World Cup Diary - Day 20: Picking Sides

Today, there is no football.

Not a sausage.

Bugger all.

But, this is terrible. This cannot be allowed to stand. I mean, what the hell am I going to do all day?

Oh well ... back to the cricket, I suppose.

In the mean time we can have a look at a few pictures of typical 'soc-her' players enjoying themselves out at the World Cup:And there's people who'll try to tell you there's no class in football these days ...

One final thought for this day of no football; a necessary difference between the BBC and ITV coverage of the World Cup was highlighted last night. After the BBC had shown the - in patches very good - Spain vs Portugal match they broadcast one of a series of little vignettes that their panel of ex-footballers have been making out in South Africa. It was a Mark Lawrenson think-piece on the horrifying battle of Spion Kop (1900) and how it provided the inspiration for why Liverpool's famous terracing at Anfield was thus called. It was historically fascinating and, as far as my own limited knowledge of the second Boer War goes, factually accurate. More importantly, it was beautiful - the latest in a series of gorgeously shot, well thought-out, humane and impressive bits of TV reportage which had previously included Garth Crooks on the 1976 Soweto massacre, a series of short pieces on a variety of different subjects by the very impressive Clarence Seedorf and a rather moving moment when the normally glacial Alan Shearer reported from a poverty-stricken township on the development of South African youth football. When the BBC do this sort of thing, they usually do it right. It has some gravitas, some depth. Some dignity. Some heart. Compare and contrast this with ITV's often pathetic attempts to do human interest stories between their - largely dreadful - coverage of matches so far in the tournament. 'We need something quick to fill the five minutes between Chiles cracking a few blokey one-liners and the next showing of that Telly Vegetables-murders-Elvis advert for the Sun. Let's send Kelly Dalglish to a township where they've only just got electricity so she can be patronising to some Africans.' It really is astonishing that a major broadcaster can get it wrong so often and on so many levels as ITV have conspired to do over the last half-a-dozen major football championships, culminating in this one. Every attempt they make to produce something a bit more serious or thoughtful has been undermined by their own reporters' unflappable ability to trivialise and tabloidise the subjects which they're covering and the often crass links they use to get into and out of these items. Wretched. Absolutely horrible. I know we traditionally expect the BBC's coverage of the actual football itself - in terms of commentary, analysis and presentation - to be better than their commercial rivals. Always has been, probably always will be. They were - marginally - better when it was a choice of David Coleman versus Brian Moore back in the 1970s and it's been getting wider and wider ever since. But this World Cup has highlighted, for me anyway, just why the BBC is a respected broadcaster worldwide whose only lack of appreciation seems, ironically, to be in its own back yard. Whereas, ITV is the producer of banal, characterless programmes of mass consumption like The X-Factor and that everything they do is trivialised, patronised and followed by some crass comment by that bellowing non-entity, Andy Townsend. One sells advertising space, the other sells ideas to the world. And nation shall speak peace unto nation. A significant and necessary difference.

World Cup Diary - Day 19: Fatigue Sets In

Para-Guys v Japan
Nah. Couldn't be bothered. For the first time in nearly three weeks here was a match that, actually, defeated my concerted efforts to get enthusiastic over. Even Roque Santa Cruz missing an open goal in the first-half didn't do anything to lighten my mood of singular introspection. I mean, it was on ITV for a start so that meant their piss-awful presentation to put up with. Then, the director clearly found the match so boring that after a while he started concentrating instead on 'wacky' fans in the crowd - particularly one little Japanese fellah who just needed a damned good slap for his zany antics.

Half-time passed in a kind of haze of utter indifference. Even Jim Beglin couldn't find much to get enthused about in this one. It was just dull. Two sides who'd probably slightly overachieved to get this far suddenly realising they're one clean sheet away from a World Cup Quarter Final. It was a recipe for this year's Switzerland v Ukraine. Yes, it really was that horrible. As we got yet another shot of the stern-faced Japanese coach a few minutes from the end (the one who always looks like he's about to tell Alec Guinness 'YOU BUILD BRIDGE NOW!') a stray though struck me. THIS IS JUST SHIT! I mean, dreadful. Easily the worst game of the tournament so far - largely because you knew that both sides were capable of more. We'd seen them produce more a few days ago. With seconds to go Nakamura just failed to connect with a cross but, to be honest, a winner at that stage - though a blessing - would've been unjust. 'You get one of these in every world cup, Peter' Beglin told Drury. 'And, we've copped it today!'

Extra-time was no better. Did Adrian Voodoo Chile really say at the break, 'that was slightly better'? Than what, Adie, colon cancer? The last few minutes were like watching treacle set. 'The inevitable looms' said Beglin, ominously.

So, Townsend wittered on about some crap or other that nobody cares a damn about and Southgate neatly avoided mentioning the highlight of his career in penalties. The referee seemed to want to milk every nano-second of drama out of the tedious ritual of tossing a coin. The Para-guys went first: Barreto buried his. Endo did likewise. Barrios stuck his away. Hasebe went high and equalised as his stern-faced manager looked on, unimpressed. Riveros - Mackem bound - rolled one straight down the middle as Kawashima dived out of the way. Komano's arse fell out and he hit the bar. Valdez was cool, clinical and it was 4-2. Hondo was composure itself. Cardozo stepped up and Paraguay were through.

Thank God that's over.

Spain v Portugal
The second match should've been far more appealing - two quality sides, one of which I really rather like, the other whom I loathe like something I have to scrape off the sole of my shoe with a stick. The BBC did their best, bringing in Klinsmann to be entertaining - which he was - and getting Seedorf to do another one of his thoughtful reportage pieces (this, a rather tenuous one comparing the match to The Rumble In The Jungle). But, it all started to go wrong the second Colin Murray and his irritating voice interviewed Shearer and Alan didn't take the chance to elbow Murray in the face. Missed opportunity there, Big'un. The game started like neither side particularly wanted to go for it and the first fifteen minutes was almost as slow as the earlier match. More skill, obviously. But, little to get thrilled about - especially as Portugal, in particular, seem to be playing for penalties even that that stage. 'Ronaldo cut a dejected figure at the end of that awful game against Brazil,' according to Jonny Pearce. Any chance of an encore tonight? Please? You know, if that Puyol could still run more than five yards without looking knackered, like he used to, he'd be the perfect defender. Spain's problem, frankly, was that most of the players you'd really want to be top of their game in a match like this - Iniesta, Torres, Villa, Xavi - just looked a bit off the pace. Or, in Torres case, a lot off the pace.

Half-time was mostly taken up with - yet another - tedious discussion on technology. Klinnsman was thoughtful and articulate. So was Seedorf. Hansen grunted a few times and said 'unbelievable' a lot. The second-half began with Portugal - by a distance - the more likely to score. That's if they'd actually wanted to. But, they still had the look of a side sticking doggedly to Plan A because, frankly, they didn't have a Plan B. Then came the moment that probably changed the game. Del Bosque took off the very ineffective Torres and brought on Llorente whilst, at exactly the same moment, Carlos Queiroz inexplicably swapped the quite impressive and dangerous Almeida for Danny. Within minutes, Spain had three great chances, David Villa taking the third of them. The scowling look on Ronaldo's face as he gesticulated towards the bench asking for suggestions on what they do now was one of the 2010 World Cup's most satisfying moments. Queiroz tried a couple of further substitutions. 'I can only think that those changes are to try and get more service to Cristiano Ronaldo, because he hasn't had the ball at all,' noted Lawro. After that, the last twenty minutes were actually terrific, end-to-end stuff with chances for both sides and a red card for Costa for what looked to be a bit of a nothing incident with Capdevila. And, there was the delicious sight of Ronaldo limping for no obvious reason and looking very sorry for himself indeed. Ah. Shame. Spain had, certainly, been the better side over all. But, on this evidence, they're probably not world beaters and, more worryingly, their supposed 'best' team isn't, actually, looking like their best team. It ended with a bit of sour feeling bubbling beneath the surface. As Klinnsman noted at the end, 'you've got to have a Plan B against Spain in case they score!' And, therein lies a significant lesson.

Goals: 123
Red Cards: 14

We've got a couple of days off, now. At probably just about the right time, too.

The Scum Also Rises To The Occasion. Occasionally.

Never let it be said that the Sun don't, just occasionally, say something rather funny. As noted, even a broken clock's right twice a day.
Course, in life, there's asking for trouble -
And then, there's really asking for trouble - Laugh? Laugh? I nearly ... (I notice that nobody has yet referred to the extreme prominence of the 'Emergency Exit' sign, either!)

