sports ministry office and told them to be very careful, that there can’t be political interference in what’s happened.
‘They can meet, they can discuss, they can ask for apologies from the different people that have been involved.
‘But any time there is interference Fifa will react, for France as for any other country in the world.’
Suspension also means a country loses its vote at Fifa congress – something El Salvador recovered just in time for the summit earlier this month, when their recent ban was lifted.
Iraq received their third sanction in quick succession last November, when the country’s government ordered security forces into the Iraqi Football Federation’s HQ.
Other nations to suffer similar punishments in recent years include Peru, Madagascar, Chad, Ethiopia, Brunei Darussalam and Kuwait (twice).
Poland almost had the Fifa whip withdrawn in 2008 when the government threatened to replace the country’s football association with an administrator, in a row over co-hosting plans for Euro 2012.
And Spain were threatened with similar that year, when the sports minister demanded all sporting bodies hold new presidential elections – before backing down when the Fifa call came through.
What Sarkozy or his motormouthed sports minister Roselyne Bachelot could have done is express their disapproval on a French equivalent of This Morning – Ce matin, perhaps?
After all, it was when subjecting himself to yet another of TV’s toughest grillings that Tony Blair did for England coach Glenn Hoddle, over his comments about the disabled in 1999.
Blair gave just the simple, fateful word ‘Yes’, when worn down by fearsome interrogator Richard Madeley and the query: ‘If Glenn Hoddle has said what he is reported to have said, should he go?’
Within hours the Evening Standard was splashing with his alleged demand for Hod’s head, and sure enough FA bosses quickly made sure Glenn atoned with his job for his current-life sins.
To be fair, this was one regime change that Mr Blair did swiftly regret.
Alistair Campbell’s diaries tell of a genuine camaraderie between the men, sharing sympathy over scrutiny of their respective ‘toughest jobs’ and both being committed to England’s bid to stage the 2006 World Cup.
Well, someone had to be.
Campbell does seem genuine – or, at least as close to genuine as can be – when describing the gloom he and the PM felt, when realising the effect of those This Morning words.
The man who allegedly ‘never said them things I said’ would later admit feeling ‘surprised’ at the PM’s intervention – ‘because he didn’t know the facts, that is what saddened me’.
Glenn’s goose was probably already reaching roasting point, alas, after that diary of his own and the lacklustre opening Euro 2000 qualifiers.
But it’s still sad to recall just how his truly-promising England team of 1997-1998 – well-knitted, composed on the ball and with added Owen – under-achieved, their qualities so quickly squandered.
Graeme Le Saux’s doziness against Romania, David Beckham’s petulance against Argentina – two aberrations that prematurely ended England’s World Cup, in a tournament where only Brazil looked unbeatable.
Only to go on to half-beat themselves.
Tony Blair and the English FA escaped back then – though perhaps it’s only fair Fifa inexplicably weren’t tuning in to Richard and Judy that day.
Both parties would put themselves through plenty of suffering, if not actually sanctions, in the torrid and conflicted years to come. Could be karma...
Friday, June 25, 2010
"Sitting here in my safe European home, don't want to go back there again..."
A NEW depression is spreading across Europe.
Greece have already gone into leaderless meltdown, Italy rapidly heading that way too.
Ireland have long since bailed out already, while Spain and Portugal have had to do some tricky clinging on – though desperate times mean they must now turn on each other.
So much for the so-called PIIGS.
Elsewhere, despite a brief recent upturn England remains vulnerable and split in top leadership positions, while Germany is starting to creak under the burden of maintaining momentum.
Meanwhile, Brazil continues to thrive – alongside emerging South American neighbours – while efficient Asian nations surge forward while Africa still struggles.
It’s not the economy, stupid – but the World Cup, of course, now making tough cutbacks of its own by shedding 16 squads.
Seven of those flying home are doing so to Europe, leaving just six from what was the tournament’s best-represented continent.
And all six now face each other in what is somewhat inelegantly, yet universally being referred to as ‘the round of 16’ (rather than, say, simply the second round).
That does still guarantee that almost half of this summer’s quarter-finalists will come from Europe, and despite recent difficulties most bookies would hesitate to price Spain much longer odds than marginal favourites Brazil.
Yet the overwhelming mood seems to reflect a South American surge at the expense of old Europe, especially with the catastrophic plunges of France and Italy.
Key factors vary for each team, making any attempts at sweeping explanations rather difficult – and, also, unhelpful.
Yet several have suffered for lack of ambition and imagination, above all this evening’s casualties Switzerland.
Having conceded no goals during four games in 2006, before losing on penalties to the Ukraine, they exceeded expectations by beating European champions Spain in the first match this time around.
While not especially pleasing on the eye, the muscular work of Blaise Nkufo and the selfless persistence of Eren Derdiyok helped pull off a counter-attacking triumph – marked by Gelson Fernandes’ admittedly-scrappy winning goal.
Yet, after losing by the same scoreline to a more vigorous Chile, tonight’s insipid goalless draw against Honduras allowed Chile to go through despite losing to Spain.
After leading Chile one stage further than he managed with his native – and then much-admired – Argentina eight years ago, Marcelo Bielsa will struggle to find anyone begrudging him.
