World Cup Memories - 2018

And finally we come to 2018. For all the shenanigans around the selection of Russia as hosts, and the potential of the whole month being an almighty Putin vanity project, this World Cup has been celebrated as one of the most exciting in living memory.

Did we miss Italy or Holland? Not a jot. From the first night, when Russia’s much-maligned side smashed five against Saudi Arabia, to the six-goal finale, there was so much to enjoy. At home, participation in the global FIFA Fantasy league added an extra dimension. Amidst all the action there were many brow-furrowing hours spent contemplating transfers, captaincy selections, balancing the huge stars like Messi, Modric and Hazard with the less familiar names from Egypt, Colombia, Poland, etc. But really it was about the football!

The thrilling Iberian derby on day two left us licking our lips in anticipation of further riches. Against Portugal, Spain seemed to have done enough before Cristiano Ronaldo produced a trademark free-kick in the 88^th minute to complete his own hat-trick and a three-all draw. However, European champions Portugal were surprisingly weak and not even CR7 could haul them into the last eight. Apart from one sublime goal which only he could score, the other giant of the game, Lionel Messi, was also a subdued figure. His lacklustre, ageing Argentina side were awful against Croatia and they, too, bowed out in the second round.

The reigning champions Germany were also woefully off-form and were sensationally eliminated in Group F after losing to Mexico  (an excellent match) and South Korea. Meanwhile, the Germans’ 2014 bunnies Brazil had bounced back to their best in qualification and apart from a 1-1 draw with the Swiss, were looking ominously good. Coutinho provided some magic but I’m afraid their flamboyant forward Neymar will be remembered only for his pathetic diving and play-acting. His 10,000 volt jerks against Mexico will – sadly – live long in the memory. I missed Brazil’s quarter-final elimination at the hands of Belgium – attending India v England cricket at Cardiff – but, for all Neymar’s undoubted skills, I didn’t miss the preening prima donna at all in the final week.

Belgium had been rather fortunate themselves to meet Brazil. In their Round 2 fixture against Japan, I was enthralled by an amazing second half in which their unfancied opponents soon went two-up. With under half an hour left, Belgium seemed down and out yet ended up 3-2 winners after a fabulous injury time breakaway finished by Chadli. Phew!

Spain were also chock-full of household names, from De Gea to Iniesta, Pique to Busquets, Isco to Ramos. But, faced with the host nation and their fervent fans in the Round of 16, the superstars were surprisingly tamed. Penalties decided the matter and Russia advanced. It seems unthinkable that we will probably never again see many of these great players on the global stage.

Like Russia, Nobody had given England’s new-look side much chance of reaching the knockouts let alone challenging for the Cup itself. Only two of their wretched 2014 Eleven – Henderson and Sterling – were in the first-choice starting line-up. However, while Harry Kane was falling over and banging in the penalties, and Stones and Maguire were leading the defensive line, optimism built steadily. England slammed an unprecedented six past Panama and found themselves with a relatively simple path to the semis via Colombia (and a successful penalty shoot-out!) and Sweden. Suddenly, that refrain of “Football’s coming home” was everywhere. Massed streaming even sent The Lightning Seeds’ masterpiece of hope over expectation, ‘Three Lions’, back to number one in the charts after twenty-two years. Manager Gareth Southgate’s elegant waistcoat transformed fan fashion and even Kyle Walker proved popular.

In the semi-final versus Croatia at the Luzhniki Stadium, Kieran Trippier’s fifth minute free-kick sent the fan-zones delirious under a fountain of beer, but Luka Modric and his mates weren’t giving up. After the interval, Croatia clawed their way back into the game. Their efforts were rewarded when first the hard-working Perisic fashioned an equaliser, then Mandzukic nipped in behind Stones for the winner.

And so the tournament reached its climax in Moscow. Not with Brazil v England, as I had so naively predicted, but France v Croatia. On paper it appeared a delicious final but showpiece games are notorious for their ability to disappoint. As in so much of the 2018 World Cup, tradition was ripped up. With Modric pulling the strings, Rakitic and Perisic running with purpose and the full-backs haring down the flanks, Croatia ripped into the formidable French defence but couldn’t break through. I was aghast that France went one-up following a Griezmann dive. Perisic equalised then came another highly dubious penalty decision, this time courtesy of the controversial Video Assistant Referees (VAR). I began to lose interest when France widened the gap in the second half but had to admit a 4-2 World Cup Final is one to savour, whoever emerged the winner.