So, dear blog reader, if you're wondering what to do on Wednesday and Thursday when there's no football on, here's a couple of tips:

1) Watch the cricket on Wednesday. At least we seem to be quite good at that at the moment.

2) If you prefer, try getting tanked up to blazes - I mean blind-roaring drunk - and then go up to a large skinhead and say 'was that your mam I saw with Fabio Capello last night?'

Trust me, it'll be just like being at the football.

World Cup Diary - Day 18: The Future's Orange. And Yellow. And, Maybe Black & White.

The Netherlands v Slovakia
The BBC kicked off their coverage pf this one with a Clarence Seedorf history lesson on Total Football complete with a Gil Scott Heron soundtrack. Niiiice. Gary, Lee and Alan manfully turned up with false smiles plastered all over their boat-races after yesterday's debacle and we hoped for a bit of tasty Oranj.

What they - and we - had to watch was terrific for the most part. A great first-half - technically, at least, a joy to watch. The fact that the Dutch were only one up - thanks to a spanker from Robben - doesn't tell half the story. 'The Dutch are really patient but Slovakia are defending in numbers and making them play the long ball which they don't like,' noted Clarence. 'The Netherlands are well-organised too when they are defending, and that is hard to get through. I don't think Slovakia have the quality they need to break them down.' Al Shearer agreed: 'The Dutch haven't really had to get out of first gear yet. They are very methodical and hard-working but it is too easy for them at the moment because Slovakia are so poor.' It was a day for motor metaphors, clearly, with Simon Brotherton suggesting the Dutch had 'played with the hand-brake on so far.' Send for The Stig.

The start of the second-half was, if anything, even better, as the vuvuzelas got louder, there were constant waves of Oranj shirts towards the Slovak goal. Three times in about five minutes Robben, Van Persie and then Sneijder almost doubled the lead. But the longer it went on at 1-0, the more you felt Slovakia might just get back into this and, sure enough, twenty minutes from the end, Vittek had a great chance to level the score, Stekelenburg making his first real save of the match from point-blank range. Then we got a touch of the traditional Dutch magic - Van Persie taking a right stroppy girly hissy-fit when he got substituted. Ah, just like the old days, that! With eight minutes left, a quickly taken free-kick saw Kuyt setting up Sneijder for 2-0 to finally put the game to bed. Neither Skrtel, against whom the kick was given, and Vladimir Weiss were too happy about the situation, the latter having a right pop at the referee, Alberto Undiano, who simply waved him back towards his dug-out with a dismissive flick of the wrist.

And so the Dutch are in the quarter final and still, you sense, there a lot more from them to come. 'Maybe they are saving themselves for the later stages rather than playing like a football version of the Harlem Globetrotters early on and then going out just when we thought they'd finally cracked it, like in the last two tournaments,' noted Brother Brotherton. Amen to that.

Right at the death the Slovaks got a penalty and Vittek scored with the last kick of the game. Too little, too late.

Brazil v Chile
After three successive matches on the BBC, one tends to forget just how crass, bland and rubbish ITV's coverage has been at this World Cup. Chiles ranted a bit about England like a spoiled child who's just had his chocolate taken away form him and then opened the discussion up to the panel. Well, to Townsend and Southgate, anyway as Desailly looked about as interested in all this malarkey as a very disinterested thing indeed. Christ, but that Andy Townsend doesn't half talk some shite at times. He went into a lengthy rant about how the England players were, essentially, blameless and it was all the manager's fault. It was, at that point, genuinely lovely to see him getting slapped down into the gutter like a bitch with a bit of Gareth Southgate logic. 'We failed to qualify for the European Championships, everybody blamed McLaren. He got the sack, went off and managed PSV to the championship in Holland. Now, the same players have gone out of this World Cup and you're talking about blaming Capello, somebody who's won everything there is to win.' Yes! Yes, I say to thee Gareth Southgate! Testify, brother.

We went to the stadium where Tyldesley informed us that Howard Webb and his team were taking charge of their third game at the tournament and that they seemed to be highly thought of within FIFA. 'England might get to the final yet,' he concluded as though that's supposed to make us feel proud, or something. Haven't we suffered enough already, Clive? And then there was the game. Hyped up as the potential match of the competition so far, the first half hour was dull and flat and produced not much, frankly. Then, typically, just as I was on the verge of giving up on it and switching over to Time Team, Brazil scored twice in five minutes; a header by Juan from a corner and a Luis Fabiano goal after a swift bit of counter-attacking by Kaka and Robinho. So much for 'Dunga's dull Brazil'!

Is it just me or are the trails for James Corden's worthless thing getting more and more pleading? 'Yeah, England are gone but we've got Ruth Jones on!' Thanks for the warning, fat boy.

Anyway, second-half, Brazil strutted around like the owned the gaff, which you'd expect, and you sensed they could score whenever they fancied it, basically. Robinho added a third after a mazy run from the impressive Ramires. Thereafter it was just a case of did Chile fancy battling to keep it at three? They did, as it happens, and good on 'em for that. By the end, the television director was reduced to showing us pictures of pretty Brazilian female fans celebrating around Ellis Park. Don't they ever get tired of that?

No. of course they don't. Stupid question. Beat out the Samba rhythm in Rio, football's coming home.

Goals: 122
Red Cards: 13

The Inquest Starts Here

So, the sun did come up this morning after all. The world didn't end. Big surprise that, at least if you've read a British tabloid newspaper today following England's knackerless performance against a comtemptuous German side yesterday. Inevitably, after the shock comes the anger, the frustration and the thirst for answers and for change. Three posts by my friends on the Gallifrey Base World Cup Thread neatly sum up many of the problems that we face. I hope the lads in question don't mind if I quote them, here:

Firstly, there's DoctorWho2010 who gave the following reaction: "I can't defend or pick a single good player for England today. Awful. Never seen something so bad (except Algeria). Shocking, shocking, shocking ... I would drop every single member who played this summer. I'd keep Milner and Lennon though. Give the U21s a chance. FA need to develop new talent and fast. They need a serious look at themselves and how the manage grassroots. Capello - I don't think he did much wrong I honestly think it's mostly due to the players ... Also I would have taken Agbonlahor. That game was crying out for a striker other than the options we had - I can't believe Heskey [came] on, we needed goals and needed Defoe on. Rooney should have been subbed. But if Crouch came on then they would only play the long ball.'

Some very good sentiments there and I know there's a temptation to throw out the baby with the bathwater but, as another poster - Peter - noted ...

"Am really quite cheesed off with the post match interviews with the England team, especially John 'I couldn't be arsed' Terry with his 'If we'd gone in at half time 2-2, then we would definitely have swung the game back our way...' REALLY? Don't you recall your defence torn asunder again and again and again? No doubt Rooney, Lampard, Gerrard, Terry et al will be blindly followed again next year at Old Trafford, Stamford Bridge and Anfield, being praised as the best thing since sliced bread - how soon we forget."

To which Primord replied: "They play a million times better for their clubs than they ever do in international games. Rooney looked relieved at the end of today's match, almost as if he was thinking 'Thank goodness this rubbish is over with and we get to go home tomorrow.'"

And this is part of the problem. Lampard, Terry and Cole (just for example) play in a club side that would, in all likelihood, have given Germany a far closer game than England did yesterday. Because they've got a Czech in goal, a Portuguese centre-half alongside Terry (who would never have played as badly as Upson did) and assorted Ivory Coasties, Germans, Brazilians, Argentines, Nigerians and Frenchmen in the team as well. Same with The Scum and The Arse, and the Thieving Scouse Schleps and, in fact, Notlob Wanderers or Aston Villains or West Hamster United or even my beloved (though unsellable) Magpies for that matter. You will be lucky, next season, to find an English Premier league team that regularly lines up with more than six Englishmen in their first team. This globalisation and multinational corporate branding has made English football the envy of the world. It is watched by, even conservative estimates suggest, over a billion people across the globe every week and our club sides do - moderately - well in the Champions League (certainly on a par with, if not better than, Bundesliga clubs as well as Serie A and La Liga). But it means that the international pool of players we've got to chose from has dwindled. And, if you think that's bad, have a look at the academy sides of most Premier League clubs. Take mine, for instance. Last year, Newcastle's under eighteens got to the quarter finals of the FA Youth Cup and finished second in the Northern area U18 league. A pretty good season. Half of the team, for one reason or another, aren't qualified to play for England. I imagine, if you go to most clubs, you'll find a similar story. Arsenal's policy of 'find as many teenage Frenchmen as you can' or Moscow Chelski FC's scouring of the African continent for young talent has brought both clubs much success. But where's the next generation of the England team going to come from? Crewe? Hartlepool? It's not just a problem that affects England either. Look at Italy - Inter Milan are the current European Champions and featured a side in the final against Bayern Munich which included a grand total of zero Italians (one, Materazzi, came on a substitute twenty seconds before the final whistle).