With their grain-opposing fondness for a 3-3-1-3 formation, Chile have certainly been one of the most curious propositions of the tournament so far – and also one of the most exciting to watch, with Matias Fernandez pulling strings and Alexis Sanchez pulling full-backs to shreds.
There was a fear, however, that the progressive return to form of a Swiss-shellshocked Spain might just be enough this evening to not only topple Chile from the top of Group H, but from the qualifying places all together.
Any Swiss win could easily have left Chile to rue the hordes of chances they created for just one goal apiece in the two previous games.
They did look like paying a hefty price for further wastefulness against Spain, most head-shakingly a close-range, 11th-minute shot blazed embarrassingly over by Mark Gonzalez.
Found in space on the end of Beausejoir’s cutback cross, the winger born not too far away in Durban showed finishing worthy of the Bafana Bafana.
And he and his team-mates were swiftly made to pay, as Spain were roused by another audacious goal by happy slapper David Villa – lofting in a first-time shot from not far inside the Chilean half, after goalkeeper Claudio Bravo had raced out to clear.
Encouragingly for Barcelona fans, and ominously for La Liga opponents, new Catalan signing Villa was soon combining deftly and incisively with a left-scurrying Andres Iniesta.
Back in the side after yet another of his season’s injuries, Iniesta virtually passed the ball into the net after a one-two with Villa – paying no heed to Fernando Torres lying slumped in the background.
While his strike partner is flourishing – his first goal against Honduras and his strike against Chile making him perhaps the most audacious Villa outside a Donald Trump estate – Torres is toiling.
Like the substitute who later replaced him, Cesc Fabregas, the injuries of the past season look to have left their mark – leaving neither one looking quite sharp enough, either in body or mind.
In both matches so far, Torres has tended to snatch wildly at chances with his feet, or miscue with his head, while the Fabregas cameos have been tentative, to put it politely.
Robin van Persie and Wayne Rooney – goalless and spark-less ever since that injury against Bayern Munich – are also still playing their way back into condition, in the most scrutinised of circumstances.
Van Persie is off the mark now at least, while for all the carping Rooney continues to face his movement did look a little more nimble and defence-stretching against Slovenia.
Bringing the very best out of Rooney on Sunday will be Capello’s most pressing challenge, while Del Bosque faces further tinkering to a side whose displays he rightly termed ‘weird’.
Sergio Busquets hares here, there and everywhere across the field, with admirable energy – though perhaps not always with such need or indeed helpfulness.
The Spain of Euro 2008, for all their eye-boggling tiki-taka – allied with the urge and ability to counter-attack at lightning-speed when crucial – had at their base the immaculate Marcos Senna in holding midfield.
His unfussy distribution, barely-there-but-triumphant tackles, and ability to cut off more passes than the cast of Bonanza ought really to have renamed the so-called ‘Makalele role’.
His own injury-dogged season with a below-par Villareal meant he misses out this summer.
Perhaps it has also been a temptation to stamp his own mark on Luis Aragones’ prestigious achievers that prompts Del Bosque to field not just one deep-lying midfielder but two, in the form of Busquets and Xabi Alonso.
Yet in the marginally underwhelming Spain games so far, this has resulted in phases of frustration, when the likes of Xavi and Iniesta have been forced higher up the pitch – trying to launch those mesmering moves with a little less space opening up clear ahead.
David Silva disappointed in the first game, Jesus Navas has tried to hurl over a madly prolific number of crosses without quite connecting right, while Javi Martinez and Juan Mata have not quite got hold of the games in short substitute appearances.
Already only four of Spain’s 19 outfield players are still waiting for their first 2010 World Cup action, suggesting the strength in depth of the squad – but also a nagging sense of Del Bosque still fine-tuning.
Or maybe he’s just trying to keep everyone happy.
The trailing jet smoke of the now-flown French and Italian squads should act as some solace for all European survivors – there but for the grace (not hand) of God, go we…
The Dutch did did manage three wins out of three, despite their performances being about as flat as, well, the Netherlands – though stabs of élan from Elia and Sneijder suggest there should be plenty more still to come.
Although a defence featuring the old-timer likes of Van Brockhorst and Boulahrouz hardly looks like a World Cup-winning rearguard in waiting, the evidence so far suggests they make more than the sum of their parts.
After all, Bert van Marwijk’s side conceded fewer goals than any other European side during qualifiers and have let in just one so far at the tournament itself – and that a Samuel Eto’o penalty, in Thursday’s meaning-lite third match.
Perhaps the most mouthwatering test for that defence would come from the tournament’s strongest attack, the rich Argentina palette of Messi, Tevez, Higuain, Milito and, yes, even ever-willing hoofer Martin Palermo.
Their respective routes to the final would mean having to meet in the final itself, an alluring rematch of 1978 – though this time with added Maradona, one of three players cut at the last moment from Cesar Luis Menotti’s squad back then.
But before then, for all their dreamlike movement and interconnectedness up front, Argentina’s own wobbly defence might have been toppled by others.
Even against the lowly likes of Nigeria, South Korea and Greece, failings and fissures could be glimpsed at the back – whether in the gaping spaces left behind false right-back Jonas Gutierrez or when Demichelis and partners were pressed in possession.
