So it’s England versus Germany in the knock out stages. Again. We’ve been here before haven’t we, and we know it doesn’t end well. It ends horribly - with some unsuspecting fool in an England shirt planting a poorly struck penalty into the arms of a German goalkeeper.
Yet despite the fact that we all know full well that Sunday’s match will only bring us disappointment, it promises to be the most hotly anticipated England international for years. It’s England versus Germany for God’s sake - the war, Bobby Moore, Gazza’s tears and all that. A chance to avenge those desperate defeats of ‘70, ‘90 and ‘96 against the one team we all truly hate. And that’s where I’m struggling.
The truth is, I’m finding it difficult to hate the German football team at the moment. I’m not even sure I can stretch to disliking them to be honest. This doesn’t bode well for Sunday. Surely I’m supposed to be fired up for our first competitive meeting with the old enemy for nine years? Surely I should be pinning up my mid-90s Daily Mirror front pages and watching the Great Escape in preparation for footballing warfare?
But no, something is missing. Disappointingly, the current German team lack that hate factor I‘m afraid. They play vibrant, attacking football for a start - which is completely at odds with the stereotypical uninspired efficiency that previous German teams have played with over the years. They are one of the few teams of this World Cup who have thrown caution to the wind and attacked from the word go - surely that is admirable?
German league football also has much to admire. Their liberal, almost socialist approach to the game sees the fans at its heart, with rules in place to ensure supporters have a say in the running of their club, and to prevent teams experiencing the financial meltdown we saw at Portsmouth this season. Safe standing areas are implemented in top flight stadia (including those constructed especially for the 2006 World Cup), and ticket prices are wonderfully sensible (It cost me just €16 to see Hertha Berlin at the Olympic Stadium in November for example).
My trip to Berlin is another reason why I’m struggling to stir up the anti- German feelings required for Sunday’s all important encounter. Hedonistic, stylish and unbelievably friendly, Berlin is a place where even an English football fan like myself is made to feel at home (particularly surprising given that I’m not remotely hedonistic, stylish or even unbelievably friendly). My experience there will almost make shouting abuse at the TV screen on Sunday seem like some sort of betrayal - “but we welcomed you to our city with open arms Englishman, and now you hum the Dambusters theme at us?”.
I wish we could return to the days of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s when the German team (or West Germany as they were when they defeated England in Italia ‘90) were ludicrously easy to hate. They kicked, dived and wore the kind of haircuts that looked like they had robbed a porn-themed fancy dress shop before taking to the field. Their players had more than a passing resemblance to Gestapo officers from World War Two films, and even their kits were awful. Worst of all, they were bloody good.
Oh what I’d give for the current team to have a Rudi Voller figure in their ranks. Sporting a poodle perm teamed with a caterpillar moustache, Voller was utterly ridiculous. He would throw himself to the floor as soon as a defender was within earshot. He would argue with referees about anything from penalty appeals to the weather. He had a semi-permanent look of smugness on his face that was only briefly wiped off when Frank Rijkaard decided he’d had enough of Voller’s poodle perm, and promptly spat in it - back in the second round of Italia 90’.
But no, the current team doesn’t have a Rudi Voller figure in the squad. Instead they have Mesut Ozil, a player who is simply a joy to watch. Heck, they don’t even dive that much anymore - how on earth are we supposed to hate them?
There’s only one answer. Dig out that tape of the semi-final in Italia 90 and turn the sound down, put that Pavarotti CD on and fast forward to Gazza’s fateful tackle on Thomas Berthold (a man Gazza described as a “wanker” and having “a mouth like a fish”). Watch Berthold scream, roll, roll and roll some more to make sure England’s player of the tournament was booked and suspended for the final. Watch first Stuart Pearce, and then Chris Waddle, miss their penalties in the shootout and the ensuing pile-up of celebrating Germans. Wait for the tears to fall and the anger to re-emerge, and you’ll be ready for Sunday afternoon.
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Thursday, 24 June 2010
Saturday, 19 June 2010
World Cup 2010: Day nine
Two games down and it’s not looking good is it. In fact, it’s looking decidedly bad. Last night, England somehow managed to conjure up a performance that made their exploits against the USA six days earlier look heroic.