The sad fact is, right now, right at this moment, the twenty three players currently packing to come home from South Africa probably are the best twenty three English players in England. Certainly, twenty three of the best, say thirty five. This 'drop the lot and play the kids' idea works well in theory but I don't imagine for a second that Gareth Bale, Theo Walcott, Jack Rodwell, Fabrice Muamba, Jack Wilshere, Andy Carroll or Tom Cleverley would've done any better than Lampard, Gerrard, Rooney et al, and if you do, I believe you're mistaken. They're young and full of piss and vineger, they might've run about a bit more, but the gulf in class would've been the same, if not greater.

So, next year, I confidently expect The Scum and Moscow Chelski FC will be the top two in the Premier League and will probably both end up in the last four of the Champions League again. One of them might even win it this time. And that Rooney and Lampard will be scoring for fun again Stoke, Fulham, Newcastle, Blackpool and West Brom. Although I doubt Emile Heskey will do the same. I fully expect that when England start their Euro 2012 campaign against Bulgaria in September, the squad will be largely the same as the World Cup squad no matter whom the coach is. Maybe Hart will be in goal. Maybe Dawson might be tried at centre-half, but there won't be massive changes because there simply aren't the players to make massive changes with. And, I fully expect that England will probably sail through their qualification group, winning a lot of very boring matches 2-0 and that in two years time we'll all be sitting here talking about, largely, the same set of players and can they do it 'this time.' And they won't. Because nothing has changed. And nothing will change. And in 2016, Baddiel and Skinner will be rerecording 'Three Lions' again and this time they'll be changing the lyrics to 'fifty years of hurt never stopped me dreaming.'

For better or worse, Sky's injection of loadsmoney into the English game, the Bosman ruling and the Premier League's fast developing greed have combined to give us the most exciting, entertaining and rich football league in the world. And, a national side that, probably unconsciously, thinks a Wednesday night Champions League tie between Chelsea and Real Madrid is a far greater reflection of a World Cup final than the actual World Cup final. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the realities of English football in the Twenty First Century. We have become the victims of a trap of our own making. And football, generally, is the loser.

World Cup Diary - Day 17: For You, Tommy, Ze Var Ist Ovah!

Tommies v Jerries
And, that, I hope is the last war metaphor I intend using for this World Cup. From now on, it's strictly the armistice.

So, here you go - the ultimate quandary for any sports fan in Great British: England v Germany on BBC1 in the football or England v Australia on Sky Sports at cricket. Aw, come on. Not fair. Not fair at all. The BBC spent an hour bigging up a game that, really, genuinely, needed no bigging up. Shearer's comment that for the first time since he retired he wished he was back out on the pitch seemed sincere and genuine. There really is something about England v Germany games (at least, for the English anyway) that sets the pulse racing. And, speaking of racing, there was a bad omen before the match even started when, over on BBC2, Sebastian Vettel gave Lewis and Jensen a good tyre-burning in the Grand Prix. But, nevertheless, we hoped. We dreamed. We should've known better.

For thirty minutes, England were awful. Apocalyptically awful. I mean, dire. Worse than the Algeria match by far. Rooney couldn't hit a pass to another red shirt to save his life (and he wasn't the only one, either), Barry constantly allowed Özil (the best player on the pitch by a distance) space he should never have had. Oh, and we were two-nil down thanks to some of the worst defending from England I have ever seen. Firstly Neuer's long goal kick sailed over John Terry's head and Miroslav Klose showed great strength and coolness to hold off Upson and poke the ball past David James. Klose was held and could easily have gone down and Upson would have been sent-off but, credit to the German, he stayed on his feet to score his fiftieth international goal. Bet you don't see anything in the Sun tomorrow praising him for doing the right thing. 'You will never, ever see two centre-halves in a worse position than when Germany scored their first goal, I promise you,' noted Hansen at half-time. And, I believe him. Then, it got worse as England's defence crumbled into a state of absolute shambles for a second time. Germany attacked down the right and a clever flick from Klose teed up Thomas Mueller. With England's central defenders nowhere to be seen Mueller played it over the top to Podolski and from a tight angle on the left, he scored. If, at that moment, you'd put all of the England team - with the possible exception of Calamity - into a big bag and hit it, hard, with a stick, covered in shit, you'd have hurt someone who thoroughly deserved it. For the next five minutes, I think most of us would happily have taken two-nil to avoid any further embarrassment and just slunk off into a dark corner to lick our wounds and mutter about 1966 and all that. There looked no way back for England. When was the last time you can remember a German team surrendering a two goal lead?

What happened next was not in the script ... on thirty seven minutes, Steven Gerrard sent over a cross from the right and with Neuer all over the place, Upson - who'd had a wretched game - got a head on the ball and it looped into the empty net. Now, it was Germany who were rocking. And, we were all enjoying the schadenfreude of the moment. Because we're English and that's what we do. And then, it happened. The moment that, for better or worse, is probably destined to be this World Cup's most remembered, and possibly defining, incident. The 2010 Hand of God if you will. Frank Lampard hit a shot from outside the area. It beat Neuer, bounced down from the underside of the bar and about two feet - at least - over the line. I mean, it wasn't even close. A goal wasn't given. The first person to say 'that's pay-back for 1966' will be spanked with a wet kipper, I thought. Don't worry, dear blog reader Guy Mowbray beat you all to it, by some distance. He and Mark Lawrenson then spent the rest of the half whinging about the manifest unfairness of life. How it was all Sepp Blatter's fault and why is it a Uruguayan linesman instead of an Azerbaijani one? Et cetera.

Half-time with Gary and the panel was a curious mixture of dejection, apoplexy at all things Uruguyans (and Swiss!) or related to the England defence and testosterone snorting 'up-and-at-'em' rhetoric. The latter mostly from Shearer. England came out for the second-half breathing fire and brimstone from their nostrils for about ten minutes. Lampard hit the bar from a thirty yard free-kick with Neuer hopelessly beaten. Defoe almost got on the end of a delicate through-ball. But, every time the Germans got the ball in the English half, there was panic written all over the face of every Englishman in the world. And, particularly, those on the pitch. When Gareth Barry stupidly lost the ball on the edge of the German area with eight of his colleagues ahead of him, a devastating three-against-two German counter-attack at pace ended with Mueller scoring the third. Two minutes later it happened in replica and, again, Barry was at fault, totally skinned by Özil down the left. A simple ball into the box and Mueller made it four. Capello's response? He sent for Heskey. I'm not one, normally, to agree with pretty much anything that Happy Harry the Hamster chimes up with but the dripping sarcasm in his voice when he noted 'we need a goal so we take Jermaine Defoe off and bring on Heskey,' spoke volumes. The inquest, it seemed, had started early. There were shots of some very pissed off people in fancy dress in the crowd and one very lonely-looking Italian on the bench as the Germans played keep-ball and the crowd started doing the oles! 'Whatever you think of England as a potent attacking force, you cannot defend like that at this level,' noted Lawrenson, with a mixture of incredulity and more incredulity.