Then again, when you have Lionel Messi showing such sparkling verve – whether as striker, winger or deep-drifting playmaker – just winning the ball back will be a sturdy challenge itself.
Cristiano Ronaldo has gone one better than his World Footballer of the Year successor, by hitting the back of the net – though an uncharacteristic self-deprecation in his grin suggested his ball-juggling strike owed equal credit to both judgment and luck.
Kaka, despite playing with his usual grace, has suffered another stop-start opening to this World Cup, though will be under pressure to do better even against the leg-choppers of Chile.
While he and Rooney are perhaps the only superstar names to have under-performed, several more emerging talents have captured the attention – and imagination.
Mesut Ozul, of course, though also impressive have been Uruguay’s versatile defender Jorge Fucile and their poacher-turned-playmaker Diego Forlan.
Then there was Robert Vittek’s barnstorming performance for Slovakia against Italy – all the alleged qualities of Heskey, but with surefire finishing too – while Japan’s free-kick-swisher Keisuke Honda and Ghana’s diminituve cruncher Anthony Annan have also caught the eye.
Others quick off the mark include adventurous Portugal wing-back Fabio Contreiao, New Zealand’s indefatigable goalkeeper ?? Paston and US inspirations Landon Donovan and, more surprisingly, half-pint right-back Steve Cherundolo.
Still there has been a irritating shortage of goals in too many games, currently averaging out at 2.1 per match – worse than the all-time World Cup low of Italia 90’s 2.2, with Germany ’06 managing not much more at 2.3.
At least things could only get better after the first set of first round matches produced just 25 goals in 16 games, with 42 in the next batch and 34 in the third.
Whinges about vuvuzelas and Jabulanis have been waning ever since sides started to hit form – and the net – with smoother ease.
Or else, still-thrilling chaos - as in the cases of Cameroon-Denmark and Slovakia-Italy above all.
Packed eight-, nine- or ten-men defences when not in possession held a relative balance of power for the tournament’s early stages, but the most unambitious teams are thankfully on their way home now.
Off the field itself, stadia have been crammed with noise if not capacity crowds.
A rather casual air around security has so far led to only embarrassment and not calamity.
And most people have managed to get to the games they intended – even if a tournament navigable by car or plane alone tends to favour only those with plenty of patience. And cash.
The Fifa and LOC strictures which have cowed local traders – while cow-towing, of course, to official sponsors – have threatened at times to dully homogenise an event idealised as something deliberately, exciting different.
But the outbursts of outrage heavy-handed officials have faced – sloganised on T-shirts as ‘Fick Fufa’ or ‘Mafifa: we own the game’ – may fade gently away as they count the governing body’s $1billion annual profits.
Carping aside, even when the World Cup’s bad, it’s still worth cherishing just because it’s the World Cup – and this has so far been a not-bad tournament anyway.
Previous finals tended to turn cagier – though dramatic, if all-too-often penalty-decided – when the expansive group stages gave way to winner-takes-all knock-outs.
Perhaps this time we might see the opposite effect. Either way, the next fortnight can only be compelling.
Never mind the quality – feel the drama. Though some quality treats would be welcome as well.
Greece have already gone into leaderless meltdown, Italy rapidly heading that way too.
Ireland have long since bailed out already, while Spain and Portugal have had to do some tricky clinging on – though desperate times mean they must now turn on each other.
So much for the so-called PIIGS.
Elsewhere, despite a brief recent upturn England remains vulnerable and split in top leadership positions, while Germany is starting to creak under the burden of maintaining momentum.
Meanwhile, Brazil continues to thrive – alongside emerging South American neighbours – while efficient Asian nations surge forward while Africa still struggles.
It’s not the economy, stupid – but the World Cup, of course, now making tough cutbacks of its own by shedding 16 squads.
Seven of those flying home are doing so to Europe, leaving just six from what was the tournament’s best-represented continent.
And all six now face each other in what is somewhat inelegantly, yet universally being referred to as ‘the round of 16’ (rather than, say, simply the second round).
That does still guarantee that almost half of this summer’s quarter-finalists will come from Europe, and despite recent difficulties most bookies would hesitate to price Spain much longer odds than marginal favourites Brazil.
Yet the overwhelming mood seems to reflect a South American surge at the expense of old Europe, especially with the catastrophic plunges of France and Italy.
Key factors vary for each team, making any attempts at sweeping explanations rather difficult – and, also, unhelpful.
Yet several have suffered for lack of ambition and imagination, above all this evening’s casualties Switzerland.
Having conceded no goals during four games in 2006, before losing on penalties to the Ukraine, they exceeded expectations by beating European champions Spain in the first match this time around.
While not especially pleasing on the eye, the muscular work of Blaise Nkufo and the selfless persistence of Eren Derdiyok helped pull off a counter-attacking triumph – marked by Gelson Fernandes’ admittedly-scrappy winning goal.
Yet, after losing by the same scoreline to a more vigorous Chile, tonight’s insipid goalless draw against Honduras allowed Chile to go through despite losing to Spain.
After leading Chile one stage further than he managed with his native – and then much-admired – Argentina eight years ago, Marcelo Bielsa will struggle to find anyone begrudging him.
