Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Monday, June 28, 2010
An early flight home
At every World Cup, there is at least one shocking exit in the first round. Whether it be England in 1950, Brazil and Italy in 1966, or Columbia in 1994, there is almost guaranteed to be one major casualty before the business end of the competition begins. The 2002 version provided a remarkable example of this, when the three tournament favourites (France, Argentina, Portugal) couldn't negotiate their way into the knock-out phase. South Africa 2010 would surely provide another established power falling at the first hurdle.
And so it would prove. As the 2010 group stage reached its climax, four major teams were on the edge. Italy, England, France and Spain all approached their final games with varying degrees of trepidation. Two of them would make it through, one even winning their group. But two others would fall. The most shocking of those was the reigning world champions.
The Italians have been a world power as long as this competition has existed. Champions at home in 1934 and again in France four years later, they have since tended to succeed when expected not to, and fail while being touted as potential champions. North Korea shocked Italy in 1966, 1974 saw them tamely exit before the competition really got going, and they failed to win the title at home in 1990. Their two modern day titles, however, have come when least expected.
Emerging from a devastating bribery scandal in 1980 that saw star striker Paulo Rossi banned for two years, Italy struggled through the opening round of the 1982 Finals, drawing all three of their group games. Then, against all the odds, they triumphed against champions Argentina, a magnificent Brazil team, and Poland to reach the final. In Madrid the West Germans were swept aside as Rossi scored his sixth of the tournament and Italy became champions with an easy 3-1 win. In 2006 the story was eerily similar, bribery scandal included, as the Italians won their fourth title despite being outplayed for major parts of the final against France. No surprise then, when Slovakia's deserved 3-2 win over the title holders condemned Italy to an early flight home from South Africa without winning a game. Having said that, their demise was nothing compared to that of the French.
The French were only in the Finals because of Thierry Henry's now legendary handball against Ireland. Today the degree of their implosion was best demonstrated by the shocking resignation of the president of the French Football Federation. This followed an uninspiring scorelss draw with Uraguay, defeats against Mexico and South Africa, Nicholas Anelka being sent home, the team refusing to train, the fitness coach quitting, and the team seemingly in virtual mutiny. Striker Henry, who surely has played in his last finals, was last seen seeking a meeting with the French Prime Minister. Ten years ago they were unquestionably the world's greatest team. Now they are an embarrassment. Maybe Henry should have punched the ball into his own net last year in Paris---the Irish surely would have put up a better fight in these Finals.
Spain took care of business in their final must-win group game against Chile, and edged their way to the top of the group in the process. Switzerland's early win against the Spanish proved to be meaningless in the end, and the feeling edures that this highly talented Spain team will only get better as the tournament goes on. For the English, a narrow 1-0 victory against Slovenia ensured their progress in second place in Group C, but merely delayed the inevitable. The fallibility and mediocrity of this particular English side was ruthlessly exposed by a young, dynamic German team. The final score of 4-1 was an uncomfortably accurate indication of the gulf between the sides. Frank Lampard's first half shot, which clearly crossed the line, was missed by the referee and linesman, and would have made the score 2-2. But England's problems go deeper than the obvious need for instant replay. Perhaps this defeat to their old enemy will force a major rethink of how talent is nurtured in the home of football.
As the World Cup entered the quarter final stage, France, Italy, England, and Portugal were all out. But it was in the last eight that this tournament would produce possibly its biggest shocks.
And so it would prove. As the 2010 group stage reached its climax, four major teams were on the edge. Italy, England, France and Spain all approached their final games with varying degrees of trepidation. Two of them would make it through, one even winning their group. But two others would fall. The most shocking of those was the reigning world champions.
The Italians have been a world power as long as this competition has existed. Champions at home in 1934 and again in France four years later, they have since tended to succeed when expected not to, and fail while being touted as potential champions. North Korea shocked Italy in 1966, 1974 saw them tamely exit before the competition really got going, and they failed to win the title at home in 1990. Their two modern day titles, however, have come when least expected.
Emerging from a devastating bribery scandal in 1980 that saw star striker Paulo Rossi banned for two years, Italy struggled through the opening round of the 1982 Finals, drawing all three of their group games. Then, against all the odds, they triumphed against champions Argentina, a magnificent Brazil team, and Poland to reach the final. In Madrid the West Germans were swept aside as Rossi scored his sixth of the tournament and Italy became champions with an easy 3-1 win. In 2006 the story was eerily similar, bribery scandal included, as the Italians won their fourth title despite being outplayed for major parts of the final against France. No surprise then, when Slovakia's deserved 3-2 win over the title holders condemned Italy to an early flight home from South Africa without winning a game. Having said that, their demise was nothing compared to that of the French.