Devoid of both imagination and spirit, it’s hard to remember a worse performance from England in a World Cup. It was a night when English football shifted into reverse and the progress made by Fabio Capello over the last two years seemed to be washed away in the space of 90 painful minutes.
It was almost as if we had gone back in time to the dark days of the early 90s - when Graham Taylor presided over a shambolic England team that regularly included the gangly legs of Carlton Palmer. Just like then, the collection of players representing England last night - I think it’s stretching it a bit to call them a team - played a style of football desperately lacking in creativity. Passing was woeful and defending barely any better.
Much of the blame will fall on the sizeable shoulders of Emile Heskey. So much has already been said about Heskey’s dismal goal scoring record for England, and almost the whole country questions what exactly it is he brings to the team. But putting things in to perspective, Heskey has done OK in both games that England have played. By no means has he been good, but he’s played to his admittedly limited ability, and the criticism he has received would be better targeted in the direction of Wayne Rooney.
Rooney is supposedly the star of the England team. The current PFA Player of the Year, he was predicted to be the spark that ignited the fire in England’s collective belly, and would drive them on to a certain tournament victory. To say he has failed to live up to expectations would probably take the prize of understatement of the century. Last night, he failed to complete even rudimentary tasks such as controlling the ball and passing it to a team mate. And judging by his comments to the cameras after the game, Rooney wasn’t happy about the reception the players got as they left the field last night.
To be honest, I’m with Wayne on this one. Surely the thousands of fans who have raided their life savings; jeopardised relationships, jobs and friendships to travel half way around the world should have the decency to applaud, nay cheer, their team off the pitch after enduring an absolute abomination of a performance? In all seriousness, Rooney’s reaction was a disgrace and he should publicly apologise for it.
Being a Manchester United player, he’s probably not used to his own fans expressing displeasure with the team, but he really should wake up and come join us all back in the real world. The very least that performance deserved was booing and Rooney himself should take a fair share of responsibility himself.
Maybe Capello could have prepared his players for this reaction though. For instance, had he flooded the team with West Ham players, they would have been perfectly comfortable with being jeered from the field and there would be none of the childish reactions that we saw from Rooney and others. To be honest, they would also have been perfectly comfortable with playing the aimless, error-stricken football that England have so far served up - so Scott Parker, Mark Noble and the other eligible players who didn’t make the squad are no doubt at home thinking they would have fitted straight in under Capello.
Let’s hope that the booing, or Rooney’s reaction to the booing, does not deflect attention away from the utter awfulness of England’s performance last night though. The squad need to know how poor they were. They need to know how angry supporters are with them. And they need to know that what they delivered last night - that pathetic excuse for a display of footballing prowess - is nowhere near good enough and will not be accepted by the fans.
Judging by the reaction of the press and the pubs so far, if the players take on board even a fraction of the criticism coming their way, we will see a dramatic improvement in the hugely important fixture against Slovenia on Wednesday afternoon. The people are angry and demanding more, but more importantly we still have hope. We hope that Rooney regains his blistering form of last season. We hope whoever comes in for the suspended Jamie Carragher looks more convincing than the latter did. We hope that England’s most creative player, Joe Cole, gets at least some time on the pitch to express himself. And we hope, although maybe no longer believe, that this is our year.
Devoid of both imagination and spirit, it’s hard to remember a worse performance from England in a World Cup. It was a night when English football shifted into reverse and the progress made by Fabio Capello over the last two years seemed to be washed away in the space of 90 painful minutes.
It was almost as if we had gone back in time to the dark days of the early 90s - when Graham Taylor presided over a shambolic England team that regularly included the gangly legs of Carlton Palmer. Just like then, the collection of players representing England last night - I think it’s stretching it a bit to call them a team - played a style of football desperately lacking in creativity. Passing was woeful and defending barely any better.
Much of the blame will fall on the sizeable shoulders of Emile Heskey. So much has already been said about Heskey’s dismal goal scoring record for England, and almost the whole country questions what exactly it is he brings to the team. But putting things in to perspective, Heskey has done OK in both games that England have played. By no means has he been good, but he’s played to his admittedly limited ability, and the criticism he has received would be better targeted in the direction of Wayne Rooney.
