Two years after football ‘came home’ for Euro 96, the World
Cup was hosted just across the Channel in France. Buoyed by the fun and
euphoria from the previous tournament, England fans expected great things from
Glenn Hoddle’s squad after missing 1994 altogether. Baddiel and Skinner updated
their lyrics to the Lightning Seeds’ stirring anthem ‘Three Lions’ and pipped
‘Vindaloo’ to the number one spot. The comedians’ daily live BBC2 show “World
Cup Fantasy Football” was required viewing in our household, too. And everyone
wanted to see how David Beckham, Alan Shearer and 17 year-old boy wonder Michael
Owen would fare on the greatest stage.
Expanding to include 32 countries, this World Cup would be
bigger and brighter than ever and, with many matches scheduled for peak time
viewing over here, interest and audience figures were high. I particularly
enjoyed the spectacle of colourful walls of fans, from the vivid orange of the
Dutch to the red-and-white chequerboards from Croatia. Nigeria (green/white)
and Cameroon (green/yellow) were typically exuberant and it was great to see
Jamaica’s ‘Reggae Boyz’ represented for the first time. They didn’t get very
far but nobody seemed to care very much; everything was irie, man.
There were shades of 2018 in that England faced both Tunisia
and Colombia but as usual, we bowed out to one of our two wartime nemeses,
Argentina, this time in the first knockout round. The commuter trains home
that Tuesday evening were full of blokes anticipating the clash determined not
to miss the kickoff from St Etienne and it was certainly a classic. Two dodgy
penalties inside the first ten minutes ignited the blue touch paper on a
footballing firecracker. It wasn’t always pretty but young Owen’s carefree
gallop into the area to fire England 2-1 ahead in the sixteenth minute really
got the nation buzzing. However it was even-stevens again by half-time.
Afterwards came one of the most infamous incidents in England’s World Cup
history, although I was on the phone when it happened! A floored Beckham
flicked a petulant kick at Diego Simeone under the very nose of ref Kim
Nielsen. Up thrust the red card, Gabriel Batistuta nodded his approval and the floppy-haired
Man U winger trudged off to a summer of ridicule and castigation. Still, it
didn’t exactly wreck his career, did it?
Down to ten men, England reverted to the much over-rated Dunkirk
spirit and battled away admirably in a ten-man defence to survive extra time,
after which penalties awaited. The nation uttered a collective groan the
players could probably hear in the middle of France. Ince and Batty duly missed
theirs and we were out.
The tournament didn’t end, of course. There were some strong
sides and outstanding individuals on show that year. Chile had Ivan Zamorano
and Marcelo Salas up front, JJ Okocha (Nigeria) and Denilson (Brazil) performed
some breathtaking tricks and flicks, Denmark boasted Peter Schmeichel in goal
and the Laudrup brothers, while Rekdal and Tore-Andre Flo combined well for
Norway to beat Brazil 2-1 in the group stage. My diary also lauded
Norway’s opening draw with Morocco (“That’s
what football‘s about”) and Iran’s “exciting”
2-1 revenge on USA.
European champions Germany only squeezed into the quarters
thanks to a late brace by Klinsmann and Bierhoff before being taken apart 3-0
by Croatia, for whom Davor Suker was excellent up front. They went out in a
niggly semi-final to France but deserved their
eventual third place. Meanwhile a fine Dutch side was also progressing to the
last four. Unfortunately they succumbed to Brazil in a shootout but there will
always be this fabulous winner against Argentina converted by Dennis Bergkamp. I think the commentator
liked it, too!
And so it all came down to a Final between the host nation
and perennial favourites Brazil at the Stade de France on 12th July. After all the
pre-kick-off hoo-hah over whether Ronaldo would actually play – more ins and
outs than the hokey-cokey – it wasn’t only the star striker who looked
lacklustre and mentally out of sorts. France dominated the scoreline thanks to Zinedine Zadane’s two
headers and Petit’s coup-de-grace but for me the over-riding memory was of
right-back Lilian Thuram thwarting every attack that came his way. For all Rivaldo’s
eye-popping stepover sequences, the defender gave a masterclass on how
concentration on the ball can frustrate the fanciest of fancy-dans. Hours after
Didier Deschamps lifted the trophy, I wrote “I still have an inane smile on my face”.
Four years later, when the World Cup was shared by Japan and
South Korea, France flopped miserably. I didn’t see much of the early games as
I was on a Mediterranean cruise holiday. However, I do recall buying ice cream
in a small Sorrento café where the owner was diverted by a TV in the back
office. I heard some tinny cheering so asked him who had scored. It was
Senegal, taking the lead over the champs in the opening fixture. Things didn’t
improve and they finished bottom of Group A, goalless!
For a change, England found themselves in the ‘group of
death’. However, against the odds, they survived. They even gained revenge by
beating Argentina. I’d already taken the whole week off so, with Billericay
bedecked in flags of St George in place of the recent Jubilee bunting, I was
able to watch it on the telly. Typically I missed the only goal, David
Beckham’s 44th minute spot-kick.
Because of the eight-hour time difference, most matches took
place in the morning or early afternoon. When England met Brazil in the
quarter-finals, I had the game on whilst preparing for the Friday commute.
Michael Owen pounced early on but Rivaldo equalised whilst I was donning my
shoes. The rail journey into London was already affected by football fever. The
newsagents were closed and trains had been extended earlier in the morning to
cater for those intending to watch in the office. Approaching my Broadcasting
House destination I recall strolling up Regent Street and hearing cheers from
an open window. Surely England hadn’t won? No, they hadn’t. Ronaldinho’s
audacious free-kick over Seaman’s helpless ponytail had settled the match
despite the flamboyant Brazilian’s red card with half an hour remaining. I noted that evening: “Now I can enjoy the World Cup without the
interminable hype”.
There were other moments to savour: for example, Senegal’s
stunning counter-attacking goal against Denmark. Robbie Keane’s late goals also
carried Ireland into the last sixteen before Spain sent them packing on
penalties. However, the tournament
will be remembered more for some disgraceful bent refereeing and players’
play-acting. In particular, South Korea’s progress to the semis was eased
considerably by an easy group and appalling decisions against Italy and Spain
in the knockouts. A shame because they had a decent side and brought out
several saves from Buffon in the Italy game. As we had witnessed at
the Seoul Olympics, the US satellite nation were notoriously prone to
corruption to gain sporting advantage.
I also remember my incredulity at Rivaldo’s disgusting histrionics against Turkey. Obviously a boyhood
influence on Neymar, the Brazilian’s reaction to a ball kicked against a thigh
(rolling around clutching his face) would
have been laughable had it not resulted in Hakan Unsal’s straight red. In the
end, the two best sides, Brazil and Germany, met in the final, with Ronaldo’s
finishing against Oliver Kahn proving decisive. And let’s not forget the
referee: the peerless Pierluigi Collina, surely the most famous official in
football. Respect to his bald head, alien eyes and good humour. He was often
more watchable than the football!
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