Sweet snack
Albert Camus once said “All that I know most surely about morality and obligations I owe to football.” I’m sure many of us have also learnt life lessons through our wonderful game. In 1978 I learnt about timezones. You see, despite 1978 being the year that Grange Hill started and Boney M told us about blarting near The Rivers of Babylon, it was also my first World Cup…..and that meant the challenges of a timezone……………….. Argentina’s matches kicked off at 11pm which created a problem. How could I persuade my parents to let me stay up and watch it? In the build up to the tournament I asked them repeatedly and the answer each time was an increasingly resounding “Don’t be so bloody stupid you aren’t staying up until after midnight to watch a game of football it isn’t even England playing etc”
Of course, the idea of being in bed while a World Cup match is happening on the telly was preposterous. So I decided to force myself to stay awake until 11, wait until they were both asleep in bed and sneak downstairs for the feast of football. I had to be quiet to avoid the mandatory within an inch of my life thrashing if caught.
In the second phase of the competition Argentina faced Brazil. Being fed stories of Pele, Garrincha and Di Stefano this one would be well worth sneaking downstairs for. The ticker tape blew and all seemed well with the world. It was surely going to display the glorious pride and fury of South American football. Well, the fury anyway!! Argentina v Brazil 1978 was a staggering show of violence! Within seconds of kick off Luque, whose brother had burned to death in a car crash a few days before, had violently hacked Batista and Brazil weren’t taking that lying down. They could hack a bit themselves and replied in kind. The game was little more than a vicious brawl. At half time, and getting increasingly cocky about not being caught downstairs, I decided that what would really bring samba skills to the fore was a lemon curd sandwich. For me not the players. I constructed the aforementioned snack and looked for a plate. For some reaason (the words ‘for some reason’ are often a prelude to a ridicuous incident) I decided to use a metal plate. As I took the clanking plate from the cupboard one of the cats, pleased with late night company, brushed against my leg startling me. I let out a loud cry of shock and knocked the metal plate off the worktop and onto the tiled floor. For a split second I watched in fascinated terror. The plate landed on the floor on it’s side and bounced several times CLANK CLANK CLANK, CLANKETY PHUQQING CLANK. I was terrified. It was obvious that mum and dad, or both, will have heard that din and would inevitably dash downstairs to see whats happening and administer a good belting. And, worst of all, I’d have to miss the second half of the violence. I cowered in the kitchen and waited. And waited. Five minutes passed and it was coming to the start of the second half. Miraculously, nobody heard. I continued watching the violence uninterrupted and enjoyed the lemon curd sandwich.
That the clanking went unheard, and I remained alive, can only be described as a miracle. It was the miracle of the World Cup. Once every four years there is a magical month full of wondrous mystery. SO, if you find yourself metamorphosising into a giraffe in the next month don’t be alarmed….it’s just another World Cup miracle!! But whatever miracles happen we’ll still go out on a penno shootout.
In recent years it has been exciting to watch Australia come to prominence in football. I’ve never known this country as ecstatic as it was on reaching the second round last time. Finally, after years of administrative haggling, football finally had the profile it deserves. It also brought the realisation that football, and the World Cup in particular, provided a stage bigger than anything previously experienced.
This is my home and a place I love dearly so while I can’t quite say I support Australia I do honestly wish them well. Until they play England anyway! A good campaign for the national team is good for the game here which, obviously, is good for any football fan. Each time I walk through my beloved Brisbane the profile of the World Cup is growing. Shopfronts proudly displaying the green and gold and bars advertising live TV showings are more prominent each day. How many are prepared to stay open until 4.30am to show some matches remains to be seen!!
Anything Australia achieve in South Africa, and contrary to some peoples views I think they have a good chance of reaching the second round, is almost entirely based on a rigid formation. You can’t outplay them BUT you can outnumber them. Squeezing the opposition in the middle of the pitch and narrowing angles will stifle opposition creativity and help to get on top of them and grind them down. Another advantage of this is the KISS method. Keep It Simple Stupid. If in doubt kick it out. There will be little scope to make a tactical blunder. In the build up the media attention is largely focussed on Harry Kewell and will he be ready for the Germans on Monday morning. It’d actually make more sense not to play him in that. Why risk another breakdown in a game where Australia will likely be beaten anyway? The extra days would mean he’s much closer to full fitness when the more realistic goal of beating Ghana arrives on Saturday night. It’s crucial to use the whole squad and everyone plays a role in a healthy campaign. But a big injury to Tim Cahill would make a serious dent in the hopes. He’s crucial.
So next Monday morning at 4.30 it’ll be interesting to see footballs true believers out in force. And it’s a public holiday so everyone can catch up on much needed sleep afterwards!!
In the coming weeks England will be overran with the national flag. St Georges crosses everywhere. On the cars, hanging on shopfronts, in pubs and clubs. Even the odd dentist waiting room may be adorned with a red cross on a white background.
