Euro 2008

[Sweder]

What twisted foulness lurks in the dark recesses of the partisan English soul on nights like these?
The Old Enemy takes on my own new nemesis; Germany versus Turkey.

For decades I’ve mistrusted the mighty Germans. Dream-wreckers all, stoic exponents of pragmatic football, guardians of the sporting status quo. Our nation shudders at the very thought of that team winning another tournament. Then there’s my very own personal hell that was the 2007 Istanbul Customs strike, darkening my heart to all things Bosporan. I simply could not bring myself to cheer for the Turks. So what to do?

Lounging on my sofa, obscenely stuffed with Mrs S's excellent kedgeree, sipping my last OP awaiting this apparently one-sided affair to unfold I wondered which prejudice would hold sway? Age-old grudging respect laced with bitter envy of our considerably richer north-Europe neighbors or simply outright, one-eyed dislike of anything Turkish? I actually argued the case for having Goose last Christmas just so I didn’t have to hear or speak the T word. It didn’t take long to find out; about as long as it took Jens Lehman, a shoo-in for Comedy Goalkeeper of the Year, to perform an ugly parody of a man falling backwards off a rolling log to concede the opening goal. Even as the Turks gawped in disbelief and the stadium announcer cued the circus clown music I was on my feet, clenched fist rising, ear-splitting ‘YEESSS!!!’ filling the living room. So, when push comes to shove, when the heavily-mayonnaised chips are down it’s the familiar, ingrained stereotypical pantomime villain that draws my ire. On an entirely sub-conscious, belly-crawlingly subterranian genetic level I wanted Turkey to beat the bloody Germans.

It’s not simply (or just) a case of unpleasant hatred or some bizarre inherent hangover from the last ‘great’ war. There’s also the underdog element, the pleasure that comes from rooting for the no-hoper, the little guy, the bullied and oppressed. In this case the team that Uncle Tom Hansen and all had arbitrarily written off, lounging in their open-necked shirts, swathed in studio-lit smugness, happy to forget that, as with my own attempts at tournament prescience, every team they'd tipped up to now was already back home. Difference is they're supposed to be professionals; they get paid for this drivel. I can't for the life of me remember anyone sticking their neck out for Germany; that is until they lined up tonight against the last eleven Turks in Switzerland with two good feet and a pulse. Alan Shearer had ‘looked at it from all angles’ (whatever the hell that means) and couldn’t see any hope for Turkey. What? In a two-horse race? Was the fix in and I the only sap still in the dark? It’s a fool that offers such absurd odds on so limited a fixture, even when one of the runners is a wounded nag missing a leg and ridden by a drunken, half-blind jockey.

There would I confess be a delicious perversity in seeing Turkey succeed where England serially fail; to beat Germany at the sharp end of a football tournament. So there I sat, ugly prejudice (like my gorged belly) horribly exposed, my colours nailed to the mast just below the flag of the crescent moon. If I hadn’t just feasted I’d’ve nipped out for a Donna with extra chilli-sauce.

The know-it-all pundits weren't the only employees of Auntie to have their expertise sorely tested tonight. As if unable to endure further crushing embarrassment, or perhaps in disbelief at what was going on on the pitch, the television pictures packed in, gave up the ghost and went down the pub. At least the broadcast centre in Vienna was ravaged by merciless celestial storms, but it amounts to the same thing. Just as the temperature rose in Basle the screen went blank; Motty and Lawro vanished. I knew this as their incessant stream of banter and obscure facts stopped for more than ten seconds. And then the Beeb showed what it means to be a truly world class broadcaster. Where independent companies would have flustered and floundered they deftly knocked a slide-rule pass to their radio 5Live colleagues, seamlessly playing Alan Green and Chris Waddle into the just-vacated strikers' role. Every hack, slice, dive and misplaced Metzhelder pass were described in glorious, gory detail, Greenie adding his unique insight into the various degrees of incompetance on display. The only time we lost total contact with the match was when, with Greenie at full throttle, someone in Shepherds Bush faded him out to allow a plummy continuity announcer to read aloud the apology clearly displayed on our screens. How very British.

Then we were back, both with Waddle and Green and with pictures; heaven! Drama piled upon drama; the lead changed hands, the pictures went again, then the radio commentary, then they were back. Even as Lahm slammed in the winner Alan Green morphed seamlessly into John Motson in a move so slick even the most hardcore bling-draped club DJ would have thrown out a big, er, shout. 'Nuff respect.

What a match, and what deft footwork from the BBC; worth every last penny that license fee.
Sadly those frantic Austrian technicians couldn't fix the result and brave, never-say-die Turkey succumbed to the inevitable Curse of Sweder, their big brave hearts finally giving out, Lahm's coup des grace perfectly ruthless, lethally efficient. Despite playing like lemons for much of the match, despite having a centre back pairing that couldn’t find a pass in a swingers club, often listless, frequently clueless, the Bloody Germans are in the final.
Again.

[El Gordo]

Superb. Yet again.

I think this is part of why I feel myself giving up.

There again, I have just returned from the pub. I'll almost certainly feel different in the morning.

