Day 1: Thursday 14th
June
Opening Ceremony
Russia v Saudia Arabia
Before the host nation take on generous opening day
opposition, Robbie Williams ‘entertains’ the Luzhniki Stadium residents during a
15 minute opening ceremony despite the former Take That man having apparently
written a derogatory song about Russians in the recent past. Fortunately, even
Putin’s crack KGB agents were unable to trace anything Williams has performed
since 2006, so he was free to play in front of a president who too has enjoyed
unfathomable popularity.
Russia defy pre-tournament intelligence that they are crap,
by turning over the Saudis 5-0, in the biggest first day win in my living
memory. There is though, the suspicion that Saudi Arabia are just more crap.
Day 2: Friday 15th
June
Egypt v Uruguay
Morocco v Iran
Portugal v Spain
A day off work today to clean the house from top to bottom.
By 3 o’clock, the missus and I have managed to rearrange the big kitchen
cupboard. In the minutes left before collecting the kids, I sit down to watch
the tail end of Uruguay v Egypt. Cavani has two efforts on goal that nearly go
in due to the lack of thought required, and the missus comes in to note one of
the numerous shots of Mohammed Salah sitting on the bench.
“He’s like a scruffy Poldark” she observes. I love how she
is completely ignorant to the 40-goal plus season the Liverpool player has
enjoyed in his debut Premier League season in which he was crowned Footballer
of the Year. Could be a chant: ‘You’re just a scruffy Poldark!’
Uruguay win it with a late header and Suarez wins a free
kick by throwing himself into an opponent.
Portugal-Spain in the evening is a world away from the
possession-based chess fixtures of World Cup 2010 and Euro ‘12. Ronaldo’s early
penalty, won after he encouraged Real team mate Nacho to trip him over, helps,
as does David De Gea’s unexpected gaffe from Ronaldo’s edge of the area shot,
following Diego Costa’s muscular equaliser. At half time, Alan Shearer giggled
that you “just can’t keep him out of the headlines!”, on the day that the
Portugal player received a two year suspended jail term for tax evasion.
Shearer added – annoyingly as it turned out – that he might have something else
in store in this game (he scored a match saving free kick for 3-3 near the
death) but also that “he has to improve his free kicks”. Ha!
Earlier in the day, Morocco and Iran also played.
Day 3: Saturday 16th
June
France v Australia
Argentina v Iceland
Peru v Denmark
Croatia v Nigeria
VAR’s first test comes in the France-Australia Group C
morning match. Griezmann goes down in the box, seemingly in instalments, at 0-0
in the second half. The ref motions a nice square with his fingers, as if
prompting an unexpected game of charades during a World Cup match (preferable to
the ‘Mexican waves’, I’d say) and goes off to examine an HD Ready monitor off
the pitch. The days of consulting the Russian linesman are dead, even if the
Russian assistant refs are officiating the Russia games.
Penalty, declares the clarity-infused whistler, though I was
unconvinced that the contact was worthy of bringing Griezmann down. Griezmann
scores the penalty but disappointingly doesn’t perform any of his customary Fortnite
dance celebrations that I could have shown Barney later. Kill and dance, that’s the moral
of my 10 year old son’s favourite computer game (Where did we go so wrong?) The
Atletico Madrid striker had executed the ‘What the L’ routine when equalising
at Arsenal in the Europa League in April, jigging on Arsene’s grave.
Mark ‘Lawro’ Lawrenson shares out pithy remarks between VAR
(“that works then!”) and Paul Pogba (“more and more of an enigma, I’m afraid”;
“he needs to concentrate on his football” [instead of having a hairstyle]), but
it was the tall, strutting (like a French cockerel, perhaps?) Manchester United
midfielder who declared greater evidence of technical credentials than Lawro’s
other bugbear, laying on the pass for Griezmann’s eventual penalty, and pressuring
a defender to restore France’s lead after Australia scored their own VAR
checked pen. Bit lucky though, France, I
thought, so often drab in these early stages of a tournament.
France-Switzerland in 2006 remains one of the most tedious games I’ve seen.