With their grain-opposing fondness for a 3-3-1-3 formation, Chile have certainly been one of the most curious propositions of the tournament so far – and also one of the most exciting to watch, with Matias Fernandez pulling strings and Alexis Sanchez pulling full-backs to shreds.
There was a fear, however, that the progressive return to form of a Swiss-shellshocked Spain might just be enough this evening to not only topple Chile from the top of Group H, but from the qualifying places all together.
Any Swiss win could easily have left Chile to rue the hordes of chances they created for just one goal apiece in the two previous games.
They did look like paying a hefty price for further wastefulness against Spain, most head-shakingly a close-range, 11th-minute shot blazed embarrassingly over by Mark Gonzalez.
Found in space on the end of Beausejoir’s cutback cross, the winger born not too far away in Durban showed finishing worthy of the Bafana Bafana.
And he and his team-mates were swiftly made to pay, as Spain were roused by another audacious goal by happy slapper David Villa – lofting in a first-time shot from not far inside the Chilean half, after goalkeeper Claudio Bravo had raced out to clear.
Encouragingly for Barcelona fans, and ominously for La Liga opponents, new Catalan signing Villa was soon combining deftly and incisively with a left-scurrying Andres Iniesta.
Back in the side after yet another of his season’s injuries, Iniesta virtually passed the ball into the net after a one-two with Villa – paying no heed to Fernando Torres lying slumped in the background.
While his strike partner is flourishing – his first goal against Honduras and his strike against Chile making him perhaps the most audacious Villa outside a Donald Trump estate – Torres is toiling.
Like the substitute who later replaced him, Cesc Fabregas, the injuries of the past season look to have left their mark – leaving neither one looking quite sharp enough, either in body or mind.
In both matches so far, Torres has tended to snatch wildly at chances with his feet, or miscue with his head, while the Fabregas cameos have been tentative, to put it politely.
Robin van Persie and Wayne Rooney – goalless and spark-less ever since that injury against Bayern Munich – are also still playing their way back into condition, in the most scrutinised of circumstances.
Van Persie is off the mark now at least, while for all the carping Rooney continues to face his movement did look a little more nimble and defence-stretching against Slovenia.
Bringing the very best out of Rooney on Sunday will be Capello’s most pressing challenge, while Del Bosque faces further tinkering to a side whose displays he rightly termed ‘weird’.
Sergio Busquets hares here, there and everywhere across the field, with admirable energy – though perhaps not always with such need or indeed helpfulness.
The Spain of Euro 2008, for all their eye-boggling tiki-taka – allied with the urge and ability to counter-attack at lightning-speed when crucial – had at their base the immaculate Marcos Senna in holding midfield.
His unfussy distribution, barely-there-but-triumphant tackles, and ability to cut off more passes than the cast of Bonanza ought really to have renamed the so-called ‘Makalele role’.
His own injury-dogged season with a below-par Villareal meant he misses out this summer.
Perhaps it has also been a temptation to stamp his own mark on Luis Aragones’ prestigious achievers that prompts Del Bosque to field not just one deep-lying midfielder but two, in the form of Busquets and Xabi Alonso.
Yet in the marginally underwhelming Spain games so far, this has resulted in phases of frustration, when the likes of Xavi and Iniesta have been forced higher up the pitch – trying to launch those mesmering moves with a little less space opening up clear ahead.
David Silva disappointed in the first game, Jesus Navas has tried to hurl over a madly prolific number of crosses without quite connecting right, while Javi Martinez and Juan Mata have not quite got hold of the games in short substitute appearances.
Already only four of Spain’s 19 outfield players are still waiting for their first 2010 World Cup action, suggesting the strength in depth of the squad – but also a nagging sense of Del Bosque still fine-tuning.
Or maybe he’s just trying to keep everyone happy.
The trailing jet smoke of the now-flown French and Italian squads should act as some solace for all European survivors – there but for the grace (not hand) of God, go we…
The Dutch did did manage three wins out of three, despite their performances being about as flat as, well, the Netherlands – though stabs of élan from Elia and Sneijder suggest there should be plenty more still to come.
Although a defence featuring the old-timer likes of Van Brockhorst and Boulahrouz hardly looks like a World Cup-winning rearguard in waiting, the evidence so far suggests they make more than the sum of their parts.
After all, Bert van Marwijk’s side conceded fewer goals than any other European side during qualifiers and have let in just one so far at the tournament itself – and that a Samuel Eto’o penalty, in Thursday’s meaning-lite third match.
Perhaps the most mouthwatering test for that defence would come from the tournament’s strongest attack, the rich Argentina palette of Messi, Tevez, Higuain, Milito and, yes, even ever-willing hoofer Martin Palermo.
Their respective routes to the final would mean having to meet in the final itself, an alluring rematch of 1978 – though this time with added Maradona, one of three players cut at the last moment from Cesar Luis Menotti’s squad back then.
But before then, for all their dreamlike movement and interconnectedness up front, Argentina’s own wobbly defence might have been toppled by others.
Even against the lowly likes of Nigeria, South Korea and Greece, failings and fissures could be glimpsed at the back – whether in the gaping spaces left behind false right-back Jonas Gutierrez or when Demichelis and partners were pressed in possession.