Like England, the redeveloped French team is remarkably young. Didier Deschamps was widely derided for omitting stars such as Martial, Lacazette and Payet but his squad delivered the goods. Their brilliant full-backs Pavard and Hernandez are only 22, the outstanding centre-back Varane is 25 and then of course there is the electrifying 19 year-old winger, Kylian Mbappe. The old guard of Messi, Ronaldo, Iniesta, Modric, Suarez, Cavani, Hummels and Marcelo probably won’t be around in four years’ time but a new generation of galacticos are already in place.

After Russia, the 2022 tournament will be a different kettle of fish. Located in the desert state of Qatar, dry as a bone but awash with cash for FIFA votes, it will take place in the heart of the European football season to avoid the searing summer heat. With the youthful players at their current disposal, France must fancy their chances once more. But if 2018 showed us anything, it is that the top nations can’t take anything for granted, even the champions. Four years is a long time but I’ll have to be patient. Roll on the next World Cup!

World Cup Memories - 2014

Two years before Rio hosted the Olympics, Brazil also staged the global footiefest that is the World Cup. As so often happens, the tournament was played out as a backdrop to personal and family dramas, but there were opportunities to stay up late for some cracking matches.

After four years mesmerising opponents and fans alike with their Guardiola-inspired possession football, Spain immediately came crashing down to earth. Their fellow 2010 finalists Holland gained revenge with an amazing 5-1 drubbing. Del Bosque’s dream team were given a lesson in finishing by Louis van Gaal’s formidable side featuring skipper Robin van Persie, Arjen Robben and their wing-backs Janmaat and Blind. Spain were eliminated in the groups and the Dutch eventually finished third. After that, the side seemed to disintegrate but will surely rise again.

Argentina and Belgium had flawless groups and Brazil dropped points only against Mexico. However, it was three other Latin nations which captured the imagination with fast, free-flowing attacking football.  Chile took the hosts to penalties in Round 2 while Colombia, boosted by the goals of James Rodriguez were possibly the most entertaining of all. They, too, were drawn against Brazil, losing 2-1 in the quarters.

However, Costa Rica were the surprise package of 2014. They served notice of their talent when beating both Uruguay and Italy and held an already- humiliated England to a goalless draw. Pirlo apart, this was a weak Italian squad and they joined England in the disgrace race to the airport. At least Chiellini left Brazil with Suarez’s gift of bite marks on the shoulder. A half-time orange was never enough for the Uruguayan. Nevertheless, I had to admit his class as a striker was the difference against the English, a game for which I gladly stayed up late.

In the middle of the World Cup, straddling my birthday, Angie and I spent a week at the Hotel Jacaranda on Tenerife. Amidst the intense worry over her Mum’s health, we did watch a few matches in the Piano Bar or in our room. The most memorable were the Round of 16 clashes between Costa Rica and Greece (“cracking”) and then the highly-rated Belgians and the spirited USA. I’ve never seen such an enthralling nil-nil. The end-to-end battle continued into extra time when de Bruyne and Lukaku combined to take Belgium through 2-1. The true man of the match was undoubtedly the American goalie Tim Howard who was credited with an incredible sixteen saves, but his oppo Courtois was also kept busy. Like Costa Rica, though, Belgium’s run ended in the quarters.

Meanwhile, the Germans were once more on the charge. A Thomas Muller hat-trick had tamed the Portuguese 4-0 in the group opener but they struggled to defeat Algeria over two absorbing hours in the knockouts. Their best was yet to come. After getting the better of France in the last eight, Germany travelled to Belo Horizonte where the hosts and red-hot favourites lay in wait. Everyone was predicting an all-South American showdown in the final but that didn’t materialise. Argentina fulfilled their part of the bargain against Holland but Brazil collapsed in the most astonishing manner.

I’ve never in my life witnessed such an electrifying first half, during which the masterful Germans ripped the Brazilian defence to shreds. Having endured all the usual pro-Brazil media hype, I cheered every goal they conceded, five in the opening thirty minutes alone. The bewildered expression on David Luiz’s face was a joy to behold, on its own well worth the TV licence fee. It seemed a cruel twist, in the last minute, that Oscar should spoil Manuel Neuer’s deserved clean sheet. 7-1. SEVEN-ONE! Brazil had never suffered such a devastating defeat, and on their own turf.

Luiz wasn’t the worst player, either. The ludicrously-monikered Hulk had possibly the worst match of any individual in World Cup history and was substituted to a chorus of boos. Nevertheless, let’s not forget how brilliant Ozil, Muller, Kroos, Kedira et al were that evening, and they reaped their rightful reward in the final when substitute Mario Gotze’s extra-time chest and volley secured the trophy. They would go on to be the team to beat for the next four years but could they retain the World Cup?