The French were only in the Finals because of Thierry Henry's now legendary handball against Ireland. Today the degree of their implosion was best demonstrated by the shocking resignation of the president of the French Football Federation. This followed an uninspiring scorelss draw with Uraguay, defeats against Mexico and South Africa, Nicholas Anelka being sent home, the team refusing to train, the fitness coach quitting, and the team seemingly in virtual mutiny. Striker Henry, who surely has played in his last finals, was last seen seeking a meeting with the French Prime Minister. Ten years ago they were unquestionably the world's greatest team. Now they are an embarrassment. Maybe Henry should have punched the ball into his own net last year in Paris---the Irish surely would have put up a better fight in these Finals.
Spain took care of business in their final must-win group game against Chile, and edged their way to the top of the group in the process. Switzerland's early win against the Spanish proved to be meaningless in the end, and the feeling edures that this highly talented Spain team will only get better as the tournament goes on. For the English, a narrow 1-0 victory against Slovenia ensured their progress in second place in Group C, but merely delayed the inevitable. The fallibility and mediocrity of this particular English side was ruthlessly exposed by a young, dynamic German team. The final score of 4-1 was an uncomfortably accurate indication of the gulf between the sides. Frank Lampard's first half shot, which clearly crossed the line, was missed by the referee and linesman, and would have made the score 2-2. But England's problems go deeper than the obvious need for instant replay. Perhaps this defeat to their old enemy will force a major rethink of how talent is nurtured in the home of football.
As the World Cup entered the quarter final stage, France, Italy, England, and Portugal were all out. But it was in the last eight that this tournament would produce possibly its biggest shocks.
Monday, June 14, 2010
England Awaits
My wife and I were visiting Ireland, Scotland and England in early June, a holiday blending a wedding, sightseeing, and visiting old friends. Gripped with World Cup fever, I was glad to be back in the British Isles at World Cup time for the first time since 1986. As England were the only country in the islands to qualify, I was interested in seeing how the team was viewed in all three countries. A Scottish girl provided the best insight as to how the Scots looked at their Auld Enemy to the south.
The scene was an Edinburgh souvenir shop, the day before the World Cup was to begin. The girl behind the counter asked me where we were heading next on our vacation, and I told her we were driving down to England in time to see the England-USA game with old friends. "Arrgh," she said in a solid Edinburgh accent, "I HATE ENGLAND! I'll be painting a star-spangled banner on my face!" She seemed deadly serious.
If there's one nation that stokes the most interest of neutrals at the World Cup, it is surely England. As the undoubted inventors and exporters of the world's most popular sport, the English national team is the second favorite of many fans throughout the world. The Premier League is broadcast across the globe, and is viewed with reverence no matter what the quality of football. However, England also shoulders a rather unique burden at every major tournament in which it participates. Supported with a passion possibly unrivalled in the international game, the England team also faces the derision of a plethora of fans who wish for nothing more that their humiliating demise.
The Irish and the Scots, who didn't qualify for the World Cup, but certainly do qualify for the title of CEB (Certified English Bashers) would be first and second on our travel fixture list. Our first stop was Ballycastle, County Antrim, and it was here that we realized it was the French, not the English, who were targets of Irish venom. Thierry Henry's blatant handball last November in Paris knocked Ireland out of the World Cup in the cruelest fashion, and the Irish haven't forgotten. As I sat in a pub and ate my first Irish breakfast, I stared at a green tee-shirt on the wall that proclaimed "ANYONE BUT THE FRENCH." Presumably even a triumphant English team would be more palatable to the Irish than Henry's cheating getting its ultimate reward. At a family wedding in Galway, there was a marked ambivalence towards the old enemy across the Irish Sea. Most of those I asked were wishing the English at least lukewarm luck, although a cousin of mine did say that England winning the World Cup would be "a little too much!" Maybe it's the overall improved economy, maybe the success Ireland's national sporting teams have had in recent years, but it was nice to see a more friendly attitude towards England than might have been the case in years past.