Argentina v Iceland. That national
anthem and Messi. A hat trick from the
captain against Bolivia in the last round of South American qualifying had
dragged them to Russia in the last of the available places. They play Iceland
at 2pm our time, but I end up watching hours later, so late that I’m forced to pause
the match after 20 minutes to rest my eyes. Aguero had just scored for Argentina
– his first World Cup goal – when I’d ditched the glasses and laid my head back
on the sofa cushions. I didn’t know what it was that roused me some time later –
the beep of the washing machine? a forgotten errand? Duplo up the backside? –
but I resumed play, and a few minutes in Iceland scored. For about five minutes
I thought the score was 1-0 to Iceland, until the commentator reminded me of
events pre-sleep. Argentina’s defenders
and goalie, Caballero (the Chelsea No.2 deputising for the Man United No.2
Sergio Romero) looked in a similarly comatose state.
Day 4: Sunday 17th
June
Costa Rica v Serbia
Germany v Mexico
Brazil v Switzerland
I watched the Mexican player on the highlights score the
penalty winner against Germany, noted his dark, good looks and heard
the praise from Matthew Upson in the BBC studio, but didn’t immediately
recognise him as the man I’d watched score a hat trick for Arsenal against
Wigan in the League Cup 10 years ago. Carlos Vela comes out on top against
Mesut Ozil, a triumph for the Emirates austerity years over the Emirates less
austerity years.
A 1-0 defeat in the opening game for holders, in this
instance Germany, is something I’ve grown up with. In the first World Cup I
watched, in 1982, Argentina lost 1-0 to Belgium, and in 1990 Argentina again
lost by this score line to Cameroon. In 2002 in Japan and Korea it happened again,
France losing to a single goal against Senegal. It wasn’t actually until my 4th
World Cup that the holders won, which happened to be Germany, 1-0 against
Bolivia.
Day 5: Monday 18th
June
Sweden v South Korea
Belgium v Panama
Tunisia v England
I’m an Englishman, born in England, raised in England,
football addiction developed in England, but I don’t support the England
football team. Haven’t since the 1986 World Cup. Our boys just don’t interest
me. I think it’s club prejudice, stopping me from supporting players I don’t
like, from other teams I don’t like. There are five Spurs players in the squad
this year, three who started against Tunisia tonight, and for me, an Arsenal
fan, that’s a natural barrier.
And yet, there hasn’t always been a proliferation of
Tottenham boys in England’s tournament squads, as it’s only in the last few
years, since I was that uncorrupted, pre-teenager watching
Mexico 86, that their has been any good. In Mexico, Glenn Hoddle, Lord of the
Lane, was the centrepiece of the team, and I was a big fan of his, even
modelled myself on his game when I played in the same central midfield position
as him at that time. I loved his combination with another Spurs player that
summer, Gary Stevens (no, not the Everton right back) to set up Gary Lineker
for England’s third goal against Paraguay in the 2nd phase at the
Azteca Stadium. I was like any normal kid back then, bouncing up and down as
the national team went through to meet Diego Maradona’s Argentina. I’d almost
forgotten about Arsenal and the Canon League and, when Bobby Robson's team eventually went out to the hand and genius of
Maradona in that quarter final, I felt as bereft as the next wide-eyed
soon-to-be 11 year old.
I’m not sure what happened after that, but I do recall that during
England’s early-evening, crucial match against Holland in the 1988 European
Championships in West Germany that would effectively decide who still stood a
chance of qualifying for the knockout stage, I found myself switching over to
watch Neighbours. In fairness, Neighbours contained its own addictive powers at
the time, watched by ‘everyone’ in the country, and its popularity spawning a
glut of short-lived pop careers. I don’t recall what happened in that episode I
watched, but do know that England lost 3-1 to Holland, and that Arsenal’s 21
year old defender Tony Adams was vilified in the tabloids for the crime of
being outfoxed by one of the game’s all-time great strikers, Marco Van Basten,
for one of the goals. The tabloid reaction led to the ‘donkey’ taunts that
followed Adams’ career for years after. Maybe the apathy that was perhaps
creeping in for me, turned into bitterness as a result.