So, are the Germans as good as the scoreline here will suggest or was it that England were that bad? Again, probably it was a bit of both. They're a very young side, the Germans, they seem to have a dodgy keeper and, if you get at them, they're not infallible at the back. But, coming forward, they're frighteningly quick and they're only going to get better. For England, the so called Golden Generation were, once again, more like Golden Showers of stinking piss. Much-vaunted, much-hyped, highly-paid, not one of them, not a single one, will end their careers having got any further than a quarter final of a major international tournament. The plus points? A thirty nine year old goalkeeper who did little wrong ... and that's about it. I'd poo-pah'd the idea that anybody would be doing any 'thrashing' in this game, based on precedent and that fact that although we're English and we crave disappointment, we can usual manage not to let many goals in. Gerrard piped up with a banal comment to the effect that 'the score makes it look like we took a hammering, but the game was a lot closer than that.' No it wasn't and if you're delusional enough to believe that it was then you ought to be in a secure hospital not the national football team, you thick Scouse waste-of-space. Today was as much a blow for English ideas of invincibility as Dunkirk was. Oops. War metaphor. I said I wouldn't do any of those. Maybe if Lampard's goal had counted, it might have been a different game. Maybe. And that's probably the crumb of comfort that the eternal crass optimists will cling to as to why 'this wasn't our year' just as the last forty haven't been either. Personally, I thought we got a trousers down shafting from a vastly superior team who, simply, wanted it more. Later in the evening John Motson drew comparison to another memorable England defeat by (West) Germany, in 1972 at Wembley as the last occasion he felt England had been comprehensively outclassed in a game of this importance. That was when Günter Netzer and co. gave Alf Ramsey's England a jolly harsh lesson in the new realities of European football. Motty was also, interestingly, the first person in any media that I saw to articulate how sorry he felt for the England fans who spent a lot of money to follow the side to South Africa and had been rewarded so poorly with a series of such inept, spineless and woeful performances. I'm sure when Lampard, Rooney, Gerrard, Cole, Terry et al are playing in the Champions League later in the year, we'll be assured by supposedly 'informed' opinions that these players are world beaters. For some strange reason, however, when you put them all together, they aren't. Explaining that takes a bit of work. 'England have, literally, no defence,' noted Mr Lineker. And also, no bottle, no class, no luck (admittedly) but no style or flair, either. Meanwhile, there'll be dancing in the straßes tonight. Achtung, Schweinsteiger. You deserved it, baby.

Still, at least we won the cricket. Just.

Argentina v Mexico
Oh God, do we really need Jurgen Klinnsman bending over backwards to be magnanimous?! Mind you, for not letting Garth Crooks get a word in edgeways he should probably be awarded with a medal of some description. Ah well, it not the end of the world. End of the World Cup, maybe, but not the end of the world ... Steve Wilson kicked off coverage of this one with the worst pun of his career. 'Ein, zwei, drei, vier, thumped.' Okay, I smirked, briefly, I'll give you that one, Stevie.

Resisting the urge to watch Top Gear instead of this match (I recorded it for later) and chose to stick with the footie. And I'm really glad I did. Mexico almost scored twice in the opening ten minutes, including an amazing moment when Carlos Salcido hit the bar from distance. Then, to match the earlier controversy in the England game, we got some here too. Messi put Tevez clear but Oscar Perez came out and got their first. The ball rebounded back to Messi, who chipped it goalwards. Tevez, who was yards offside, headed it in. Despite Mexican protests the goal was given. Then the referee appeared to confer with his assistant when the incident was replayed on the huge screens at Soccer City Stadium and they both clearly saw that they'd got it wrong. However, they refused to change their minds and the goal stood. Are you watching Mr Blatter? Straight from the restart, Mexico's Rafael Marquez became the first man into referee Rosetti's book after catching Messi late, the Mexicans still clearly having a massive tortilla chip on their collective shoulder over the goal. Then, Ricardo Osorio had a complete nightmare passing a loose ball across defence without looking, and promptly played in Gonzalo Higuain, who couldn't believe his luck and rounded the keeper before slotting home.

At half-time we got a further impassioned plea for the use of technology from Alan Hansen before the incredible sight of a bunch of England players, clearly in denial, talking about having' dominated' the first twenty minutes of their game. Were playing in the same match we were watching?

Meanwhile, back in J'burg, we'd seen the first half end with a right bit of rive-on and, amazingly, Maradona trying to act as peacemaker between two very stroppy sets of players and the potential for kids getting sparked and all sorts. It was quite a sight. In the second half, Tevez got another - a beauty. No argument about that one. Mexico did pull one back with twenty minutes left - another cracker from Javier Hernandez - but I missed that one. I'd gone to Top Gear for a few moments. Well, hippies and Communists hate it so it must be doing something right. Messi almost added a fourth in the final moments but Perez made a fine save. So, it's the Argies and Ze Chermans in the quarters. Again.

Goals: 116
Red Cards: 13

World Cup Diary - Day 16: Second Round, Not More Mister Nice Guy

'Don't you just love the World Cup?' asked Adrian Chiles introducing ITV's coverage of Uruguay v South Korea. Yeah. Pretty much, Ade. Except for the bits you've presented, anyway. They've been shit. To prove a point, he then pushed a whopping great cricketing metaphor towards clearly startled Edgar Davids who, nevertheless, straight-batted in back like Geoffrey Boycott during a seventeen hour marathon at Headingley. Scoring eight not out.

U-Are-Gays v The Bit of Korea Everybody Likes
I didn't really expect much from this one, to be honest. And, I'm not sure why. Uruguay have looked like a fine side in the tournament so far and the Koreans are always bright and energetic. It got off to a cracking start, to. In the first eight minutes we had more action than Switzerland, for example, managed in three games. By that time, the Koreans had hit the post and then, almost immediately, Uruguay went up the other end and scored. Young Suarez got it, who looks a terrific player if, at a times, one who suffers a bit from 'headless chicken-syndrome.' But, prompted by the excellent Forlan (who looks nothing like the fraction of a player he did when representing The Scum), they were neat, passed the ball well, and looked sharp and incisive. And dangerous coming forward, too. This wasn't like the Uruguay we all know and loathe at all! Typically, in the second-half, they reverted to type somewhat - sitting deep and depending on a strong defence (notably the impressive Lugano). But, this invited their opponents on and a better side than Korea would probably have been level long before Notlobber Lee Chung-Yong got his head to the ball after the Uruguayans failed to clear a free-kick. For the next ten minutes, it was all Korea. If there was going to be a winner, one sensed, them it would come from the distant east.

Until Suarez scored again.

That's the trouble with predicting things. One is seldom right.

You-Ess-Ay v Ghana
Well, I'll be honest, I missed all of the build up and, indeed, about the first quarter of an hour of this was as I was watching Doctor Who. Which was great, by the way. Judging by the looks on the faces of Bill Clinton and Mick Jagger in the crowd (I'm not making this up, honest!) I didn't miss much. But then, by that time Ghana had only bleedin' went and scored, didn't they? Ricardo Clark lost the ball on the halfway line and Kevin-Prince Boateng raced through, seeing off Jay DeMerit and getting to the edge of the box where he slammed a low left-foot shot into the bottom corner. Yesh! What a start for the Africans. The rest of the half was crap. Half-time was boring. Is Kevin Keegan ever going to say anything interesting ever again. Don't get me wrong, I've never been happier than when he was managing my club (first time around, anyway). But, he's not a pundit these days, he's a walking hairdo. Mind you, he's still a million times preferable to bloody Southgate who could bore for England, Great Britain, Europe, the Commonwealth and, indeed, the world.

The Goddamn Yankies circled the wagons, got off their horse, drank their milk and equalised - Donovan scoring from a penalty after Clint Eastwood (or someone) had been brought down. After that ... not much happened really and so, for the first time in the 2010 World Cup (but, not I'm suspecting, the last) we went to extra time. And, suddenly, it was all Ghana again. A long ball from the back from Andre Ayew saw big hard Gyan battling with Carlos Bocanegra and despite a little push from the defender, he kept his composure to smash a left-foot shot past Tim Howard from the edge of the box. Tasty. Given that a recent, former, President of their opponents seemed to believe that Africa was a country rather than a continent, you could probably tell which way most of the local support was leaning. The second half of extra time was, actually, something of a non-event. Two tired teams looking like a pair of prize fighters missing with every punch in the final round. There was some keeper-up-the-pitch shenanigans in the last minute but Ghana had enough and held on. 'Bye, bye, big American sigh' said Peter Drury with comic timing I wouldn't have given him credit for. A potential highlight of the coverage actually came after the game finished but, even that was wasted. 'You won a World Cup with France, do you feel better now?' Jim Rosenthal asks Desailly. Don't you just wish Desailly had replied 'Non, Jeeeeem, you feel better after you zee de Dok-tur, nes pas?' Sadly, like most of ITV's efforts, it was bland, insipid and smelled, vaguely, of sycophancy and tongue-rimming. Bet you're really glad you left the BBC for this, Ade.

Goals: 107
Red Cards: 13

World Cup Diary - Day 15: Here's One That Got Away

A combination of a new computer, a router that wouldn't route (then, eventually, would), an e-mail system that would receive but wouldn't send e-mails and some other 'compatibility' stuff meant that Day Fifteen of the 2010 World Cup was, pretty much, the one that never happened as far as yer Keith Telly Topping was concerned. You usually get one every tournament. The point at which, briefly, the real-world kicks back and says 'Oi! Bonny lad, you've spent a fortnight watching this nonsense! Well, not today, sonny Jim. I've got plans for you.'