Then again, when you have Lionel Messi showing such sparkling verve – whether as striker, winger or deep-drifting playmaker – just winning the ball back will be a sturdy challenge itself.
Cristiano Ronaldo has gone one better than his World Footballer of the Year successor, by hitting the back of the net – though an uncharacteristic self-deprecation in his grin suggested his ball-juggling strike owed equal credit to both judgment and luck.
Kaka, despite playing with his usual grace, has suffered another stop-start opening to this World Cup, though will be under pressure to do better even against the leg-choppers of Chile.
While he and Rooney are perhaps the only superstar names to have under-performed, several more emerging talents have captured the attention – and imagination.
Mesut Ozul, of course, though also impressive have been Uruguay’s versatile defender Jorge Fucile and their poacher-turned-playmaker Diego Forlan.
Then there was Robert Vittek’s barnstorming performance for Slovakia against Italy – all the alleged qualities of Heskey, but with surefire finishing too – while Japan’s free-kick-swisher Keisuke Honda and Ghana’s diminituve cruncher Anthony Annan have also caught the eye.
Others quick off the mark include adventurous Portugal wing-back Fabio Contreiao, New Zealand’s indefatigable goalkeeper ?? Paston and US inspirations Landon Donovan and, more surprisingly, half-pint right-back Steve Cherundolo.
Still there has been a irritating shortage of goals in too many games, currently averaging out at 2.1 per match – worse than the all-time World Cup low of Italia 90’s 2.2, with Germany ’06 managing not much more at 2.3.
At least things could only get better after the first set of first round matches produced just 25 goals in 16 games, with 42 in the next batch and 34 in the third.
Whinges about vuvuzelas and Jabulanis have been waning ever since sides started to hit form – and the net – with smoother ease.
Or else, still-thrilling chaos - as in the cases of Cameroon-Denmark and Slovakia-Italy above all.
Packed eight-, nine- or ten-men defences when not in possession held a relative balance of power for the tournament’s early stages, but the most unambitious teams are thankfully on their way home now.
Off the field itself, stadia have been crammed with noise if not capacity crowds.
A rather casual air around security has so far led to only embarrassment and not calamity.
And most people have managed to get to the games they intended – even if a tournament navigable by car or plane alone tends to favour only those with plenty of patience. And cash.
The Fifa and LOC strictures which have cowed local traders – while cow-towing, of course, to official sponsors – have threatened at times to dully homogenise an event idealised as something deliberately, exciting different.
But the outbursts of outrage heavy-handed officials have faced – sloganised on T-shirts as ‘Fick Fufa’ or ‘Mafifa: we own the game’ – may fade gently away as they count the governing body’s $1billion annual profits.
Carping aside, even when the World Cup’s bad, it’s still worth cherishing just because it’s the World Cup – and this has so far been a not-bad tournament anyway.
Previous finals tended to turn cagier – though dramatic, if all-too-often penalty-decided – when the expansive group stages gave way to winner-takes-all knock-outs.
Perhaps this time we might see the opposite effect. Either way, the next fortnight can only be compelling.
Never mind the quality – feel the drama. Though some quality treats would be welcome as well.
"No one was saved..."
AFTER a first round littered with goalkeeping errors, little wonder those wearing gloves are relishing the start of the knock-out stages – and the inevitability of penalty shoot-outs.
For once, the goalkeeper is the man who can hardly lose – possibly elevated to hero status, yet if not still seldom ending up public enemy number one.
In a shoot-out, as England players know all too well but could yet discover again on Sunday, the pressure is all on the kicker, not the keeper.
In fact, in normal or extra time, only six more World Cup penalties have actually been saved than those hitting the woodwork or missing the target entirely.
David Villa’s surprise sidefoot wide, against Honduras on Monday, was the 16th that failed to even test the ‘keeper.
Even more notable misses include Antonio Cabrini’s, for Italy against West Germany, in no less a game than the 1982 final – not to mention Diana Ross’s opening ceremony howler when the US played host in 1994.
Once the game goes to spot-kicks alone, the burden can only grow bigger on the shoulders of players nominated to strike out – though gravity seemed to have an inverse effect when, say, Chris Waddle and Roberto Baggio stepped up.
Oliver Kahn today described the face-off between ‘keeper and taker as ‘a permanent psychological battle between the keeper and the shooter’, and that the notion of homework can be over-rated.
He admitted not only failing to remember any of his research on opposition takers, when his Bayern Munich beat Valencia on spot-kicks in the 2001 Champions League final.
Indeed, so intensively focused was he on just saving each kick, he didn’t even realise the scoreline – or that his final decisive save was enough to clinch the trophy.
But he did say: ‘In order to be able to save a penalty you always need a certain amount of luck but of course there are other facets.
‘Preparation, for example - you need to familiarise yourself with who will be taking the penalty: is it more of a technical player, or a player who will resort to strength and power?
‘You can read a lot from the body language, where he will shoot. And it’s also down to eye contact.
‘You can irritate a penalty taker with your body language. You can see whether a player is fearful, you can see from the eyes if he makes a small mistake which corner it will go to.’