Rooney is supposedly the star of the England team. The current PFA Player of the Year, he was predicted to be the spark that ignited the fire in England’s collective belly, and would drive them on to a certain tournament victory. To say he has failed to live up to expectations would probably take the prize of understatement of the century. Last night, he failed to complete even rudimentary tasks such as controlling the ball and passing it to a team mate. And judging by his comments to the cameras after the game, Rooney wasn’t happy about the reception the players got as they left the field last night.
To be honest, I’m with Wayne on this one. Surely the thousands of fans who have raided their life savings; jeopardised relationships, jobs and friendships to travel half way around the world should have the decency to applaud, nay cheer, their team off the pitch after enduring an absolute abomination of a performance? In all seriousness, Rooney’s reaction was a disgrace and he should publicly apologise for it.
Being a Manchester United player, he’s probably not used to his own fans expressing displeasure with the team, but he really should wake up and come join us all back in the real world. The very least that performance deserved was booing and Rooney himself should take a fair share of responsibility himself.
Maybe Capello could have prepared his players for this reaction though. For instance, had he flooded the team with West Ham players, they would have been perfectly comfortable with being jeered from the field and there would be none of the childish reactions that we saw from Rooney and others. To be honest, they would also have been perfectly comfortable with playing the aimless, error-stricken football that England have so far served up - so Scott Parker, Mark Noble and the other eligible players who didn’t make the squad are no doubt at home thinking they would have fitted straight in under Capello.
Let’s hope that the booing, or Rooney’s reaction to the booing, does not deflect attention away from the utter awfulness of England’s performance last night though. The squad need to know how poor they were. They need to know how angry supporters are with them. And they need to know that what they delivered last night - that pathetic excuse for a display of footballing prowess - is nowhere near good enough and will not be accepted by the fans.
Judging by the reaction of the press and the pubs so far, if the players take on board even a fraction of the criticism coming their way, we will see a dramatic improvement in the hugely important fixture against Slovenia on Wednesday afternoon. The people are angry and demanding more, but more importantly we still have hope. We hope that Rooney regains his blistering form of last season. We hope whoever comes in for the suspended Jamie Carragher looks more convincing than the latter did. We hope that England’s most creative player, Joe Cole, gets at least some time on the pitch to express himself. And we hope, although maybe no longer believe, that this is our year.
Monday, 14 June 2010
World Cup 2010: Day four
Four days in to the World Cup and so far so so. The tournament is yet to catch light, although the vast majority of the human race would gladly watch a mass pile of vuvuzelas set a blaze in the middle of Soccer City.
High points so far have been the uncharacteristically stylish way in which Germany dispatched of Australia; the hosts' morale boosting draw with Mexico that proved they are far from the incompetent mess we were led to believe they were; and at last, a decent performance from Steven Gerrard in a major international tournament.
Low points from the tournament include a distinct lack of goalmouth action - to date only Germany, South Korea and Holland have managed more than one goal, the woeful standard of free-kicks and of course Rob Green's howler against the USA.
As a West Ham fan, I'm struggling to come to terms with Green's error. I feel partly responsible in some way. As soon as "it" happened on Saturday, I closed my eyes and prayed that the rest of the pub I was in were oblivious to the fact that I supported West Ham. I felt at fault in some way - as if Rob Green was not responsible for the mistake but West Ham collectively - and as a supporter I too was culpable.
I've spent the few days since Saturday telling anyone who will listen that Green doesn't make those kind of mistakes in the Premier League and he remains an excellent 'keeper. I've also studied replays of Dempsey's shot to desperately try and see the ball swerve wickedly on its way towards the goal or skip off the turf with a freakish bounce. But no, it was just a horrible, horrible mistake. One that even the most hungover of Sunday league goalkeepers would be hard pressed to make and on behalf of West Ham, I would like to apologise to the nation.
I'm sure this acceptance of collective responsibility is of no consolation to Rob Green and will not prevent him from featuring on both the front and back pages of our national newspapers, but the mistake has masked what was a pretty ordinary display from England on Saturday night. Short of imagination and predictably poor at keeping the ball, the performance was hardly one to strike fear in the likes of Spain, Brazil or any of the other favourites. Still, a point is a point and far from a terrible result. Two wins in our final group games will almost certainly see us top the group - although just a tiny bit of cohesion in midfield against Algeria on Friday wouldn't go amiss.