As a certain girl in Edinburgh might attest, no such warmth existed in Scotland. Crossing the border into England the day the tournament began in South Africa, there emerged a sense of national pride, blind optimism, and finally realism. York was adorned with flags of St. George...sticking out of seemingly every car and house in town. Singing in pubs had already begun two days before the showdown with the United States, as England prepared again to be Champions of the World. In Coventry the next day, the flags were there, but my old friends were harboring some sobering opinions of this England team's quality. Would Heskey be in the Spanish squad? Do England have a goalkeeper? What if Rooney isn't fit? The answers were not comfortable ones, and my old pal Andy predicted the opener would end 1-1. He was exactly right, a disappointing England performance summed up by Rob Green in goal, fumbling a weak shot over his goal-line to give the Americans a deserved point. For those who were watching with me, there didn't seem to be any surprise that England were already struggling.
Six days later, an even more insipid performance resulted in a scoreless stalemate with Algeria, considered by some the weakest side in the competition. England were booed off the park by their own fans, and the feeling was that another ninety minutes against the Algerians still wouldn't have produced a goal. With a nation now consumed with the dreaded possibility of not making it out of a relatively weak group, anything other than victory against Slovenia will send England crashing out of the World Cup. The singing, hand-wringing, and intensity will be racheted up, as the hopes of a nation hang on ninety minutes of football.
For the English, it could be one of its greatest World Cup disasters...or a glorious victory that could spur them on to win the title. In England the flags will be out, the chants will be louder then ever, and the belief will be total. And somewhere in Scotland, a girl with green and white face paint might be learning the Slovenian national anthem.
The scene was an Edinburgh souvenir shop, the day before the World Cup was to begin. The girl behind the counter asked me where we were heading next on our vacation, and I told her we were driving down to England in time to see the England-USA game with old friends. "Arrgh," she said in a solid Edinburgh accent, "I HATE ENGLAND! I'll be painting a star-spangled banner on my face!" She seemed deadly serious.
If there's one nation that stokes the most interest of neutrals at the World Cup, it is surely England. As the undoubted inventors and exporters of the world's most popular sport, the English national team is the second favorite of many fans throughout the world. The Premier League is broadcast across the globe, and is viewed with reverence no matter what the quality of football. However, England also shoulders a rather unique burden at every major tournament in which it participates. Supported with a passion possibly unrivalled in the international game, the England team also faces the derision of a plethora of fans who wish for nothing more that their humiliating demise.
The Irish and the Scots, who didn't qualify for the World Cup, but certainly do qualify for the title of CEB (Certified English Bashers) would be first and second on our travel fixture list. Our first stop was Ballycastle, County Antrim, and it was here that we realized it was the French, not the English, who were targets of Irish venom. Thierry Henry's blatant handball last November in Paris knocked Ireland out of the World Cup in the cruelest fashion, and the Irish haven't forgotten. As I sat in a pub and ate my first Irish breakfast, I stared at a green tee-shirt on the wall that proclaimed "ANYONE BUT THE FRENCH." Presumably even a triumphant English team would be more palatable to the Irish than Henry's cheating getting its ultimate reward. At a family wedding in Galway, there was a marked ambivalence towards the old enemy across the Irish Sea. Most of those I asked were wishing the English at least lukewarm luck, although a cousin of mine did say that England winning the World Cup would be "a little too much!" Maybe it's the overall improved economy, maybe the success Ireland's national sporting teams have had in recent years, but it was nice to see a more friendly attitude towards England than might have been the case in years past.
As a certain girl in Edinburgh might attest, no such warmth existed in Scotland. Crossing the border into England the day the tournament began in South Africa, there emerged a sense of national pride, blind optimism, and finally realism. York was adorned with flags of St. George...sticking out of seemingly every car and house in town. Singing in pubs had already begun two days before the showdown with the United States, as England prepared again to be Champions of the World. In Coventry the next day, the flags were there, but my old friends were harboring some sobering opinions of this England team's quality. Would Heskey be in the Spanish squad? Do England have a goalkeeper? What if Rooney isn't fit? The answers were not comfortable ones, and my old pal Andy predicted the opener would end 1-1. He was exactly right, a disappointing England performance summed up by Rob Green in goal, fumbling a weak shot over his goal-line to give the Americans a deserved point. For those who were watching with me, there didn't seem to be any surprise that England were already struggling.
