Semi-Final speculation

Reports of the demise of European football have been somewhat previous. We heard so much about the dominance of South American football, and yet there are three European teams in the quarter-finals. Sure; the superstars have fallen by the wayside – Anelka; Cannavaro; Rooney; Ronaldo etc. – but the team-play rather than silky skills are rising to the top, and that is exactly what I like to see.

First up – Brazil v The Netherlands; the one everyone expected the world champions to win, including the world champions themselves. Expectation is a terrible thing – ask England – and the Netherlands quietly went about the business of puncturing Brazil’s illusions. Having scored a goal from an error (Felipe Melo was credited with the own goal), the Netherlands defended well and even managed to score again.

I heard the expression ‘Kuyt to the rescue’ and mention of his impressive work rate on several occasions. Just as Ferdinand might as well be christened ‘Given-away-by’, I seriously began to think that Kuyt’s sobriquet is ‘Unselfish-play-by’. Is there a prize for the most assists? If so, he should definitely be awarded it – perhaps it could be called the golden sock.

Melo’s game went from bad to worse when he was sent off for a dirty foul, stamping on the hamstring of Arjen Robben that could have ended his career. Actually, everyone in a blue shirt had a pop at Robben who spent most of the match flying through the air or rolling on the ground. The match became increasingly ill-tempered towards the end as Brazil were no longer the impressive exponents of the beautiful game and cards flew for deliberate hand-balls and simulation – forty fouls were given in all and Brazil showed more Gallic than Latin temperament problems; I can’t see Germany doing that.

The commentator quipped, “If Brazil are going out of the World Cup they are going out with a fight – quite literally.” He also referred to the Dutch defence as resembling “an orange jelly, just wobbling there – no wonder they’re nervous.” He must have so much fun thinking these things up...

I watched the Ghana v Uruguay game propped up in bed with a couple of female friends in a hotel room; there was honestly nothing dodgy about this (although the discussion about how nice the Ghanaians looked in their red and yellow strip against the bright green turf was a little iffy).

There was everything dodgy about Luis Suarez hand-balling Dominic Adiyiah’s definitely goal-bound extra-time shot off the line. He was given a red card and sent off. Ghana were awarded a penalty as the last action of the game – Asamoah Gyan should have scored and Ghana should have been in the semi-finals. He hit the cross-bar and they’re not.

The match went to penalties, the first of which Gyan took and scored with commendable coolness. Mensah and Adiyiah couldn’t convert their penalties – only one Uruguayan missed, and it’s all over for Africa. Penalty shoot-outs are a lottery: exciting when your team isn’t involved; sickening when they are. One of my friends was demanding, “Why can’t the ref just give a goal?” It’s a fair enough question, and I’m sure she’s not the only one asking, but them’s the rules and although there will a call for them to be changed in future, for now Uruguay are justifiably into the final four.

Asamoah Gyan was understandably distraught. So, slightly less understandably, were my tender-hearted maternal friends. “He’s not your son” I pointed out. “Yes, but he’s some poor mother’s son” one of them snuffled, somewhat illogically. I have seen this happen to England before and wasn’t going to waste my tears on other countries’ sons.

Speaking of cheating hand-of-God South American nations, I thought I might have split loyalties when it came to Argentina v Germany; who do I dislike least? After all; we’ve fought wars against both these countries (okay, so it might be hard to find a country that Britain hasn’t found itself in conflict with over the centuries). As it happened, all it took was one look at the puffed-up pigeon-chested Maradona to make up my mind and have me screaming at the TV, “Come on Germany!”

And they are a good young side with decisive passes and innovative play – of course, the word ‘clinical’ is never far from any description of the Fatherland, and it was a definitive demonstration of what to do with that unpredictable beach ball – split the defence and put it in the back of the net – but it was sublime to watch.

I like Lionel Messi and I like Javier Mascherano; in them I think Argentina has the best striker and defensive midfielder in the world, but as we have seen; this isn’t a tournament for individuals; it is a exhibition of cooperation and the Germans worked together as a tight unit, yes, alright, even an efficient one. There was added satisfaction in the fact that we put two goals past them and Argentina couldn’t even manage one. England don’t look quite so woeful in that light.

And then there’s Spain... People have been calling them under-performers, but they are through to the semi-final after grinding out a 1- 0 victory against Paraguay. The game had end-to-end missed penalties, disallowed goals, retaken penalties, unawarded penalties, squandered free kicks and one of the tightest mid-field contests seen so far in this tournament. Spain may not have set the footballing world alight, but you don’t have to play pretty football to win.

The only bet I have that is still vaguely alive is for Torres to pick up the golden boot. It doesn’t look like it’s going to happen, but he could always prove me wrong by bagging a swag of goals against Germany and progressing through to trounce the Dutch (assuming, as I do, that they beat Uruguay) with yet more bulging of the old onion bag. Like I said, it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.