World Cup Memories - 2006 and 2010.

World Cup openers tend to be dull, cagey affairs, more often than not decided by a single goal. In 2006, the host nation Germany immediately played against type. The young wing back Philippe Lahm, not yet the Bayern Munich legend he would become, scored a screamer inside six minutes and his side beat Costa Rica 4-2.  With World Cup goal machine Miroslav Klose claiming the Golden Boot, plus the likes of Ballack, Podolski and a fit Bastien Schweinsteiger, it seemed acceptable to like the Germans for a change. They only scored once against Poland but it was a game I enjoyed watching.

For all that, I supported their opponents Italy in an epic semi-final. Unfortunately I couldn’t give it my full attention because at the time I was in a large garden marquee on the lawns of a Cambridge college in the middle of a Radio Festival quiz! My colleagues and I did cast frequent furtive glances at the big screen TV to note an entertaining game heading for penalties until the Italians conjured up a late brace, the second by the evergreen Del Piero, to win 2-0.

A few weeks earlier, Italy had won their group, just ahead of World Cup debutants Ghana. I was seeing a Ghanaian woman at the time so my antennae were twitching whenever the Black Stars were mentioned. They weren’t given much hope of progressing but surprised everybody by defeating the highly-fancied Czechs, who boasted Nedved, Rosicky and Podborsky in their pomp. Driven by Chelsea’s Michael Essien, Ghana brought a sense of fun and attacking flair to the party and only Petr Cech prevented an absolute rout. If only Asamoah Gyan could learn how to take penalties, of which more later….

England had a promising young side, managed by their first foreign coach, Sven Goran Eriksson. David Beckham was by now an elder statesman, but with Gerrard, Lampard, Owen, Rio Ferdinand and Wayne Rooney in the side, much was expected. We reached the quarter-finals and met Portugal in Gelsenkirchen on my birthday. Mum and Dad had taken me to their favourite haunt of Hyde Hall gardens so we missed the first half. I was present, though, to witness the infamous Rooney red card, deservedly brandished for plunging a boot into Carvalho’s unmentionables. The 21 year-old Cristiano Ronaldo was castigated for his subsequent wink but Rooney only had himself to blame. We lost on penalties – of course – with Owen Hargreaves the only man on target. 

Mr Ronaldo would go on to even bigger and better things but 2006 would be the last chance for Portugal’s ‘golden generation’ to secure international success. They had missed out in their home Euros to Greece two years previously so beating England was vital for the likes of Deco, Luis Figo, Carvalho et al. They were so determined that they played Holland in Round 2 and found themselves involved in what became known as the Battle of Nuremberg. They won 9-7 – in terms of yellow cards! There were also four reds after a succession of stupid, sly or plain reckless fouls. The Russian ref was criticised for losing control but, quite frankly, it was the players who lost control amidst the cascade of cards.

The final had its moments of excitement but will be remembered less for the football than for Zinedine Zidane’s heinous head-butt on Marco Materazzi. And so the great man departed for retirement in disgrace. Another disgrace was the FIFA decision to make him the Player of the Tournament. He had one good match, was suspended for another and sent off in the biggest game of them all. In my humble opinion, the best on show was no galactico but the Italian captain and centre-back Fabio Cannavaro: only 5 foot 9, but a giant in defence alongside another Italian legend Alessandro Nesta. His reward for winning the Cup was a big-money transfer from Inter to Real Madrid, the alma mater of Zidane.

The goal of Germany 2006? For once I agreed with those who decide these matters. It wasn’t a 30-yard blockbuster, nor a devilish dribble and drive. No, it was a patient 25-pass move in the group stages. The Serbs could merely watch as Argentina pushed and probed for a full minute before Cambiasso finished decisively. It was the second of the South Americans’ six that day. The last was scored by a teenage substitute called Lionel Messi….

The young Barcelona superstar returned in 2010 as part of an Argentine squad brimming with talent. After whistling through the group stage they were many people’s (including mine) favourites for the title. This was the first World Cup to be staged on the African continent, with South Africa the chosen hosts. While the incessant blaring of the vuvuzela horns became tiresome in the extreme, the organisation passed all the tests with flying colours. The same could not be said for some of the top footballing nations.