For the record, in the first two games, Brazil and Portugal played out a spectacularly dull 0-0 draw, a game so depressing it even made Mick McCarthy sound more morose than usual. What was perceived as a potential standout game of the group stages failed to deliver on its promise on any level as Portugal's desire to secure the point that would definitely seal qualification from Group G limited any free-flowing football from either side. The game was also marred by a very unsavoury incident in which the Brazilian defender, Juan, deliberately handled the ball and every Portuguese in the gaff rushed from all corners to the referee brandishing imaginary red cards cards. It was, probably, a sending off offence but the referee, perhaps was influenced in a way that boys from Lisbon didn't expect and only produced a yellow. It was, however, a very horrible sight - professional footballers deliberately trying to get a fellow pro sent-off. In the other game, needing cricket score against North Korea and for Brazil to do them a favour, Cote D'Ivoire got neither - they could only manage three goals against a plucky but limited North Korea, a result which sent both teams packing.

In the evening games, Spain at last produced a bit of form, beating Chile 2-1 in a cracker in Pretoria. Spain's unquestionable class was just enough to edge them past a talented - but ill-disciplined - Chile team who deservedly joined the European champions in qualifying for the knockout stages. Chile, who picked up seven red cards in qualifying, must face five-time winners Brazil on Monday without their strongest team after three key players were lost to suspension in a first half they had threatened to take charge of with admirable invention before losing their heads. Meanwhile, Switzerland crashed out of the World Cup after a desperately disappointing display against Honduras. Needing a two-goal win to guarantee a place in the last sixteen, the Swiss lacked a cutting edge and were unable to break down the stubborn central Americans, who wasted several chances to sneak a victory on the break in a hectic finale. For Ottmar Hitzfeld's Swiss team, the euphoria of their opening victory over pre-tournament favourites Spain seemed a distant memory as wave after wave of attacks fizzled out or ended with a wayward shot. As someone who sat through their knackerless 2006 World Cup campaign and, specifically that match against the Ukraine in which both teams played for, and got, penalties I'm afraid I can't feel sorry for them, despite their fine performance against the Spanish.

So, it was a day of mixed fortunes and not much great football. Looks like I didn't miss much.

Goals: 101
Red Cards: 13

World Cup Diary - Day 14: Romani Ite Domum

Italy v Solvakia
Paraguay v New Zealand
When it comes to the crunch, it's been my experience in life that the Italians tend to revert to type. And this was, obviously, no exception. Cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war. Hence, they sent for Gattuso, and prepared the trenches! I love Italian football but there really is something very predictable about them when things are not going well. They lose their temper, basically. As Cannavaro, Zambrotta and good old Rino went around kicking people up aheight Slovakia started to look really dangerous. Then they went and took the lead. That, wasn't in the script. De Rossi gave the ball away and Marek Hamsik slipped a pass through for Robert Vittek on the edge of the Italian box. The striker shot into the corner past Marchetti's despairing dive. Oh corks. What the Hell is going on in this World Cup?! At half-time, Andy Townsend (whose turn it was to wear ITV's pink shirt today) described the Italians as 'the worst ever defending world champions.' Hard not to argue with that, frankly (although, France were shockingly poor in 2002). Lippi decided to go for Plan B, off went Gattuso - for what may well be the final time in a World Cup match - replaced by Fabio Quagliarella and, at the back, Magio was brought on for Criscito. Soon, Pirlo also entered the arena. A clearly unfit, half-paced Pirlo whose heart simply didn't look in it.

Meanwhile, over in Polokwane, what ITV were calling 'the worst World Cup game ever,' Paraguay v New Zealand, was attracting almost no attention whatsoever. After fifty minutes the BBC New website excitedly reported that there'd been a shot on goal. Yeah. I think made the right choice with which match I chose to watch. When Vittek scored a second, with fifteen minutes to go, it seemed we were signing choruses of Arrivaderchi Roma. When Di Natalae pulled one back with nine minutes left, it was game on. After that, we got what you'd expect, an azure tide crashing against the shores of a desperate Slovakian defence. You had to wonder - as Jim Beglin actually did - why it took Italy this long to start playing. Then, Quagliarella scored an equaliser which was immediately ruled out for a fractionally marginal offside. Howard Webb had to break up at least one stroppy handbags-at-ten-paces fight involving Fabio and the Slovakian keeper. You did wonder what was going on in the streets of Turin and Milan and Rome, at that moment. What was going on in the little tavernas of the Amalfi coast and the cafes and trattorias of Campania and Tuscany. It was thrilling stuff. Unlike Paraguay v New Zealand which, apparently, wasn't. And then, two minutes from the end, the young Slovak substitute Kopunek scored with his first touch having run past five statuesque Italians. It was one of the goals of the tournament. Magic. Absolutely brilliant. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why we love this game. But wait, it's not over yet, Quagliarella stroked one in, deliciously, from twenty five yards. Instead of being all over bar the shouting it was all shouting over the bar. Last minute of injury time, a scramble in the box and Pepe, from six yards, missed. Italy dethroned. Ciao.

Paraguay and New Zealand, meanwhile, reminds us that football can often be rubbish, too!

Denmark v Japan
The Netherlands v Cameroon
In a last-minute switch of main matches, BBC1 decided to go with Denmark. Gary Lineker summed up the mathematics involved in the group situation whilst Happy Harry the Hamster merely looked confused by all the long words and, when asked his opinion of the Italians, muttered some crass monosyllabic platitudes ('they'll be gutted, Gary. Cos, you know, they're, like, proud. You know?') I decided, therefore, to try BBC3 for a while. After all, they were featuring one of my favourite international teams, the Dutch. Unfortunately, flicking over, I was presented with the horroshow of Mark Bright and Garth Crooks, not even given a BBC chair to sit on but forced to stand in what looked like the lobby whilst they dibbled a load of nonsense about 'quality' and 'commitment.' Dreadful, it was. Total crap that evaporated on contact with the ear. 'The Dutch haven't impressed, yet,' said Bright. And, neither have you, you depressing inarticulate non-entity. You were a rubbish footballer, you're a rubbish analyst, you get paid for nothing. Switch. Back to the Danes and Japan, then. And, it looked almost immediately like I made the right choice. Japan were simply sensational. True the Danes looked slow, and ponderous and as though it was they who only needed a draw to progress rather than their opponents. But that should take nothing away from Japan was scored two brilliant first-half goals - both direct from free-kicks - and could have had a shedload more. It was a performance that had the panel purring at half time. And, if you've never heard Alan Shearer purr, it's really quite an experience.

Meanwhile, the Dutch had taken the lead against David Cameron (Van Persie) and Kuyt had missed half-a-dozen sitters. So, no change there, then. 'Robin van Persie has scored for the Netherlands - and now Denmark need the same from his Arsenal team-mate Nicklas Bendtner. Is he out there though? I haven't seen him all game,' noted Martin Keown with what might well turn out to be his best moment of the tournament. At half-time, the BBC showed a trailer for Saturday's Doctor Who season finale. 'Big weekend of telly,' noted Gary. I knew we'd out him as fanboy sooner or later! I turned over to BBC3 and Mark Bright was still spewing verbal diarrhoea and Crooks was starting to look pissed off that he couldn't get a word in edgeways. The world has come to a pretty pass when Garth Crooks is out-talked on television. Back to BBC1. Switch. God bless whomsoever invented the remote control.

Second-half. Thomas Sorenson, who I've always considered to be a pretty good goalkeeper, was having a right 'mare. Almost presented Japan with a third. A highlight of the second-half, in which a knackerless Denmark never looked remotely threatening, was Keown making a bid of the World Cup's single most tasteless comment: 'It's going to be an aerial bombardment now.' Well done, Martin. Jolly, jolly well done. I'm sure that went down well in Tokyo, Hiroshima, Nagasaki ... Over in Cape Town, the Macaroons got a penalty and Eto'o scored. The Dutch looked ... sort of mildly irked, if I'm honest. Rigobert Song, with dyed-blond hair and beard that Mark Lawrenson thought made him 'look like King Neptune,' came on as substitute. Back to Denmark and, finally, ten minutes from the end, they were awarded a penalty. Jon Dahl Tomasson, still needing one goal to equal the Danish international goalscoring record (as he has done for eighteen months since the last time he scored an international goal) stepped up and hit a weak shot which Kawashimsa saved. The rebound came back to Tomasson who, somehow manged to bundle the ball into the net - just - and injure himself at the same time. It's been that sort of tournament for poor old Jon. Meanwhile, the Dutch had taken the lead again (Huntelaar). Three minutes from the end, the very impressive Honda set up Okazaki for a third for the Japanese. Entirely deserved too. And that was the Danish bacon, cooked. So, that's the way it finished in both matches. Seven goals, lots of skill. There are far worse ways to spend an evening.