‘This psychological battle is often invisible to the spectators.’
Yet this idea that you can never quite replicate the atmosphere and mental challenge of a big-game penalty shoot-out has perhaps been foolishly abused by England in the past, as an excuse for doing no preparation at all.
Anyone can miss a penalty, of course – as shown by recent fluffs by England’s Frank Lampard, usually so metronomically reliable and who put away not just one but two more retaken penalties in quick succession against West Ham last season.
Last month, however, he dragged his FA Cup final penalty wide of the Wembley posts, before later stabbing a spot-kick straight at Japan’s goalkeeper in a pre-World Cup friendly.
He also, of course, was one of the three English players who so limply flopped, in the quarter-final showdown with Portugal four years ago.
Jermain Defoe has revealed this England squad have been practicing penalties every day of the tournament.
Tempting as it might be to imagine a World Cup entirely settled in open play, shoot-outs have been depressingly widespread at every tournament since West Germany and Harald Schumacher infamously beat France, thanks to the first, in 1982.
Another 19 have been needed since then, including two that settled the destination of the trophy itself – Baggio’s sky-high ‘effort’ being by far the most memorable element of the 1994 final.
Four of the 16 knock-out matches at the 2006 World Cup could only be decided by a shoot-out, so if England are to go all the way this time they should need to finally break that penalty hoodoo.
Only once have England won a major tournament match on penalties, against the even more notoriously jinxed Spanish at Euro 96 – with David Seaman making one save, and seeing another penalty screwed wide.
While Defoe may hope that his latest practice makes perfect, his own recent record is the most alarming of England’s lot – missing five of his last ten, though at least his latest, against Chelsea, thundered in.
But his last-minute failures against West Ham United and Everton, costing Spurs two points each time, hardly provide reassurance about his ability under pressure.
Kahn, speaking today at an Adidas ‘penalty day’ press conference in Sandton, tipped Germany’s number one Manuel Neuer to prove psychologically strong if it goes to penalties this Sunday.
Despite having only eight caps, and still being ‘just’ 24, the Schalke ‘keeper has several years of Champions League experience.
He was also in goal for the German side that crushed England in the final of last summer’s under-20 European Championship.
Kahn said: ‘Neuer is very, very young and has many positive things to say - he does not have a lot of contact with negative experiences yet.’
He also criticised England and leading clubs Manchester United, Chelsea, Liverpool and Arsenal for fielding foreign goalkeepers – hindering the development of a world-class option for the national side.
Petr Cech, sitting to his right, gave barely a flicker of response when Chelsea’s foreign choice was mentioned – retaining a robotic air both on and off the pitch.
Yet Germany themselves have hardly come into the competition with overwhelming faith in their choice of number one.
Rene Adler had been officially anointed, after lengthy indecision, only to instantly, seemingly suffer the ‘yips’ with a glaring blunder against Argentina in a friendly last March.
His subsequent rib injury meant a choice between three much-of-a-muchness contenders, the more promising Neuer finally given the nod above Hans-Jorg Butt and Tim Wiese.
Neuer did make some robust enough interventions when defensive lapses allowed Ghana through on goal, in Wednesday night’s final Group D match.
In the approving words of Kahn, never renowned for modesty himself: ‘He has a lot of self-confidence, he sees himself positively and as a winner.’
Yet while praising this ‘untypical’ German team for their attractive ‘combination football’, he acknowledged they lack experience – especially compared to England.
Age and experience can be over-rated – or, at least, irrelevant when World Cup responsibility calls.
Michael Owen, at 18, showed no hint of nerves with his emphatic spot-kick in the 1998 shoot-out against Argentina, with those rugged seniors Paul Ince and David Batty the ones who faltered.
A penalty shoot-out may be more than just luck, and Kahn and Argentina’s Italia 90 hero Sergio Goycochea both recoil at descriptions such as ‘lottery’ or ‘Russian roulette’.
But for all their rehearsals, both nerves and the self-perpetuating effect of England’s alleged penalty ‘curse’, means more spot-kicks on Sunday could be too much to bear.
Just for good – or bad – measure, Germany’s three squad goalkeepers have saved 15 of their last 27 penalties faced – Neuer four from ten, Butt four from seven and Wiese seven from ten.
England’s three, however, have managed just one save apiece in their last 26.
Better to win then, if possible, before having to form those awful and ominous centre-circle circles.
After all, knock-out matches don’t all have to end that way.
And before being given the no-lose chance of glory, a goalkeeper can find himself falling victim and villain in an actual game – as Vincent Enyeama, Fawzi Chaouchi and of course Robert Green have all already found to their, and their country’s, cost.
For once, the goalkeeper is the man who can hardly lose – possibly elevated to hero status, yet if not still seldom ending up public enemy number one.
In a shoot-out, as England players know all too well but could yet discover again on Sunday, the pressure is all on the kicker, not the keeper.
In fact, in normal or extra time, only six more World Cup penalties have actually been saved than those hitting the woodwork or missing the target entirely.
David Villa’s surprise sidefoot wide, against Honduras on Monday, was the 16th that failed to even test the ‘keeper.
Even more notable misses include Antonio Cabrini’s, for Italy against West Germany, in no less a game than the 1982 final – not to mention Diana Ross’s opening ceremony howler when the US played host in 1994.