Both the previous finalists failed to reach the knockouts, and Spain lost their opener to Switzerland who themselves experienced the extraordinary achievement of being eliminated without conceding a goal! Meanwhile, Holland and the aforementioned Argentinians didn’t drop a point. But in the ‘round of 16’ the tournament dynamic shifted sharply at Bloemfontein. It was there that England, still bearing fond memories of their 2001 annihilation of the Germans in a qualifier, met their frequent nemeses and found them in superb form. While many tried to use the incorrect disallowing of Lampard’s ‘goal’ as an excuse, the truth was that England were simply outclassed.

The Germans maintained this momentum in their quarter-final against the hitherto all-conquering Argentina. Instead of a tight contest, Joachim Low’s young guns were, in my contemporary words, ‘scintillating’. Despite fielding an attack boasting Messi, Higuain and Tevez, Argentina were ripped apart. Klose and Moeller put the ball in the net but Mehut Ozil and Bastian Schweinsteiger in midfield were outstanding.

That summer, I didn’t watch many games in the first fortnight. I’d moved to Somerset two years earlier but already my personal life had plunged into a deep bucket of shit. I had alternative priorities such as searching for somewhere else to live! However, things settled down slightly by the end of June and I felt free to seek solace in the footie.

I’d retained a soft spot for Ghana so I, and millions of neutrals, backed them to the hilt against Uruguay. Win, and they’d become the first African nation to reach the last four. At one-all in a pulsating game, Ghana attacked at the death in extra time. A penalty area scramble resulted in a goal-bound header. In a split-second, a certain Luis Suarez pawed it off the line with both hands. Off he went but I was disgusted to hear ex-players praising his "quick thinking". He‘s a cheat! Anyway, all Gyan had to do was convert from the spot and Ghana were through. He went for power – and rattled the top of the bar. I was screaming like a madman at the telly. Needless to say, Ghana lost the shootout and probably their last chance of global success. It was heartbreaking.

To their credit, Uruguay showed their footballing quality in the 3^rd/4^th place ‘final where they and Germany put on a genuine show. I described it as the best match of the World Cup. The result didn’t really matter, the pressure was off, and Sami Khedira’s late winner made it 3-2 to the Germans.

The next day, Spain would meet Holland in the final. I was delighted that there would be new champions this time. However, I was unsure whom to support. By the interval, my mind was made up: the Dutch were so dour and dirty, desperate to break up Spain’s ‘tiki-taka’ rhythm by any means possible, that I was firmly in the Spanish camp. Ref Howard Webb flourished umpteen cards and, in my own blunt word, it was “crap”.. Eventually I cheered my lungs out when Andres Iniesta volleyed an extra-time winner. Back then Iniesta was to me an unknown quantity, but from that day forward he was my favourite player. Forget Ronaldo, Messi, Neymar, Rooney et al: the little graduate of La Masia academy became my modern-day idol.

World Cup memories: 1990 and 1994

Italia ’90 is widely considered to be one of the poorest World Cups, largely because of the dearth of goals. It’s true that many teams seemed happier to adopt an ultra-negative approach and ‘play for penalties’ rather than attempt to win in normal play. Sadly it’s a strategy that, despite their abysmal record in shootouts, England have also used and many teams still maintain to this day.

However, for me it was one of the more entertaining tournaments. Perhaps it was because I had an additional perspective. My job at the time was in the BBC’s Broadcasting Research department so I would analyse both official and ‘overnight’ viewing figures, pick out newsworthy stats and compile a report at the end. Like Luis Suarez, the World Cup gave me plenty to sink my teeth into and I paid particular attention to the live games shown by the Beeb, which would generate some of the highest ratings of the year. Some things don’t change.1990 was the first time I became aware of the seriously competitive nature of broadcasters with regard to their estimated audiences for sport. Don’t let anyone tell you that ratings only matter to the commercial companies; we wanted to win as much as England did.

What helped this time around was the progress to the semi-finals of England and the surprise advance of Jack Charlton’s Republic of Ireland – half of whom seemed to be English players with Irish grandmothers, or just a penchant for Guinness - to the quarters. The UEFA ban on English clubs because of incessant hooliganism had been served but the violent minority amongst England supporters was still a huge concern. Fortunately most of the headlines were made by the players on the pitch, especially when Paul Gascoigne was on the scene. And then we had the twin soundtrack of Pavarotti’s ‘Nessun Dorma’ and the unofficial anthem ‘World in Motion’ by Englandneworder, including that John Barnes rap. The feelgood factor was high.