Goals: 95
Red Cards: 12

World Cup Diary - Day 13: Unlucky For Some.

This is England v Slovenia
Them Damn Yankies v Algeria
D-Day. Or some other crass war metaphor which I'm sure the Daily Scum used in a headline this morning. Sky Sports News were talking about the team showing 'a Dunkirk spirit.' You do realise, gentlemen, that we actually got beat at that one? Milner and Rooney were the only two players not to sing during the national anthem. Good on 'em. Because it's a despicable, racist, tub-thumping piece of jingoistic xenophobia from another age that should have been consigned to the dustbin of history a century ago or more. 'Have you got it right, Fabio?' asked Guy Mowbray. Mark Lawrenson, meanwhile, was having a go at his turning his droll-chap-down-the-pub act into genuine piece of conceptual art. After a particularly rash Glen Johnson tackle, he noted 'you know you're in trouble when Wayne Rooney's telling you to calm down!' He also, seemingly, invented a new phrase, describing something as 'a rinky-dink pass.' He wasn't alone, either. Shearer was also rewriting the dictionary, with the tongue-twisting 'tufficult!' Personally, I spent the afternoon watching the game at a friend's gaff (with a pizza, which was nice) and we both agreed that, glory be, England actually did get it right. Pace, direction, a bit of passion. England were a thousand times better than they were in the last match. They still weren't great, admittedly, but they played like they actually meant it. Like they wanted it. All of the things, in fact, that the French didn't do last night. They only won 1-0, thanks to a Jermain Defoe goal from a superb James Milner cross. They had a goal disallowed, Rooney hit the post, Gerrard and Lampard (both of whom played as well as they have for England for, probably four years at least) brought good saves out of the impressive Slovenian keeper. Slovenia seldom threatened and, on the two occasions when they did, a combination of Terry, Johnson and Upson (who, in particular, was terrific) kept them at arms length. In truth, David James never really had a shot worthy of note to save.

So, England - with a modicum of relative ease - moved into the next round. And, right up until the last minute, it appeared that the Slovenly Slovenians would be joining them. That was, until a goal from Landon Donovan gave America a win which meant they topped the group. The US were on the brink of going out of the competition when Donovan followed up a save from Raid Ouheb M'bolhi during injury time to smash the ball into the old onion bag. Until that moment it had been a tale of inspired saves from M'bolhi, poor American finishing and a lineman's error, which denied Clint Eastwood (or someone) a goal in the first half. But Donovan's late intervention delivered a deserved victory, which pushed England into second place in Group C on goals scored. Some people will, of course, be disappointed by that, and with a potential second round tie with Ze Chermans. But, to be honest, I'm not. I've been a bit too concerned about this 'easy route the the final' nonsense that's been going on. Almost as soon as the draw was made people were out with their slide-rules saying 'all we've got to do is win the group and we avoid X, Y and Z and then it's us against Brazil in the final.' As anybody with half-a-brain in their head knows, there's a bit more too it than that. If you want to win the World Cup you've got to play, and beat, the best. England, at least, have the chance to do that. The World Cup, for England, starts here. For a few hours, at any rate, I'm pretty happy!

Herman The German v Whatcha Ghana Do?
Orrstraylya v Serbia
In the 1938 World Cup, played in France, the Italian team were whistled for their entire first game, a meeting with Norway in Marseille, by anti-fascist expats. When the quarter-final came around and Italy met France, the French suggested to Vittorio Pozzo that his team should wear red shirts. Italy instead chose to wear black shirts in honour of their fascist regime and in spite an infuriated crowd, won the game 3-1 and advanced to the semi-final. In 2010, in a game against Ghana, Ze Chermans wore all black. I'm just saying ...

Anyway, the first half of Germany v Ghana might, just, be my favourite forty five minutes of the tournament so far. Two teams, very different in their own ways but with one remarkable similarity - really good coming forward, a bit dodgy at the back. It was terrific, a proper game of football. From the thirty seconds I saw of the Serbs and the Aussies on ITV4, that looked not bad either. In Jo'burg, Ghana were playing terrific, neat and intricate with their passing. Asamoah Gyan missed a couple of sitters at one end, but only the agility of Richard Kingson kept Ozil out at the other. And, then there was 'the war of Lahm's arm.' Which we speak of no more.

The second half was pretty decent too. Ze Chermans took the lead thanks to the nippy Ozil. Meanwhile, over in Nelspruit, the Socceroos were going crazy ape-shit bonkers with a drill and sex) and scored twice inside four minutes (Cahill and Holman) as the Serbs capitulated faster than a war crimes trial at the Hague. The Serbians scored. Then they had a potential equaliser disallowed. And, meanwhile, Ze Chermans were recovering their composure, remembering only to smile at all of those silly billys who'd written them off and strolled, confidently, towards the second round. Where Ghana will join them. And, that's probably a good thing.

Goals: 83
Red Cards: 12

World Cup Diary - Day 12: Meekly Going Home

Yer Keith Telly Topping wishes to report on the delivery of the new PC. Part one (probably of eighty four). So, it arrived nice and early this morning - quarter to eight, actually - and most of the installation has gone relatively smoothly. Well, ish. I've got the majority of stuff downloaded onto it - got the music sorted, got most (although not all) of the video files sorted. All in all that was quite good.

But, there's a problem - you just knew there would be, didn't you? I certainly did! I spent forty five fruitless minutes trying to connect to the Internet followed by forty five equally fruitless minutes on the phone to Demon helpdesk (which was about helpful as mud) before discovering that Windows 7, which the new PC runs is incompatible with the modem I have! So, I'm back on the old - half-dead - machine until they can send me a new, compatible one! You couldn't make this up, could you?

So, thus, I had a total horroshow of a morning - and first half of the afternoon - so it was good to relax, kick back, watch a bit of cricket up till three o'clock and then watch the French get humiliated. I did, briefly, consider going with Uruguay v Mexico on ITV4 instead. But, then I rejected that daft idea. And, so we reach the final first round games. This is where it all starts to get a bit 'knock out.'

South Africa v The Piss Artists Formerly Known As France
Mexico v U-Are-Gay
ITV's panel featured two pinkish shirts today (Chiles and Townsend, though the latter's checky-effort was closer to mauve, really). 'Wherever you look in the French camp there's confusion,' noted Adrian informing viewers that Evra had been dropped and that Henry would remain on the bench having, apparently, been described by someone in the French Federation as 'one of the ringleaders,' of the general stroppiness that's been going on over there. What a surprise. Then, we got a shot of South African team singing their way into the stadium and, you just had a feeling this could be something really special. And, that's how it started. 'A hymn of mutiny and rebellion sung by those with revolution in their hearts,' was how Jon Champion described 'La Marseilles.' Apt. South Africa were easily the better side and, after twenty minutes, Siphiwe Tshabalala put over a corner from the left and Hugo Lloris - allegedly one of the best goalkeepers in Europe - couldn't decide whether to come or go, half-came, and completely missed the ball. Bongani Khumalo headed it in at the far post. Actually, it probably hit his shoulder but, who cares? And then it just got worse and worse for the French. Which was funny. Gourcuff elbowed MacBeth Sibaya in the boat-race from a corner. The Colombian referee Oscar Ruiz immediately showed a red card. There was some initial confusion as it appeared he'd actually sent Djibril Cisse off. It's not as if he and and Gourcuff even look, particularly, alike. A few minutes later and a cross from the South African left hit Abou Diaby and when the second cross came in it, fell to Katlego Mphela who, from three yards, tapped it into an empty net. The stadium, inevitably, went berserk. At half-time, Chiles cracked a really tasteless comment about Marcel Desailly having to be talked out of suicide. I hope that one gets plenty of complaints to Ofcom.