I wasn’t behind Bobby Robson’s Italia 90 squad at all, with
Adams, now hearing “ee-aw, ee-aw!” at every ground he played at (a kind of
forerunner to the booing David Beckham would receive after France 98) and Paul Gascoigne of Spurs, heralded. I did
feel for Gascoigne when he got booked in the semi-final against West Germany, but
I was relieved when it turned out that it would only be a 3rd/4th
place play off and not a Final he would be missing. I couldn’t identify with my
national team, and I certainly struggled with the outpouring of love for
Gascoigne after the tournament, marketed as ‘Gazzamania’ (with another
regrettable blink-and-you-miss-it pop intrusion as part of the package). I
wondered what levels of hysteria would greet an actual World Cup Final triumph.
My disengagement with England continued apace. In 98 in
France, even with Adams back in the team and the Arsenal goalie, David Seaman, I
didn’t go to the pub with my mates for the Argentina second phase match and
instead stayed at home to watch with my mum, who was very cross at my
unpatriotic response to David Batty’s penalty failure that sent the team, now
managed by Hoddle, home. In 2002 in Japan and Korea, I watched the quarter
final against Brazil with work colleagues in the canteen, and afterwards went
off to the loo to secretly throw my fists in the air and scream noiselessly but
joyously. In Germany in 2006, I found a new appreciation for Cristiano Ronaldo
while everyone else got in a lather about a wink, and in 2010 I thought it
served pundits like Alan Shearer right that Germany knocked us out when before
the game, apparently only two of their players could have got in our team and they
were scared of us, assumptions somehow built from a group endeavour that saw
England draw with USA and Algeria and then scrape past the League One quality
of Slovenia. In Brazil in 14, lovely Roy Hodgson ensured that I didn’t even
have to suffer a knockout stage round, as England went out in a tough pool of
Italy, Uruguay and Costa Rica.
Not supporting England isn’t something I am proud of, nor
aspire to, but it’s just the way it is. It’s a shame really, I don’t get to
board the journey of hope and delusion with everyone else, and I’ve got a
beautiful England original top from 1980 that the missus got me off ebay, worn
by Mark Hateley in the youth team. I had the 82 kit as a kid and had looked for
a replica for years to no avail. It’s a waste that I won’t wear it to support
England.
On my walk home up the hill from work tonight, I saw my
daughter’s friend’s dad coming down in the opposite direction, England kit
under jacket.
“Pub’s that way!” he said.
Up ahead though was the road to cooking dinner for the kids, and then doing homework with the kids. 7pm isn’t really a parent-friendly kick
off time. My return allowed the missus’ mum to pack up her childcare day and
head home for the match, where like most people who don’t watch football
normally and hang on to the nuggets of punditry wisdom, she must have
thought she was watching the future World Cup winners.
“Best team in the tournament so far”; “exhilarating
football”, the BBC cried, including Shearer, who was wearing that shirt of his
that is quite tight around the collar but unfortunately not enough to restrict
his speech. “You never know what that could do for morale”, commentator Guy
Mowbray enthused at the end, right at the end, when England secured a 2-1 win
over Tunisia.
In the studio, Frank Lampard predicted “another positive
performance against Panama”.
And I’d expected that
the Russians, and Putin, would be hogging the propaganda stakes.
Day 6: Tuesday 19th
June
Colombia v Japan
Poland v Senegal
Russia v Egypt
I watch the footage today of ITV’s Patrice Evra ‘applauding’
Eni Aluko’s detailed analysis of Costa Rica on Sunday, and it sounded to me
that the other pundit in the studio, Henrik Larsson, said “very good!” when
Aluko had finished, with a sincerity that suggested the patronising act
was all his. Perhaps Evra’s spontaneous burst of clapping was to mock Larsson’s
ignorance. I have never sought to defend Evra before, I just think the direction
of the social media “backlash” might need a VAR check.
ITV’s stance on such social graces is always interesting:
they forced the sacking of Big Ron after his off-air racist tirade in 2005, yet
employ Hoddle despite his on-the-record analysis of ‘them disableds’ in 1998. Perhaps
it’s because he was working for somebody else at the time. Hopefully Evra
wasn’t being chauvinistic to Aluko and will stay on to provide some analysis
himself on, say, a Uruguay match involving Luis Suarez, who received an eight
game Premier League ban in 2014 for racially abusing him. Would certainly be a lot better than his
dreary thread of not saying anything against France because of not wanting to
lose his French passport.