The tournament got off to a sensational start when holders Argentina were beaten by lowly Cameroon who also had two players sent off. It’s true they couldn’t defend, and too often their tackling consisted of crude bodychecking, but their unsophisticated, devil-may-care approach was strangely endearing. So were the corner-flag dance routines of Roger Milla, the 38 year-old striker who managed to perform his hip-swivels four times during that summer. They also saw off Romania and Colombia and had been 2-1 up in their quarter-final against England before two well-taken Lineker penalties knocked them out. I felt they were extremely unfortunate to lose this rollercoaster of a match.

In their first ever World Cup, Ireland surprised everyone by making the last eight and yet, in their five matches, they scored only two goals. Having said that, Argentina reached the final and collectively managed only five (including this magical Maradona-Caniggia combo to knock out Brazil), one fewer than Toto Schillaci, who was an unexpected revelation up front for Italy. Dad and I watched Italy at their best against the Czechs in their Group B encounter, including a brilliant goal by the mercurial Roberto Baggio. “Oh, yes!” He was also one of the stars in 1994, of which more later.

Elsewhere the competition witnessed x-rated tackles and an insidious prevalence of cynical dives, with West Germany’s Jurgen Klinsmann one of the worst offenders. However, probably the most disgusting incident involved his strike partner Rudi Voller and Dutch defender Frank Rijkaard. Holland were highly fancied having won the 1988 Euros at a canter. Their world-class trio of Rijkaard, Ruud Gullit and Marc van Basten played for AC Milan, while Germany’s Andreas Brehme, Klinsmann and captain Lothar Matthaus represented city rivals Internazionale. Voller was also in Serie A with Roma. When the two countries met in Round 2, all the historic rivalries surfaced and reached an awful apex when Rijkaard spat at an angry Voller not once but twice as their altercation resulted in red cards. My diary records that ITV’s coverage of the match was, appropriately enough, followed by the hit satirical show, Spitting Image. Say no more!

The final was a miserable affair won by West Germany, the disgraceful behaviour on the pitch matched only by John Motson’s pious commentary. The 3^rd-4^th place ‘final’ between England and Italy was far more entertaining, open, fair and good-natured But for me and most Britons the highlight of the World Cup was the semi-final between the Germans and England. We had sneaked through by the odd goal here and there but suddenly there was a genuine chance of reaching a first final since ’66. Bobby Robson had moulded a very good side around the talented Gazza, Lineker, centre-back Terry Butcher, veteran ‘keeper Shilton and skipper Bryan Robson although the latter suffered his customary serious injury in the group encounter with Holland.

Frustratingly I missed the first half but was very much caught up in the tense drama of the second half, extra time and those blasted penalties. Brehme’s deflected free kick over Shilton’s head looked to have won it before the lethal Lineker equalised. After that, it was all about Gazza’s yellow card and babyish blubbing, Chris Waddle blazing over and manager Bobby Robson’s rueful smile in defeat. It had been so close.

It was also a case of ‘so far’ as indeed was the 1994 tournament. With Graham ‘Turnip’ Taylor in charge and a largely new-look side, England failed to emerge from a group including Holland and Norway, whose total dominance against us in Oslo was the decisive result. As in 1981, our boys “took one hell of a beating”.

The next World Cup was one of my least favourites. With none of the home nations competing, Ireland became honorary Brits for three heady weeks in June. It also offered up the most turgid two hours of football ever seen in a final: a nil-nil more cagey than a night at the zoo. Thus the defining image of a tournament held in the USA, a country with no idea of what football was about, was of the ponytailed one slumped in despair on the Pasadena pitch after firing his penalty miles over the bar.

That was a shame because there were more positive elements to remember. The stadia were full, the spectators enthusiastic and Mexican ‘keeper Campo’s jersey was such a kaleidoscope of colour that it hurt your eyes (“I wouldn’t wear a shirt like that”, said ex-goalie Dad, predictably).

There were also a few surprises. The USA pushed Brazil close and South Korea scored two against Germany. Ray Houghton’s speculative lob beat Italy but Ireland were as goal-shy as they had been in Italy. It was fun watching highlights of Russia’s demolition of Cameroon; Oleg Salenko scored a World Cup record five goals!

I didn’t see many live matches; Rotaract and the small matter of moving house frequently intervened. However, I was able to catch a few gems. I was ecstatic when Stoichkov and Letchkov helped Bulgaria beat the Germans in the quarter-finals but the most thrilling attacking encounter was the second round clash between Argentina and Romania, for whom Hagi and Dumitrescu were outstanding. A drug-fuelled Maradona had already been sent home in disgrace so it was left to Brazil’s twin strike-force of Romario and Bebeto to bring some Latino flair to the closing stages. Roll on, France 98….