Meanwhile, over in the other game on ITV4, from the two little bits I saw of it, that was a bit of cracker too. Mexico hitting the bar before Luis Suarez scored for the U-Are-Gays with a fine header. The plot thickened. Ten minutes into the second half, like a knackered old carthorse turning up at the Grand National, Monsieur Henry entered the scene, still with that bastard annoying disapproving look on his face like someone was spreading manure in his general vicinity. When, after a few minutes, he accidentally handled the ball whilst trying to control a cross, Champion and Beglin got at least a minute out of the resulting 'irony.' Oh, how we laughed. Hollowly. Shortly afterwards, Malouda got on the end of Ribery's cross to finally silence the vuvzelas. For a moment. I took the opportunity to flick over and check out the other match. It was all Mexico but with the Uruguayans breaking intelligently and with pace. Looked a really good game, actually. But, I was soon with Les Flops. And so, the sands of time slipped away for both the Sacre Bleus and Bafana Bafana. One team, in patches, lit up the tournament and made us believe, however briefly, in the possibility of miracles. The others were an over-paid, under-performing, stroppy, arrogant, annoying, amusing disgrace. No one, not a single lover of the beautiful game, will miss them for a second. Au revoir. Je suis très désolé, j'ai la diarrhée.

Just as a postscript, Raymond Domenech appeared to refuse to shake Carlos Alberto Parreira's hand at the end. A sad and frankly pathetic way for one of the worst World Cup campaigns of all time to end and a gesture which means that Domench leaves the job of French coach in much the same way as he conducted it, without much dignity or class. Sad. In every sense of the word. It's just ... small. And that sums Domenech up. A tiny odious fraction of man. A non-entity. It's no wonder his players, and the French public, hate him.

Greasy Argentines v Greasy Greeks
South Corrie v Nigerian Enders
Happy Harry The Hamster joined the BBC team tonight. Gosh, that's just what we need, another gobshite - though definitely not corrupt, of course, oh no, very hot water - manager who never got within a hundred miles for actually playing international football, let alone in the World Cup, telling us all how it should be done. Be still my heart. Very still. When showed a bit of footage of the 1982 Brazilians, Happy Harry's in depth analysis was 'unbelievable that, Gary, unbelievable.' And my licence fee is going on this? Bring back Christine Bleakley. At least she's pretty and can read a frigging autocue. Things didn't improve much once we reached the stadium with Mick McCarthy's pronunciation of Papaststhopoulos sounding more uncannily like 'that bastard Popoulos' each successive time he said it.

As excepted, of course, the Argentine's strutted about like they owned the place, passing the ball to death in moves so complex they appeared in danger of disappearing in a puff of prestidigitation. It took them twelve minutes before they actually had a shot on goal, however. I checked out the other game on BBC3. Not much to say, really. Everybody looked a bit disinterested. And Kanu was playing. 'nuff said. Back to the Argentine. (Course, typically, literally about thirty seconds after I switched back, Uche scored for the Nigerians and it then turned into one of the best games of the tournament so far.) So the first half continued as a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. One team happy, for the most part, not to play and the other team happy, for the most part, to play with themselves. The Greek keeper made a couple of good save, the Greeks occasionally produced a few passes and big Samaras up front looked quite decent on the odd occasions when the ball got through to him. A highlight of the first-half was Papadopoulos going down heavily like a sack of wet shite claiming he'd been smacked in the mush, being taken off, and then coming back on with a comically huge swab of cotton wool in his gob. Made him look like he was in a constant state of projectile vomit. I turned back over to Beeb3 hear Simon Brotherton say 'Nigeria are, at times, threatening to play really very well indeed.' But then, Mark Bright opened his mouth and I sought the safety of BBC1 and McCarthy instead. And, again, missed a goal - South Korea's equaliser - by seconds. Mind you, i also missed Garth Crooks at half time so, you know, every cloud has a silver lining.

The second-half began ominously for Greece. Dear old Otto Rehhagel took off his playmaker and one borderline flair player, Karagounis, and brought of a full back. That sort of summed up Greece's attitude to this. Whilst the Greeks were showing a spectacular lack of ambition, over in Durban, the Koreans had taken the lead. It was hard not to cheer. For all of Greece's hard word and spirit, their 8-1-1 formation was doing nothing for the cause of adventurous football. Meanwhile, Yakuku was providing the miss of the World Cup, from literally two feet and then, a few minutes later, an equaliser from the penalty spot. Do you ever get the feeling you've just picked the wrong game to watch? When Mick McCarthy, of all people, starts banging on about 'I hate to commentate on games like this,' you know something is just backward. I mean, he's managed enough of them in his time. 'I would be so disappointed if I'd come to the World Cup and not had a go. It must be a hollow feeling.' cough-1990-cough. Anyway.

And then, finally, finally, Demichelis scored. And, for once, pretty much everybody in the world was cheering an Argie goal. Well, not in Athens, obviously. But, definitely in Seoul and Lagos. The Argentines got a second whilst, in the other match, the score ended 2-2 and the Korries were through. The crowd, and Greece, went home. Not with a bang, but a whimper.

Goals: 77
Red Cards: 11

World Cup Diary - Day 11: The Spaniards Who Blighted My Life

The Glorious Leader's Boys v Cristiano Ronaldo's Winkers
Work duties - for I do have a few - entailed me missing the first few minutes of this one. Turning on the TV, the first thing I heard was Mick McCarthy's droning voice wittering on about 'passion and commitment.' Is there an alternative commentary for this one? The first half-hour produced not much, really, until the Portuguese took the lead. Faced with a packed North Korea defence, Tiago played a terrific pass, perfectly weighted, into the path of heavily tattooed butch-boy Raul Meireles racing into the area and he rifled a low shot past Ri Myong-Guk. 'There wasn't much North Korea could do about that goal as there was some excellent Portugal movement and passing in the build-up,' noted Graham Taylor on 5Live. 'It will be interesting to see how North Korea will react to that goal.' Bombing Lisbon? Just a suggestion. 'The North Koreans have paid the price for adventure,' noted Hansen at half-time. He, Shearer and Lineker were very enthusiastic about the game and the effort, if not the quality on display.

And, then it all went horribly wrong! Goals by Simao, Almeida and Tiago in seven second-half minutes put the game to bed. The third goal, Almedia's, in particular was a beauty - a header from Fabio Coentrao's pinpoint cross. The only hope for the neutral, now, was that Ronaldo would again dramatically fall over like he did in the first half and get booked for simulation, thus causing him to miss the Brazil game. Tragically, this didn't happen. 'He does get whacked a lot and he asks for a lot of it when he goes dancing over the ball at 4-0,' said Mick McCarthy to massed cheering right across Europe. I hate this game - it's made me agree with Mick McCarthy. It's just doesn't get any worse than that. A fifth goal was added by the substitute, Liedson. A sixth by Ronaldo. The smirk on his face just made you want to kick him, hard, in the knackers. Though, Eusabio's reaction in the seats was much warmer and more dignified. Tiago got a seventh two minutes from the end as the Koreans capitulated completely. 'In 1966 Pak Doo-Ik, the scorer of the winning goal for North Korea against Italy was promoted from Corporal to Sergeant in the army. You've got to fear for this lot,' noted Gary in something approaching political comment as the BBC's coverage ended. But, the biggest losers, here, were the Ivory Coast.

Voodoo Chile v Young Boys of Bern
A really fascinating clash from Nelson Mandela Bay, this one. Guy Mowbray stuck the knife in early with a spiteful little reminder of Mark Bright's disastrous four months playing with the gnomes of FC Sion which seemed to catch Brighty mind-strop. The game got off to a right old bit of palaver as Humberto Suazo became one of the quickest booking in World Cup history (fifty eight seconds). And, that sort of set the tone with a very picky referee. There were moments of individual skill and class amid a welter of stop-start and niggly fouls and it was pretty inevitable that, sooner or later, somebody was going to get sent off. It just had that feel to it. After thirty minutes, we got what we'd been expecting. Valon Behrami was given his marching orders for an elbow on Arturo Vidal. It didn't actually look too outrageous at normal speed and the Chilean clearly made a meal of it with his reaction but, on reflection, TV replays did justify the referee, Khali Al Ghamdi's decision.

In the second half Sanchez had a goal disallowed for offside (it was), which caused a momentary pause in Mark Bright's brown-tongued love affair with the Chilean. The Swiss held on, broke a record for not conceding a goal in World Cup games and, despite Chile's flair and guile, the longer it went on, the more a part of you actually wanted them to hold on and get a battling draw. 'It's one of the oddest games of football I've ever seen,' noted Guy Mowbray. Not odd, exactly. Curious. Then, finally, Estaban Paredes beat the offside trap and crossed for Gonzalez to score. 'The key to unlock that Swiss bank vault is found!' said Guy, poetically. They then missed a hat full of chances to wrap the game up. They were almost made to pay in the last minute when Derdiyok missed a sitter to equalise. Really good game in the end - despite the referee!