Six days later, an even more insipid performance resulted in a scoreless stalemate with Algeria, considered by some the weakest side in the competition. England were booed off the park by their own fans, and the feeling was that another ninety minutes against the Algerians still wouldn't have produced a goal. With a nation now consumed with the dreaded possibility of not making it out of a relatively weak group, anything other than victory against Slovenia will send England crashing out of the World Cup. The singing, hand-wringing, and intensity will be racheted up, as the hopes of a nation hang on ninety minutes of football.
For the English, it could be one of its greatest World Cup disasters...or a glorious victory that could spur them on to win the title. In England the flags will be out, the chants will be louder then ever, and the belief will be total. And somewhere in Scotland, a girl with green and white face paint might be learning the Slovenian national anthem.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Why can't it be like that again?
When the 1978 World Cup in Argentina ended, for the most part the soccer world moved on. Thoughts of most fans and players centered on the upcoming season, the qualification rounds for Euro 1980, and the ongoing nursing of multiple celebratory hangovers in Argentina.
But for this nine year old in the soccer wilderness of Galway, Ireland, there was no anticipation, there was no certainly no celebration. For me, it was only desperation. And it wasn't just that Dutchman Robbie Rensenbrink's last minute flick in the final agonizingly bounced back off an Argentinian post denying the Dutch a world title they probably deserved. Nor was my depression the result of Scotland's brave but futile quest to emerge from a seemingly easy Group 4.
No, for me, the horror I felt in late June, 1978, was that it was simply all over. In the three short weeks that that World Cup then comprised, I had become used to my routine of running the short distance from my classroom at St. Michael's Primary School so as to catch the first game of the day, live from Argentina. Cast in the long shadows of a South American winter, France v. Hungary took on a whole new meaning when viewed live on a black and white television on a warm summer evening in the west of Ireland.
Maybe it was my limited understanding of the world at the time. How was it that we were mysteriously four hours ahead of South America? How could that Argentinian side be so good? And more importantly, why was it snowing on the telly in June? For each World Cup since, great games and tournaments have happened, but the connection with time and place have gradually diminished.
Seven World Cups have come and gone since Argentina '78. Some have been great (USA '94, France '98), some not so great (Italy '90...ugh). I even managed to get to a Finals game in the last thirty two years...Spain's 3-1 victory over Bolivia in Chicago in 1994.
The anticipation is here again, but it's different from those last seven World Cups. For the first time since Argentina '78, the Southern Hemisphere will host. African teams are looking to go to the last four for the first time. ESPN is launching a 3-D network on the opening day of the tournament. And Spain are favorites. For another nine year old in Galway, Brisbane, Madison or Karachi, the 2010 World Cup will be THE tournament. Maybe it will be for me too.
Let the games begin. Here's to the long shadows of the South African winter.
But for this nine year old in the soccer wilderness of Galway, Ireland, there was no anticipation, there was no certainly no celebration. For me, it was only desperation. And it wasn't just that Dutchman Robbie Rensenbrink's last minute flick in the final agonizingly bounced back off an Argentinian post denying the Dutch a world title they probably deserved. Nor was my depression the result of Scotland's brave but futile quest to emerge from a seemingly easy Group 4.
No, for me, the horror I felt in late June, 1978, was that it was simply all over. In the three short weeks that that World Cup then comprised, I had become used to my routine of running the short distance from my classroom at St. Michael's Primary School so as to catch the first game of the day, live from Argentina. Cast in the long shadows of a South American winter, France v. Hungary took on a whole new meaning when viewed live on a black and white television on a warm summer evening in the west of Ireland.
Maybe it was my limited understanding of the world at the time. How was it that we were mysteriously four hours ahead of South America? How could that Argentinian side be so good? And more importantly, why was it snowing on the telly in June? For each World Cup since, great games and tournaments have happened, but the connection with time and place have gradually diminished.
Seven World Cups have come and gone since Argentina '78. Some have been great (USA '94, France '98), some not so great (Italy '90...ugh). I even managed to get to a Finals game in the last thirty two years...Spain's 3-1 victory over Bolivia in Chicago in 1994.
The anticipation is here again, but it's different from those last seven World Cups. For the first time since Argentina '78, the Southern Hemisphere will host. African teams are looking to go to the last four for the first time. ESPN is launching a 3-D network on the opening day of the tournament. And Spain are favorites. For another nine year old in Galway, Brisbane, Madison or Karachi, the 2010 World Cup will be THE tournament. Maybe it will be for me too.
Let the games begin. Here's to the long shadows of the South African winter.
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