Day 7: Wednesday 20th
June
Portugal v Morocco
Uruguay v Saudi Arabia
Iran v Spain
Back-to-back goal highlights of Portugal 1 Morocco 0 and
Uruguay 1 Saudi Arabia 0 allows the respective commentators, Vicky Sparks and
Alastair Bruce-Ball to inform us that the goals were scored by “And wouldn’t
you just know it?” and “You know who”.
Iran-Spain serves as a revelation. Going into this World
Cup, I hadn’t considered that I would only have the BBC open to me as a
televisual live option, and not ITV at all on the big screen due to our
cost-cutting exercise at the start of the year that, among other things,
dispensed with Virgin Media and took away all the associated channels. ITV was
now merely a hub, programmes on that channel offered on a recorded basis only.
Before the last World Cup we had only recently upgraded to a Tivo box, back in
the days when we had just the two kids and time and energy and dreams. The
reality now is that I can only watch ITV’s Champions League or Europa League highlights
via the 'net' before the stated 24 hour availability elapsed. This I don’t
actually understand, being able to watch ITV football from this App, but not
getting it at all on the Smart TV option. I suppose if I had the time and
energy and dreams I would look into this, but just like the weak water-flow
from the kitchen tap and the inaccessible patio doors, it will doubtlessly be
left untreated for many lifetimes.
But this evening I find that the App has usurped the ‘Smart’
TV again, offering Spain-Iran live. The only downside is – and this is a very
21st century gripe – the action can’t be paused and resumed from
that point. You can activate ‘pause’ but by the time you press ‘play’, the game
has moved on to normal time. This is again where 7pm kicks off are a challenge,
because the kids aren’t ready for bed, the missus is on Nights and I have to
rely on them not killing themselves or, worse, damage the house while I focus
on a portable rectangle.
The mature thing to do would be to wait for the highlights
later, which is just a statement I’ve made.
Day 8: Thursday 21st
June
Denmark v Australia
France v Peru
Argentina v Croatia
During the mad, thrilling, infectious Argentine national
anthem before their match with Croatia buoyantly projected by mad, thrilling,
infectious fans unperturbed by a flat 1-1 opening draw against Iceland in which
Messi had a penalty saved by a part-timer, the camera scanned along to the
captain himself, who rubbed his forehead intently like a man who suddenly felt
the full weight of expectation on his shoulders.
Players are vulnerable at these times. Italy’s Marco
Matterazzi, for instance, was head-butted in the chest by Zinedine Zidane in
the 2006 Final as the pressure mounted on the Frenchman to find the moment, in
his ageing years, to return the trophy he brought to
his country 8 years before. In the Iceland game, Messi had run the least of all
the other outfield players in this years’ competition – fewer even than two
goalkeepers – and the energy-saving strategy that has served him so well
against Barcelona bought only that penalty failure. Defeat to Croatia would leave
his country’s progress to the knockout stages out of their hands (an accidental
pun, in reference to Argentina). Their Chilean manager Jorge Sampaoli rocked up
in Joachim Low’s 2014 black v-neck short sleeve top and suit jacket, like a man
at a wedding who’d spilt soup all down his front and had to make do with the
nearest top to hand (accidental, again). When the top was removed, tattoo arms
were revealed - a rare sight in a coach/manager. He looked a cross between
Inspector Montalbano and Phil Mitchell, pacing up and down the technical area
furiously, wrestling with empathy for the tortured accused and alternating with
anguished indecision between necking the bottle or chucking it down the
bleeding sink.
“I bet he’s done his 10,000 steps” Mark Lawrenson observed. Sampaoli
certainly covered more ground than Messi, whose accrued reserves were again not
exploited like they are at FC Barcelona, where the likes of Ivan Rakitic can be
relied on to supply the most skilful player in the world with the ball. On this
night, though, Rakitic shone brighter, scoring the third goal in Croatia’s opportunistic
win. While Messi stood on centre stage without a microphone as the backing
singers played to the crowd instead, goalkeeper Caballero, who Gary Neville had
highlighted as a danger to his own team, fulfilled his destiny after a
prolonged flirtation with self-destruction, chipping the ball insufficiently to
a defender and allowing Croat midfielder Rebic, who should have been sent off
in the first half for a calculated stamp on a shin (As Delia Smith would ask: “VAR,
where are you?”), to smash a volley past him for 1-0. Caballero reacted with
all the fist-banging anger of someone who could never take away the shame of
what had just happened in front of so many billions of people.
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