Once the game goes to spot-kicks alone, the burden can only grow bigger on the shoulders of players nominated to strike out – though gravity seemed to have an inverse effect when, say, Chris Waddle and Roberto Baggio stepped up.
Oliver Kahn today described the face-off between ‘keeper and taker as ‘a permanent psychological battle between the keeper and the shooter’, and that the notion of homework can be over-rated.
He admitted not only failing to remember any of his research on opposition takers, when his Bayern Munich beat Valencia on spot-kicks in the 2001 Champions League final.
Indeed, so intensively focused was he on just saving each kick, he didn’t even realise the scoreline – or that his final decisive save was enough to clinch the trophy.
But he did say: ‘In order to be able to save a penalty you always need a certain amount of luck but of course there are other facets.
‘Preparation, for example - you need to familiarise yourself with who will be taking the penalty: is it more of a technical player, or a player who will resort to strength and power?
‘You can read a lot from the body language, where he will shoot. And it’s also down to eye contact.
‘You can irritate a penalty taker with your body language. You can see whether a player is fearful, you can see from the eyes if he makes a small mistake which corner it will go to.’
‘This psychological battle is often invisible to the spectators.’
Yet this idea that you can never quite replicate the atmosphere and mental challenge of a big-game penalty shoot-out has perhaps been foolishly abused by England in the past, as an excuse for doing no preparation at all.
Anyone can miss a penalty, of course – as shown by recent fluffs by England’s Frank Lampard, usually so metronomically reliable and who put away not just one but two more retaken penalties in quick succession against West Ham last season.
Last month, however, he dragged his FA Cup final penalty wide of the Wembley posts, before later stabbing a spot-kick straight at Japan’s goalkeeper in a pre-World Cup friendly.
He also, of course, was one of the three English players who so limply flopped, in the quarter-final showdown with Portugal four years ago.
Jermain Defoe has revealed this England squad have been practicing penalties every day of the tournament.
Tempting as it might be to imagine a World Cup entirely settled in open play, shoot-outs have been depressingly widespread at every tournament since West Germany and Harald Schumacher infamously beat France, thanks to the first, in 1982.
Another 19 have been needed since then, including two that settled the destination of the trophy itself – Baggio’s sky-high ‘effort’ being by far the most memorable element of the 1994 final.
Four of the 16 knock-out matches at the 2006 World Cup could only be decided by a shoot-out, so if England are to go all the way this time they should need to finally break that penalty hoodoo.
Only once have England won a major tournament match on penalties, against the even more notoriously jinxed Spanish at Euro 96 – with David Seaman making one save, and seeing another penalty screwed wide.
While Defoe may hope that his latest practice makes perfect, his own recent record is the most alarming of England’s lot – missing five of his last ten, though at least his latest, against Chelsea, thundered in.
But his last-minute failures against West Ham United and Everton, costing Spurs two points each time, hardly provide reassurance about his ability under pressure.
Kahn, speaking today at an Adidas ‘penalty day’ press conference in Sandton, tipped Germany’s number one Manuel Neuer to prove psychologically strong if it goes to penalties this Sunday.
Despite having only eight caps, and still being ‘just’ 24, the Schalke ‘keeper has several years of Champions League experience.
He was also in goal for the German side that crushed England in the final of last summer’s under-20 European Championship.
Kahn said: ‘Neuer is very, very young and has many positive things to say - he does not have a lot of contact with negative experiences yet.’
He also criticised England and leading clubs Manchester United, Chelsea, Liverpool and Arsenal for fielding foreign goalkeepers – hindering the development of a world-class option for the national side.
Petr Cech, sitting to his right, gave barely a flicker of response when Chelsea’s foreign choice was mentioned – retaining a robotic air both on and off the pitch.
Yet Germany themselves have hardly come into the competition with overwhelming faith in their choice of number one.
Rene Adler had been officially anointed, after lengthy indecision, only to instantly, seemingly suffer the ‘yips’ with a glaring blunder against Argentina in a friendly last March.
His subsequent rib injury meant a choice between three much-of-a-muchness contenders, the more promising Neuer finally given the nod above Hans-Jorg Butt and Tim Wiese.
Neuer did make some robust enough interventions when defensive lapses allowed Ghana through on goal, in Wednesday night’s final Group D match.
In the approving words of Kahn, never renowned for modesty himself: ‘He has a lot of self-confidence, he sees himself positively and as a winner.’
Yet while praising this ‘untypical’ German team for their attractive ‘combination football’, he acknowledged they lack experience – especially compared to England.
Age and experience can be over-rated – or, at least, irrelevant when World Cup responsibility calls.
Michael Owen, at 18, showed no hint of nerves with his emphatic spot-kick in the 1998 shoot-out against Argentina, with those rugged seniors Paul Ince and David Batty the ones who faltered.
A penalty shoot-out may be more than just luck, and Kahn and Argentina’s Italia 90 hero Sergio Goycochea both recoil at descriptions such as ‘lottery’ or ‘Russian roulette’.
But for all their rehearsals, both nerves and the self-perpetuating effect of England’s alleged penalty ‘curse’, means more spot-kicks on Sunday could be too much to bear.