[Sweder]

Congratulations to Spain, deservedly taking their place in the Euro 2008 final on Sunday. Power, precision, pace . . . all too much for the flustered Russians and their semi-specialist manager. Despite the Dutch maestro's best red-faced efforts he simply couldn't rouse his charges against an inspired, driven Spanish side, led magnificently by the incomperable Fabregas. Ana, Antonio and co must be cock-a-hoop, and rightly so. Spain's best chance in decades for glory; sadly they now have the Curse of Sweder, that unwanted albatross, circling overhead.

Something I'm sure many will have noticed is the adoption by fans of all denominations of the White Stripe's Seven Nation Army theme (I heard the song played over the stadium tannoy before the Germany/ Turkey semi-final). It's an unusual - and welcome - departure from the usual chanting. Nice tune too.

Last word on the commentators from me. I caught up with the Beeb's highlights this morning. Mark 'Brighty' Bright added his journeyman's view to Jonathan 'machine-gun' Pearce's energized commentary. Bright speaks like a man trying to wriggle out of handcuffs - lots of exertion on key words and phrases that suggest a good deal of off-screen activity. Perhaps least said the better. All in all I think the coverage has been pretty good. I'll always favour 5Live, with Greenie's heavily weighted maverick 'Starsky' against Mike Ingham's more considered 'Hutch'.

I'll miss the final, having planned my Sunday travel to start at 3pm.
Logistics? Simply woeful

[Antonio247]

Gracias, S. Nobody in Spain thought we could reach the final a few weeks ago but now the dream has come true.

It´s going to be difficult to beat Germany but we´ll do all we can. Let´s hope we are lucky again as against Italy.

Guillermo suggested watching the final if Spain beat Russia all together somewhere. So, Encarna, Pepe, Guillermo, myself and maybe some more runners will watch it at Molly Malone or similar place. We´ll toast to the RC members and the good memories we have from your days here in January.

Have a safe journey on Sunday, S. It´s a pity you won´t be able to watch the match.

Saludos desde Almería

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

And I'm tipping Nadal for Wimbledon too, making it a mesmerising year for Spanish sport. And as I'm writing this I think BB is beginning his epic battle with the Picos...

But where the heck is Ana?

[Sweder]

Watch it in Molly's A - definitely a good omen for Espana.
Warm greetings to the Almeria clan from your English pals.
[SIZE="6"]¡Venido en España![/SIZE]

[Antonio247]

Muchas gracias, S.

Well, Guillermo has insisted on watching it at his penthouse terrace but if Spain wins, we´ll go to Molly´s to celebarate it.

Warm greetings from the Spanish pals to all of you!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Well done Espana! Go drink Molly's dry Antonio... enjoy!

[Sweder]

I just wanted to say 'good luck - we're all counting on you.'

[Sweder]

Perhaps it is sad to derive ones pleasure vicariously a) through the triumph of friends and b) the suffering of the 'old enemy' - still tastes pretty sweet though.

I saw nothing of the match, landing at LAX 30 minutes after the final whistle (yes I did my timings wrong before), firing up the mobile to see the wonderful news. The Beeb reckon it was a more than fair result - sounds like Germany were fortunate only to ship the one goal. I'm so, so pleased for all our friends in Spain - may the party last long and the hangovers be swift and gentle.

My heart goes out to Michael Ballack, who's had . . .




. . . oh who am I trying to kid.
Of course it doesn't

[Seafront Plodder]

You've got a relatively unknown Pablo Larrazabal winning the French Open golf in some style. Nadal playing like a god at Wimbledon off the back of winning the French Open and Queens, and then Spain do over the canny old Deutch to win the footy.

The Spanish contingent of Antonio et al have a lot going for them at the moment. Shame you don't play cricket seriously. It could do with livening up.

[Antonio247]

Gracias, amigos.

The party goes on. The players are now arriving at Madrid city centre in a double-decker bus.

Last night it was great. We had a good time at Guillermo´s terrace especially when Fernando Torres scored that beautiful goal. At the beginning, we were worried because Germany started very strong and Spain found it hard to catch the ball and keep it but after fifteen minutes, Spain started playing better and we had some chances to score before and after the goal. During the match we drank beer and ate sandwiches, pasta salad, Spanish omelette, etc. After the match we had champagne and some cakes.

We went out when the match finished and the atmosphere was wonderful in the streets. The Rambla was crowded with people in the Spanish T-shirt, with Spanish flags and lots of cars sounding the horn.



Thank you very much for supporting the Spanish natinal team. I watched the ad about supporting Spain because England hadn´t managed to qualify for the championship in Switzerland and Austria. It was very amusing. I hope England will be luckier in the next world championship.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Yep, we just need a successful outocme in the Picos from BB and Spain's joy will be complete.

Maravilloso!

[Seafront Plodder]

Indeed, I didn't want to mention 'that honorary Spaniard' BB just in case he'd fallen down a crevasse somewhere.

Since he's survived, I reckon he's worthy of being mentioned in the same company.

Well done mate. look forward to a report and will probably get vertigo just looking at the pics.