Hats off to the fans

Do you see what I did there? I went two whole posts without mentioning football, kind of pretending that I wasn't chewing off my fingernails as we limped through to the last 16. I'll be getting up in the middle of the night to watch England against Germany. I don't expect it to be good for my heart. In the meantime, I have loved all the drama and the passion and the headgear of the group stages. Here are some of my favourite images.

While I still dislike the vuvuzelas intensely, I do like the makarapas. These modified miners' helmets are as much a feature of this World Cup as that intensely irritating horn, and they are a lot more welcome and entertaining.

The Ultimate Expression

Chris Sievey, creator of Frank Sidebottom, has died, aged 54 after suffering from cancer.

 He was what is known as a 'cult comedy entertainer' which pretty much sums up his bizarre show and engaging manner. He first came to my attention when Him Outdoors and I were courting. He used to play me his records - Timperly Blues; Guess Who's Been on Match of the Day etc. His nasal delivery and insistence on singing versions of famous American songs with English grammar and an off-Manchester accent intrigued me.

I suppose he was a bit of a student cult favourite (Frank Sidebottom, not Him Outdoors) and we saw him perform at pubs in Manchester and at Reading Festival: they used to have a comedy tent - do they still?

I was enthralled by the way he could be so expressive without having any expression. You sort of transposed your own feelings onto his papier-mâché head, and you could envisage raised eyebrows, moues of disapproval, frowns of bewilderment and smiles of pure joy - even though, obviously, his features never moved.

There is something intrinsically compelling about a person in a mask: think Carnivale; mummers' plays;  masquerade balls; Phantom of the Opera; any number of comic book characters from Batman to Zoro; mascots; Walt Disney figures; horror films (Scream; It; Friday the Thirteenth).  

I remember being slightly terrified by the ballet dancers of Beatrix Potter because I couldn't see their eyes. I could feel Squirrel Nutkin's pain because he danced it beautifully, but I couldn't gauge whether he needed to be comforted or whether he was plotting revenge because his facial expression was hidden. The fact that he was an extremely large rodent appeared not to bother me.

This was probably all part of the fascination with acting. You have to do it with your whole body. And obviously, your face is one of the most important aspects of this, but if that is removed from the equation, you can still develop characterisation and appeal or repel people by your mannerisms (not to mention voice).

So I learned a lot from Frank Sidebottom (and Little Frank, of course). He is part of my student life in Manchester and I will always remember that fondly. As Martin Kelner wrote in this interview, first published in the Independent in 1991, "I have entirely forgotten that underneath the papier-mâché head is a nice chap called Chris Sievey, with a wife, and children, and a mortgage, who used to front a rather good Manchester post-punk band called The Freshies."

He really was larger than life. Oh yes he was; he really was. Thank you!

The Great Scone Debate continued

Hi Mum! I know she reads my blog, because she tells me. And she alludes to it in her phone calls and correspondence, without actually mentioning that she read it. I don't know if she is too modest to leave a comment, or prefers writing with pen rather than keyboard but, in her latest letter, she had some fabulous insights into my recent posting on the great scone debate. She writes very well and thoughtfully, my mother, and although she wouldn't commit her opinions in full to something so public, I shall do it for her.

"I have been thinking about scones and the pleasure I get from them. Cutting through the slightly crumbly biscuit, putting a dollop of the gorgeous gooey cream on each half, spreading it over the surface and topping it off with a dollop of strawberry, blackcurrant, or at present, blueberry jam from Oregon.

"I then survey these jewels nestling on my plate before picking one up and biting firmly into it. Oh what joy! What rapture. The coarse biscuit, the thick cream and the slippery jam combining to produce a state of almost ecstacy. The are always so morish and leave you with an anticipation of a future delight.

"As a child on our annual holidays in Devon with my Godmother, they were always an eagerly-anticipated treat on our return from a fun-packed day on the beach and the long walk back. We always had the cream first followed by jam and that is what I continue to do to this day."

So there you have it; mother's always right. Isn't she?

Sick as a parrot

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. It's amazing how a group of blokes kicking a ball around a pitch can totally ruin your day. I am so gutted by this morning's non-performance that I can barely string a coherent thought together.

We went for a bike ride around the Wakatipu Basin later. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and the scenery was stunning. But I still felt sick to my stomach. I'm not sure I would go so far as to boo the boys, but certain of them were definitely lacking in sparkle. Here's looking at you Wayne!

Now we 'just' have to win our next match and hope the USA don't win theirs. It's still all on. I'm not sure my nerves are up to it.

World Cup Match-ups

Well, the first round of group games is over and we’re into round two. England play Algeria tomorrow morning (NZ time), so I thought I better post this now just in case I’m slumped in the corner with depression tomorrow. I don’t expect to be – but you never can tell with England, or France, or Spain…

I don’t know what the French press are saying about their draw with Uruguay and their loss to Mexico, or what flack Spain are copping for their loss to Switzerland, but I know that certain sections of the British press have slated England for not beating USA. I find this a little odd because USA are a very good and competent side with some solid defence and inspirational moves up front; they didn’t get to 14th in the FIFA World Cup rankings by fluke (we are 8th incidentally).