Away from England and thinking about my wallet, the team I drew in the office sweeptstake - France - were somehow even more disappointing than England in their opening game against Uruguay. Anaemic, impotent and any other medical term that can be loosely applied to football, the French offered nothing in a game that threatened to send even the commentary team to sleep. My chances of taking any of the prizes look slim, which I suppose at least saves me the indignity of cheering France on in the later stages of the tournament. Fortunately West Ham don't have any players in the French squad, so I don't have to feel responsible for their ineptitude.
Room for improvement all round then but with Brazil, Spain and Portugal all yet to play, I'm sure it won't be long before we see the tournament's first stand out moment. Hopefully it will come in Friday's game against Algeria. Rob Green either saving a hat-trick of penalties or single-handedly rounding up every vuvuzela in the ground before snapping them in half, whilst keeping a clean sheet, would be my preferred options.
High points so far have been the uncharacteristically stylish way in which Germany dispatched of Australia; the hosts' morale boosting draw with Mexico that proved they are far from the incompetent mess we were led to believe they were; and at last, a decent performance from Steven Gerrard in a major international tournament.
Low points from the tournament include a distinct lack of goalmouth action - to date only Germany, South Korea and Holland have managed more than one goal, the woeful standard of free-kicks and of course Rob Green's howler against the USA.
As a West Ham fan, I'm struggling to come to terms with Green's error. I feel partly responsible in some way. As soon as "it" happened on Saturday, I closed my eyes and prayed that the rest of the pub I was in were oblivious to the fact that I supported West Ham. I felt at fault in some way - as if Rob Green was not responsible for the mistake but West Ham collectively - and as a supporter I too was culpable.
I've spent the few days since Saturday telling anyone who will listen that Green doesn't make those kind of mistakes in the Premier League and he remains an excellent 'keeper. I've also studied replays of Dempsey's shot to desperately try and see the ball swerve wickedly on its way towards the goal or skip off the turf with a freakish bounce. But no, it was just a horrible, horrible mistake. One that even the most hungover of Sunday league goalkeepers would be hard pressed to make and on behalf of West Ham, I would like to apologise to the nation.
I'm sure this acceptance of collective responsibility is of no consolation to Rob Green and will not prevent him from featuring on both the front and back pages of our national newspapers, but the mistake has masked what was a pretty ordinary display from England on Saturday night. Short of imagination and predictably poor at keeping the ball, the performance was hardly one to strike fear in the likes of Spain, Brazil or any of the other favourites. Still, a point is a point and far from a terrible result. Two wins in our final group games will almost certainly see us top the group - although just a tiny bit of cohesion in midfield against Algeria on Friday wouldn't go amiss.
Away from England and thinking about my wallet, the team I drew in the office sweeptstake - France - were somehow even more disappointing than England in their opening game against Uruguay. Anaemic, impotent and any other medical term that can be loosely applied to football, the French offered nothing in a game that threatened to send even the commentary team to sleep. My chances of taking any of the prizes look slim, which I suppose at least saves me the indignity of cheering France on in the later stages of the tournament. Fortunately West Ham don't have any players in the French squad, so I don't have to feel responsible for their ineptitude.
Room for improvement all round then but with Brazil, Spain and Portugal all yet to play, I'm sure it won't be long before we see the tournament's first stand out moment. Hopefully it will come in Friday's game against Algeria. Rob Green either saving a hat-trick of penalties or single-handedly rounding up every vuvuzela in the ground before snapping them in half, whilst keeping a clean sheet, would be my preferred options.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Sweepstake sorrow
We’re tantalisingly close to the start of the World Cup and the anxiety has set in. The reason for this anxious state is not concern that Rooney won’t control his temper or that Diego Maradona will stick to his promise to run naked through Buenos Aries if Argentina win the tournament - no, it’s all thanks to the office sweepstake.
Everyone is familiar with the concept of the sweepstake - you chuck a couple of quid into an envelope, and then pull a little piece of paper with the name of a country on it from another. You hope you’ll draw Spain and stand the best chance of keeping the contents of that first envelope for yourself, whilst crossing your fingers that you don’t pull out New Zealand, North Korea or any of the other teams with little or no chance of winning.