However, it wasn’t always like this. In 1986 England’s tournament came belatedly to life when Gary Lineker beat Poland 3-0. This bought much needed relief to the country and despite the sluggish start England qualified for the second round. This sent me into a litte bout of Word Cup fever….not that I’ve ever been lacking in that condition!! To demonstrate to Lineker and co that the nation was well and truly behind them I lovingly placed an England flag in the bedroom window.
Younger people reading might find this hard to believe but there was a time when football wasn’t fashionable. In fact, football supporters were pariahs, regarded with disgust and contempt. Walking down a street wearing a football shirt could result in people crossing the road to avoid you and if fathers found out their teenage daughters were dating a football fan it could signal a sudden halt to blossoming love. I remember starting work in 1985 and telling one of my colleagues I was a Stoke fan and attended matches and she nearly dropped her sponge. She shook her head and told me she was surprised because I’d “Seemed such a nice lad”. In the mid 80s football was not something the nation could easily hold close to it’s heart.
So the flag in the bedroom window was far from joining in with a trend. It was regarded with confusion!! People would walk past the house and glance up and notice it then stand for several seconds with big question marks over their heads. It was viewed as a quirky teenage eccentricity and just one of those odd things you do when you lack total sanity.
So in the coming weeks, the country will be taken over by the flags. Some of the flyers may not be commmitted fans and in many respects it could be seen a johnny come lately action to those of us for whom football has always been a fashionable passion. But it symbolises that the game has survived and now thrives and, contrary some peoples views, it’s always been possible to be a passionate England fan without feeling the need to smash somebody’s face in. So lets embrace it.
4 days 11 hours 55 minutesto go, where’s that bloody flag??
In 1982 three British teams qualified. For Scotland at this time qualifying was the norm. England reaching it was a relief after two failed attempts. The real eyebrow raiser was the involvement of the charming Billy Bingham, and his Northern Ireland team.
Little was expected of Northern Ireland. The resilience shown in the 0-0 draw with Yugoslavia was tempered by throwing a precious lead away to draw 1-1 with Honduras. To progress victory against Honduras was deemed essential as the final game was against hosts Spain. Nobody could have expected their game against Spain to conjure one of the most dramatic gripping games in the history of the competition.
Watching the grace of Xavi Iniesta and Torres gliding around the stadiums of Europe can be misleading. Spain weren’t always so graceful. In fact in 1982 their team was downright nasty. A horrible combination of diving and off the ball hacks accompanied by laboured unproductive play. An uneventful first half finished goalless then in the 47th minute the unthinkable happened. Billy Hamilton crossed for NI, the hapless Arconada parried weakly and Gerry Armstrong gratefully drove into the empty net. Amazingly Norn iron were leading.
Their problem was scoring 2 minutes into the half meant having to hold on for 43!! Spains attacking gained momentuim. The unfortunately named Ufarte had two shots stopped by Jennings. In the 62nd minute NI had Mal Dongahy sent off for an innocuous shove on Camacho. Hanging on for 30 minutes with 10 men? Surely it can’t be done!!
Wave upon wave of attacks beseiged the Norn Ireland penalty area. The desperation of the defending was balanced by the calm cool calculated keeping of Pat Jennings. Jennings delivered a performance that epitomised grace under pressure, collecting cross after cross and blocking shot after shot. Outside there was a huge thunderstorm and the norm back then would be to turn electrical appliances off BUT there was now way we were turning this off!
Eventually the final whistle blew and NI had completed their incredible achievement. An example of players becoming more than the sum of their parts. NI v Spain 1982 was one of the truly great World Cup stories.
The 2010 World Cup in less than a week away. In South Africa the cast is assembling for the greatest show on earth. For football supporters here in Australia it means a month of late nights early mornings and self inflicted fatigue.
I have lived in Australia for just over fourteen years. The first timezone tournament was Euro 96. Gazza’s goal against Scotland was a particularly memorable middle of the night mental!! One benefit is that there are fewer distractions in the middle of the night. Less chance of a phone call or a knock at the door. My family and I were visiting the UK during Euro 2008 and it felt odd to be watching an international tournament while it was light outside. Most football supporters here have adapted to the nocturnal aspect of our passion BUT it is still strange to leave the house at 2am to go to the pub and watch a match! Being English, and therefore an England supporter, the subject of how to celebrate a World Cup win when the final finishes at 7am isn’t a problem unfortunately. A more relevant poser is how to get through the day when we’ve just endured our usual penalty shootout pain. But we’ll keep hoping and dreaming. And hoping and dreaming…..
One of the many marvellous aspects of our game is the global unity it generates. So next Friday when South Africa play Mexico think of us watching at midnight. And we’ll think of those watching over breakfast in San Salvador!!!