The Stoketshirts.co.uk blog

“Football is a game you play with your brain”
Johan Cruyff

At the end Diego Maradona’s Argentina cut sad figures.  The victims of a Germany performance which combined discipline and strategy, with style ruthlessness and panache that, quite frankly, had world champions written all over it.  They outnumbered and overpowered Argentina.  Schweinsteiger carried the Germans forward with pace and skill and the incisive precision  of their overall play proved as victorious as it was thrilling to watch. While watching I couldn’t help wondering how much difference  a holding midfielder with the guile of Cambiasso would have made.  Argentina moved forward and tried to impose their skill on the game with varying degrees of success, but rarely looked likely to break down the German power.  And when you consider the pandemonium surrounding the future writers… Ronaldo, Rooney, Messi and Robinho, bear in mind that with the minimum of fuss, Miroslav Klose got his 100th cap and 52nd goal for his national team and has now scored more World Cup Finals goals than Pele. They reached yet another semi final as yet again they weren’t widely fancied at the start of the competition.  This may not be their time, perhaps 2012 will see them lifting a trophy BUT remember this Germany team is so young they could play at this level for another two World Cups.  Their time will surely come. 

So Spain in the semis.  Thursday morning will be the biggest football match in Spanish history. The habitual stage fright that has dogged them for so long has been well and truly shed.  They didn’t play with the swagger they are capable of showing but a wins a win.  They responded well to the exhausting passage of play when the penalties were taken and resilience saw them through.  To demonstrate that in a successful campaign everyone plays a part Casillas late double save was as much a part of their victory as Villa’s goal.  That save denied Paraguay a draw they would have deserved.  In the end Paraguay’s lack of creativity proved costly but overall they can reflect on a splendid tournament.  They have earned the acclaim they will receive on arriving home.  Spain close in on what could prove to be a titanic struggle with Germany. If Spain are at their best Germany won’t be able to get the ball off them.   But Germany’s strategic brilliance is a match for anyone.  Another war of attrition and a game for thinkers.  But the German knowledge that their penalty shootout technique and experience is far greater surely gives them an edge.  Knowing that if you are taken to the absolute end you have an ability superior to that of your opponents must provide a psychological advantage. 

The noticable thing about both South American powerhouses is the first time they faced serious pressure they crumbled completely.  Neither side had a plan B.  Particularly strange that Brazil with Dunga’s studious organisational approach were totally undone when facing a side with the armory to attack them. 
So despite the excitement of all the South American sides reaching the knockout stage we reach the final four with one remaining.  Pleasing to see a nation like Uruguay, who are as football mad as anywhere in the region, achieve something special.  Often there is an outsider in the semis and this time it’s Uruguay but they have earned the right to be there.  As for the aftermath of the Suarez red card, well, cheats didn’t prosper…he was red carded and a penalty awarded.  Some have even suggested a goal should have been awarded.  How can a goal be awarded if the ball hasn’t gone into the goal? If Gyan had scored the penalty it would have all been forgotten.   Although, like I said in my previous post, I still think he could have headed it away!!

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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.