World Cup Nonsense

[Sweder]

For me, the first disappointing day of the championships.
Like a long-awaited meal with favourite friends this feast of football lay before us today, eagerly anticipated, warmly welcomed but as sometimes happens when push came to shove it was all just a little off .

The starter was okay, an unpretentious encounter between two energetic, committed sides in the first flush of their World Cup youth. South Korea started slowly, punished early doors by the eager Togo. The Asian side rallied to remind the African upstarts that these games last 90 minutes and you’d best be ready to play for every one of them if you hope to progress.
Just ask the Aussies!

Next up France, a team full of enigmatic icons and fresh-faced promise. You never know which France will show up; tonight we got the grumpy, grumbling France, full of Gallic shrugs, raised eyebrows and, more than once, raised voices. The Great and the Good of Les Blues engaged in heated debate, Zidane remonstrating with Gallas over which system they should be playing.

Alas, despite cauldron-like temperatures the football never threatened to catch light. Switzerland, the personification of stereotypical efficiency, easily shackled the early flickers of French flair. As Henri and his pals resorted to squabbling the men in white sought to steal the game, passing up several chances to bag all three points, Alex Frei the most profligate.

Viewer disappointment was tempered by the promise of the evenings’ Gourmet Special; Brazil. I’d been looking forward to seeing The Masters practice their mystical arts for weeks. I could barely contain my excitement today, driving my co-workers bonkers. Roberto Carlos - a man prepared to shoot from the car park; Ronaldinho, World Footballer of the Year, with more tricks than a bag full of monkeys; Kaka, Dida, Cafu . . .
Coatia are no mugs – they’ve an enviable tournament record in their brief history, famously hammering Germany 3 – 0 in the quarter finals (seems like yesterday) – yet surely they were no more than cannon-fodder for the five-times World Champions?

As the match unfolded and the men in Gold flicked and chipped the ball around, the Croatians working hard to keep them at arms’ length, Messrs Motson and Lawrenson warmed to their commentary. Motty kicked off with some interesting pronunciations; the Brazilian ‘keeper became a parody of a child’s toy police car, ‘Dee Daa!’, thwarting the industrious Croatian midfielder now known as ‘Two-Door!!!’.
This midly amusing distraction could not deflect from the unfolding tragedy before us;
someone had gone all Voodoo on Ronaldo.

It was déjà vu all over again.
Eight years ago Ronaldo famously suffered some kind of fit a matter of hours before the World Cup Final against France. That day the poor man had tried, but the crushing weight of the World's expectation added to his metaphysical woes and he wilted, the South Americans losing handsomely to their hosts. There he was tonight, crushed this time under the weight of his burgeoning midriff; a day late but I doubt a dollar short.

I’m tempted to refer to the World’s Greatest Striker as a disinterested, lumbering pie-eater, but frankly he wasn’t that good. So often in the first half the ball – like the match – simply passed Ronaldo by. At one point I wondered if he’d actually started in the France/ Switzerland game by mistake, and by some modern televisual miracle wandered through the News and South East Today to stumble onto our screens and into this match. He certainly seemed hopelessly lost.

Like a grizzled old Alligator lurking in the Florida swamps Old Ronny cruised around the 18 yard box waiting for something juicy to fall into his maw. But this is the World Cup, and rarely does your prey roll over before you’ve even bared your teeth. Amazingly the great lump shuffled out for the second half, albeit some time after his team-mates. On 60 minutes the mighty reptile snapped his heavy jaws, firing a defiant thunderbolt just over the bar from the edge of the area. No sooner had the ‘roundest ball in the history of all things round’ whistled over the Croat goal than the light that had briefly lit up the man-beasts eyes faded. Ten minutes later he jogged off, replaced by Robinho, his weary face broadcasting a mixture of bewilderment and relief to the watching millions.

Croatia deserved something for honest endeavour and disciplined commitment. But for Kaka’s wonder-strike – surely the least appropriately named player on the pitch – a draw would have been a fair result. Prso spurned several fair chances and Dee Daa took to his emergency services role with aplomb.

For a few days at least we face the ignominy of a Group F table showing Australia above Brazil (on goal difference). Provided Parreira has the courage to leave Old Lardy on the bench, and assuming Croatia continue to play with heart and desire as they did tonight, that will change on Sunday.

[SIZE="1"]Guinness watch: a crafty pint in the pub under the office saw out the first half of France v Switzerland. I’d planned a tour of Harvey’s bottled summer ales this evening, but so focused was I on explaining to my eleven-year-old daughter why Brazil were not actually playing like the Harlem Globetrotters as promised, I forgot. [/SIZE]