Spain v Poor Bloody Honduras Haven't Got A Chance
Do my ears deceive me? Is that Alan Shearer really doing a voice over on a Morrisons adverts? After ITV had done their stint at destabilising the England camp by running as 'Capello slags off Terry' interview, and Chiles had ramped up the 'DRAMATIC BREAKING NEWS' shite (the dramatic breaking news being, in this case, 'the England manager asserts his right to, you know, manage and tell his centre half to shut the hell up'), we were off for forty five minutes of quite disgraceful slavver from Drury and Beglin over Spain. Yes, they were good in the first half - only scored one, mind, but still they knocked the ball about something lovely. But, to hear Peter and Jim go on you'd think they had Torres and co. giving them a lap dance and smothering their naughty bits in slimy love butter. I mean, it's just a game of football, chaps. Yes, David Villa's goal was indeed a thing of beauty. Yes, they're good. But, there are two teams playing, you know. In fact, one of the highlights of the half, was Pique getting hit right in the stones with the ball blammed at him from close rang. Fair brought tears to the eyes, so it did. Try looking sexy after that, senor!

Second half? Bit boring to be honest. Well, not boring, but predictable. Villa scored another. Villa missed a penalty. Honduras hardly got the ball out of their own half. Spain strolled around like they owned the place. Fabregas came on and, with his first touch had a goalbound shot cleared off the line. It drifted. It ended. We learned, frankly, nothing we didn't already know.

Goals: 67
Red Cards: 10

World Cup Diary - Day 10: Handle With Care

Paraguay v Slovakia
Oh God, Colin Murray's on the BBC again. And so is McCarthy - even when he's not commentating on a match, they have him in the studio - there's literally no escape. I don't pay my licence fee for this! It looked a really good game, as well. In that kind of I'm-not-really-bothered-who-wins-this-I-just-hope-it's-entertaining sort of way. A bit like those second and third games yesterday, actually. The Para-Guys took an early lead, Lucas Barrios - who was involved in everything good they did - slipped the ball into the path of Enrique Vera who burst into the area and did a faultless finish with the outside of his right boot, bending it around Jan Mucha. A superb goal. It was, at least according to Martin Keown, 'a typical South American goal.' I'm not sure exactly what that means? Maybe that it was subjugated by the Spanish and enslaved for centuries? Perhaps we'll never care. Paraguay really deserved their lead and were easily the best team in the first-half. But, thereafter, Slovakia clawed themselves back into the game with some neat passing (and some rugged tackling). They never really threatened, however and, a couple of minutes from the end, Riveros wrapped the game up for the boys from Asuncion.

Italian Stallions v New Zealand Lambs
Having, seemingly, put their collective pink shirt in the wash, ITV instead gave Patrick Viera, one of the world's hardest midfielders, a pink jumper to wear for this, a recreation of the Battle of Montecassino. It was quite nice as well. The pink jumper that is, not the battle; that was really nasty. Having spent the morning watching Sky Sports News' inelegant and frankly poisonous attempts stir up further shat in the England camp with a mixture of opinionated press sources with an obvious agenda to grind, unsubstantiated rumours, wild speculation and Kenny Sansom talking utter bilge it was, actually, a relief to see Adrian Chiles' chubby little smiling face introducing us. 'And first, England...' Thanks Adrian. Can we talk about the Eyeties instead? (Then again, maybe he was just happy with today's other world-shattering news about a camp suffering from internal disharmony?)

'Don't go out and eat Italian tonight if New Zealand get something out of this match, you might find the standard of service somewhat below what you're used to,' said Clive Tyldesley. Well, he's clearly never been to Don Vito's on Pilgrim Street, then. It's always like that. After seven minutes, the chances of exactly that happening took a major leap. Marcello Lippi was said to be worried about set-pieces and we found out why when a free-kick was curled into the Italian box and for some extraordinary reason, former Halifax and AFC Wimbledon striker Shane Smeltz was allowed to sneak in and slot past Federico Marchetti from close range. He was miles offside as well which, actually, made it even funnier. The Italians, for twenty minutes, looked like this was North Korea '66 all over again and they were all just busy working out how they were going to sneak home at some obscure hour of the morning and avoid all the rotten tomatoes. They were getting angry and snappy with the hand gestures and the sly ankle-breakers. Then, they seemed to wake up, Montolivo hit the post and, seconds later, de Rossi went down under a rather slight challenge and the referee bought it. The Italians, of course, are probably the only country in the world with a worse record of penalties in World Cups than England, but Iaquinta stepped up and spanked it home. Game on. Half-time was spent back at the studio with the panel having a truly hilarious discussion about current goings on in the French camp. it's always nice when someone in the world is worse off than ourselves, isn't it?

The second half was an odd affair. The big New Zealand lads, Rory Fallon in particularly, were putting themselves about a bit and Eyeties did not like it one little bit. After a while they resorted to an old trick of theirs, 'rolling around on the floor clutching their face trying to get players sent off.' Chris Coleman went into an impassioned little rant about how 'you don't want to do that. That's conning the referee and it's no way to win.' Well, it's something Italians have been doing for seventy or eighty years, Chris. Very successfully as it happens (four World Cups, you might have noticed!) But, the longer it went on the more you thought that New Zealand might just pull this off. Indeed, ten minutes from the end they missed a glorious chance to take the lead (Wood shooting just inches wide). At the back, Ryan Nelsen was superb - they ought to erect a column to him - as was the goalkeeper. You think England have had some lip from their press this World Cup? I imagine tomorrow's Gazzetta Dello Sport might be worth reading!

Brazil Nuts v Cote D'Ivoire & Ebonire
This is the one we'd been waiting for - potentially the two best flair sides in the tournament. The BBC lit up the night with a musical montage of Brazil's Greatest Hits and another one about The Advance of Africa. It felt mouth-watering. The anticipation of matches like this are why you wait four years for the World Cup to come around. 'Brazil always bring colour and imagination to a World Cup,' noted Mr Lineker. Well, that's just asking for trouble, isn't it? Clarance Seedorf survived an encounter with the deadly killer Garth Crooks and made some very good points: 'Kaka has not had the best season with Real Madrid, of course, and he did not show his best in the first game against North Korea either. But he is working hard and I am sure he can settle into this tournament and come to life at any moment. Ivory Coast will have to keep a check on him because he is such a top player.'

The game started slowly. Very slowly. In fact a highlight of the first ten minutes was a really rather barbed jibe by the normally quite passive Mark Lawrenson about Sepp Blatter. That, and Jonathan Pearce's one man love affair/'but why does he have to be such a cheat?' confusion over Lucio. The Ivory Coast looked good, hunting in packs, comfortable in possession, strong and disciplined. All-in-all they were probably the better team for most of the opening phase. No final product though and I think it was about a quarter of an hour in before Drogba actually touched the ball. Mind you, the same could be said for Kaka and Luis Fabiano at the other end. Then, after twenty five minutes, the latter scored one the goal of the tournament, a vicious shot from the corner of the box that almost burst the net.

If that was 'one of the best goals of the tournament' then the one he scored early in the second half appeared to be the best, a stunning piece of ball juggling in the area before a clinical finish. Sadly, TV replays showed it was a case of literal juggling as he'd clearly handled it. Twice. None of the officials saw either, however, and it was 2-0. There was even a shot of the referee seemingly jokingly asking the scorer 'did you handle that?' 'Not me guv,' came the reply. Or, you know, a Portuguese equivalent. Then, finally, the Ivories got tickled and woke it. Drogba had a fine chance to pull a goal back but missed it. As if stop contemptuously slap the uppity African back down into the gutter, Brazil promptly went up the other end and scored a third, a beauty by Elano. Meanwhile, Pearce and Lawrenson were having a fascinating discussion about whether people who do the Mexican Wave are 'muppets' or whether Lawrenson is a 'Scrooge.' That'd be 'yes and, err, 'yes.' Elano then just about survived a really nasty shin-breaker of a tackle by Tiote, though he had to be stretchered off. By this time the Brazilians had finally turned up to the party with a bottle of rum and a six foot three transvestite dressed like Carman Miranda. Of course, there were inevitable hiccups (you get that with coconut rum). Drogba reduced arrears after a fine move. Kaka got himself booked for a bit of stupid push and shove and then sent off for an elbow in the chest of Keita. Which was obviously a considerable surprise to the African as he went down clutching his face. It all got a bit nasty and spiteful which, to be honest, the game had never been before that. And there were lots of amusing shots of Dunga going mental on the touchline. Not, perhaps, the riot of football we'd been hoping for.

Goals: 57
Red Cards: 9