Equally, you’re afraid of picking teams for whom you reserve a hatred for, yet know they stand a decent chance of winning. I’m thinking Argentina, Germany and particularly after their play-off with Ireland, France. Nobody wants to get France. To have to cheer on a team who made the tournament by being masters of the dark arts of football would stick in anyone’s throat. Well I got France.
At the risk of sounding like some awful hybrid of Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Littlejohn, it’s exceptionally easy to dislike the French football team these days. With the peerless genius that is Zinedine Zidane sadly now retired, there a very few, if any likeable players in their squad. The sulky Nicolas Anelka remains, as does William “if you don’t let me leave I’ll score an own goal” Gallas and also friend to Paris’ red light district, Franck Ribery.
But thanks to two of the most blatant handballs you’ll ever see, one man has outdone them all and scooped the title of most hated footballer in the French camp. Step forward Thierry Henry - formerly the pride of Islington, currently the scourge of decent football fans across the world.
His inclusion in the French squad means France are unlikely to win the support of many neutrals in South Africa this year. But you get what you’re given in the sweepstake and I’m afraid that means I’ll be donning a beret and striped sweater whilst cheering on the French through gritted teeth.
Thanks to the generous redistribution policy of our sweepstake, I still stand a chance of taking home some funds without having the agonising task of cheering on the French to victory. Prizes are given for first, second and third, with smaller amounts dished out to the unfortunate soul whose team finishes with the worst record and also the team that takes FIFA’s Fair Play award.
As my team is known for posing, cheating, moaning, cheating and cheating, I very much doubt they will pick up a prize for fairness. Unfortunately, they also have a vast amount of talent in their ranks, so they’re just as unlikely to scoop the wooden spoon. So I’m left with hoping they scuff their way through to the semi finals before going out - preferably in humiliating style that may involve someone catching the ball on the half-way line, bouncing it all the way to the penalty area and then rolling it underarm into the net.
But until we get to the last four, I’ll be glued to the TV with my little scrap of paper in hand quietly chanting “allez les bleus”.
Everyone is familiar with the concept of the sweepstake - you chuck a couple of quid into an envelope, and then pull a little piece of paper with the name of a country on it from another. You hope you’ll draw Spain and stand the best chance of keeping the contents of that first envelope for yourself, whilst crossing your fingers that you don’t pull out New Zealand, North Korea or any of the other teams with little or no chance of winning.
Equally, you’re afraid of picking teams for whom you reserve a hatred for, yet know they stand a decent chance of winning. I’m thinking Argentina, Germany and particularly after their play-off with Ireland, France. Nobody wants to get France. To have to cheer on a team who made the tournament by being masters of the dark arts of football would stick in anyone’s throat. Well I got France.
At the risk of sounding like some awful hybrid of Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Littlejohn, it’s exceptionally easy to dislike the French football team these days. With the peerless genius that is Zinedine Zidane sadly now retired, there a very few, if any likeable players in their squad. The sulky Nicolas Anelka remains, as does William “if you don’t let me leave I’ll score an own goal” Gallas and also friend to Paris’ red light district, Franck Ribery.
But thanks to two of the most blatant handballs you’ll ever see, one man has outdone them all and scooped the title of most hated footballer in the French camp. Step forward Thierry Henry - formerly the pride of Islington, currently the scourge of decent football fans across the world.
His inclusion in the French squad means France are unlikely to win the support of many neutrals in South Africa this year. But you get what you’re given in the sweepstake and I’m afraid that means I’ll be donning a beret and striped sweater whilst cheering on the French through gritted teeth.
Thanks to the generous redistribution policy of our sweepstake, I still stand a chance of taking home some funds without having the agonising task of cheering on the French to victory. Prizes are given for first, second and third, with smaller amounts dished out to the unfortunate soul whose team finishes with the worst record and also the team that takes FIFA’s Fair Play award.
As my team is known for posing, cheating, moaning, cheating and cheating, I very much doubt they will pick up a prize for fairness. Unfortunately, they also have a vast amount of talent in their ranks, so they’re just as unlikely to scoop the wooden spoon. So I’m left with hoping they scuff their way through to the semi finals before going out - preferably in humiliating style that may involve someone catching the ball on the half-way line, bouncing it all the way to the penalty area and then rolling it underarm into the net.
But until we get to the last four, I’ll be glued to the TV with my little scrap of paper in hand quietly chanting “allez les bleus”.
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