Just for good – or bad – measure, Germany’s three squad goalkeepers have saved 15 of their last 27 penalties faced – Neuer four from ten, Butt four from seven and Wiese seven from ten.
England’s three, however, have managed just one save apiece in their last 26.
Better to win then, if possible, before having to form those awful and ominous centre-circle circles.
After all, knock-out matches don’t all have to end that way.
And before being given the no-lose chance of glory, a goalkeeper can find himself falling victim and villain in an actual game – as Vincent Enyeama, Fawzi Chaouchi and of course Robert Green have all already found to their, and their country’s, cost.
"Love's got the world in motion, and I can't believe it's true..."
ENGLAND could still take on Brazil this summer, even if certain other opponents stand in the way for the moment.
A prospective England-Brazil final might still seem as laughable as, say, Diego Maradona’s whinges about handball or Dunga’s about persistent fouling.
Or a South African newspaper’s confused correspondent, who this week described Flower of Scotland as the Welsh national anthem.
Yet England and Brazil are already emerging as rivals in mopping up fervent home support from South Africans coming to terms with the Bafana Bafana’s early, if expected, exit.
Anecdotal evidence suggests Brazil have plenty of enthusiasm from stadium volunteers, hotel workers, drivers and South Africans on the streets.
Yet the hordes of supporters here from England are certainly being strongly bolstered by locals, whether prompted by family or historical ties, or passionate support for Premier League stars and sides.
Ex-England international Chris Powell, coaching Cape Town and Johannesburg youngsters for education-for-all campaign 1GOAL, told Metro: ‘The kids all love Premier League football over here.
‘You see everyone walking round in Premier League shirts before their own local teams’, which does seem a bit bizarre.
‘England does actually seem to be their second team, after Bafana Bafana, because English football is so hugely popular here. It could be a great asset.’
South African tourism officials, while not quite so wide-eyed, were among those cheering as not only England but also the USA squeaked through to the next round.
Both countries are among the best-represented and biggest-spending out here.
Locals with their eye on the takings could face a Sunday dilemma, though, since the Germans are also here in vast numbers and generously dipping into also-vast pockets – though Angela Merkel might not approve.
Bloemfontein, where England and Germany will resume their rivalry, seems to have had a premonition about the coming invasion while also nailing its colours to the mast.
Even as the hosts prepared to take on France on Tuesday, the only non-South African flags or customised vuvuzelas being hawked by street-traders were those bearing the St George’s cross.
Fans of the local football team, Bloemfontein Celtic, already enjoy a reputation for vociferous, steadfast support – despite their wealthy team being starved of actual honours for too long.
Hm, sounds familiar. The Free State city’s stadium, with its old-fashioned English-style grandstands, might also prove a comfier fit for players and fans than Rustenburg’s athletics track or the artier new surroundings of Cape Town and Port Elizabeth.
What better setting, then, for England to be inspired – especially if a pack of new recruits can help the ‘Three Lions’ roar?
A prospective England-Brazil final might still seem as laughable as, say, Diego Maradona’s whinges about handball or Dunga’s about persistent fouling.
Or a South African newspaper’s confused correspondent, who this week described Flower of Scotland as the Welsh national anthem.
Yet England and Brazil are already emerging as rivals in mopping up fervent home support from South Africans coming to terms with the Bafana Bafana’s early, if expected, exit.
Anecdotal evidence suggests Brazil have plenty of enthusiasm from stadium volunteers, hotel workers, drivers and South Africans on the streets.
Yet the hordes of supporters here from England are certainly being strongly bolstered by locals, whether prompted by family or historical ties, or passionate support for Premier League stars and sides.
Ex-England international Chris Powell, coaching Cape Town and Johannesburg youngsters for education-for-all campaign 1GOAL, told Metro: ‘The kids all love Premier League football over here.
‘You see everyone walking round in Premier League shirts before their own local teams’, which does seem a bit bizarre.
‘England does actually seem to be their second team, after Bafana Bafana, because English football is so hugely popular here. It could be a great asset.’
South African tourism officials, while not quite so wide-eyed, were among those cheering as not only England but also the USA squeaked through to the next round.
Both countries are among the best-represented and biggest-spending out here.
Locals with their eye on the takings could face a Sunday dilemma, though, since the Germans are also here in vast numbers and generously dipping into also-vast pockets – though Angela Merkel might not approve.
Bloemfontein, where England and Germany will resume their rivalry, seems to have had a premonition about the coming invasion while also nailing its colours to the mast.
Even as the hosts prepared to take on France on Tuesday, the only non-South African flags or customised vuvuzelas being hawked by street-traders were those bearing the St George’s cross.
Fans of the local football team, Bloemfontein Celtic, already enjoy a reputation for vociferous, steadfast support – despite their wealthy team being starved of actual honours for too long.
Hm, sounds familiar. The Free State city’s stadium, with its old-fashioned English-style grandstands, might also prove a comfier fit for players and fans than Rustenburg’s athletics track or the artier new surroundings of Cape Town and Port Elizabeth.
What better setting, then, for England to be inspired – especially if a pack of new recruits can help the ‘Three Lions’ roar?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)