This is the beauty of football, or one of them anyway. It is not by nature a highly scoring game, especially when the teams are evenly matched and they have a strong defence that the attackers struggle to penetrate. A single goal may be lucky (USA) or well-worked (Chile) or both (New Zealand) but it can dramatically change the outcome. I’ve heard a lot of grumbling (mainly from fans of rugby, basketball and ice-hockey) that the games have been boring because there are few goals. 

Clearly these people don’t understand subtlety or tactics (they probably hate test cricket too) or they would be able to appreciate that the Côte d’Ivoire vs. Portugal was a classic World Cup game of flare and dogged determination. There were two different styles of football of show: Portugal demonstrated flowing passes, silky skills and great team play; the Côte d’Ivoire fielded a side of big strong athletes with excellent individual prowess but not such superior solidarity. It was 0-0.

Another exciting aspect of this sport is that the ‘best’ team doesn’t always win. Portugal are ranked third in the Fifa World Cup rankings; Côte d’Ivoire are ranked 27th. The big thrill over here is New Zealand (78th) snatching a draw with Slovakia (34th). So far, the biggest difference in rankings has been Brazil (first) against Korea DPR (105th), and the lesser fancied side still managed to score a goal in the 2-1 game. You don’t often get that in other sports. We call it giant-killing and it makes every football competition electrifying. Anything can happen.

Let’s just hope that tomorrow the ‘best’ team – England (8th) – really does come out on top.

Shout it from the rooftops!

Until last week, I didn’t know the name of that extremely annoying horn. You know the one at this year’s World Cup. People blast its monotonous note (the term ‘musical instrument’ is somewhat far-fetched) at rugby matches over here. I assumed it was for folk who hadn’t the wit or the intelligence to think up a chant or remember words. You know, like those mind-numbingly banal ‘thunder-sticks’ that are also all the rage in this country.

Apparently they are called vuvuzelas. And outside South Africa (and tedious provincial rugby matches in New Zealand) they are extremely unpopular. There is a website you can visit and vote as to whether you want to see them banned or not. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that they are ruining my enjoyment of the World Cup (Ronaldo is doing that) and it is up to South Africa to have them if they choose (indeed, there is even an argument that the vuvuzela is a symbol of racial and financial unification), but they certainly are excruciatingly loud and mind-numbingly unoriginal.

The BBC is considering filtering out the noise – if they could do this and keep the rest of the crowd noise – the singing; the chanting; the oohs and ahs; the cheers and groans – plus the commentator, then it would be worth it. You can just mute your TV, but then you won’t hear the commentators quips and questions – my favourite so far: “Will this be France’s chance to score? No.” So, I guess I’ll just have to suffer through it. The only game so far where I could actually hear the crowd singing through the wet blanket of whining was England v USA – funny that.

The vuvuzela cacophony sounds like a swarm of irritated (and irritating) mosquitoes – how could that possibly be desirable? I hate high-pitched noises (whistles; squeaky shoes on indoor courts; smoke alarms; children…) so these things give me a headache and set my teeth on edge. I am not alone. 83,951 people had voted to ban them on the previously-mentioned website at last look. Apparently this is ‘cultural snobbery’ and ‘patronising’. Fair enough; when in Rome and all that. Mexico gave us the wave (which, incidnetally, many organisations tried to ban); South Africa the vuvuzela. My, how we’ve suffered. It’s in Brazil in 2014 – we should have drums and sambas; that will be something to be celebrated.

Speaking of something to be celebrated – New Zealand gained their first point ever at the World Cup last night. It came in the 93rd minute, but it was the first decent cross they put in all game – congratulations Shane Smeltz. Never mind the fact that no one had previously heard of the under-19 and under-21 Danish goal-scorer; he is now a national hero. And rightly so. His precision header and Smeltz’s flash of inspiration elevated the lacklustre match into a public celebration of the beautiful game. And yes, my Arsenal-supporting-but-otherwise-likeable friend, you’re right; it does look magnificent, no matter how you look at it!

Naturally the media are jumping for joy despite normally ignoring the one true sport in favour of that ridiculous variety of hand-oval. The Guardian has a pretty fair report of the match. Okay, so they may be a little unfair in describing it as ‘asbestos-clad’, but they can’t take that point away from New Zealand. They deserve to party long and hard – after they’ve concentrated in the rest of their campaign, of course. (One thing I would say; not only is your team's nickname not particularly approariate in South Africa - think about it - but you should stop waving those white flags. There's no point admitting you've surrended before you've even started!)
 
I must admit, I wasn’t expecting the NZ goal – nothing in the previous 92 minutes had led me to suspect that they even knew where the net was, but I was very happy to be proved wrong. I will be even happier if I am proved even wronger and they manage to take points from either Paraguay (unlikely) or Italy (practically impossible). If they get through the group stage I stand to win the grand total of $45. If you’re out with me that weekend, I’ll buy you a pint.