Dutch Caps v Bacon Sandwiches
Rushing in from work, and having to get some proper bait to stop me from fainting necessitated yer actual Keith Telly Topping to miss most of the opening twenty minutes of this one. Pity, as it features two of my favourite football teams (and, indeed, two of my favourite countries) in the whole wide, wide world. I missed, for instance, the gloriously mental, Netherlands national anthem with its fifteen verses and pledging allegiance to the King of Spain (true story). I missed the Danish one as well, with what is, undoubtedly, the most stirring opening couplet of any national anthem, anywhere: 'King Christian stood by the loft mast/In mist and smoke.' I also missed ITV's build up. So, no great loss there, then.
Of course, it's always a question with the Dutch of which one is going to turn up - the glorious, free-flowing sons of Johan, Wim, other Johan, other Wim, Johnny, Ari, Robbie, Ruudi, third Wim, four Wim etc. In other words, magnificence in all things. Or, is it going to be the team full of the same players, full of quality and imagination, who seem to spend most of their time arguing with each other and threatening to piss off home. Every tournament since 1974, they've teased us, they've played with our emotions, they've 'oh yah, for schure, we do eet thish time, with the pasching and the schcoring and the sexchy voetbal.' And every bastard time, they lie (alright, except Euro '88, I'll give them that one). As recently as two years ago, in the last European Championships for two games they were awesome. I mean, mesmeric. And then they lost to Russia. They always do it. They're gits! Nevertheless, whenever anyone tells you the Dutch aren't quite as good as they can be, you must balance that by remembering that's a bit like saying The Beatles after Sgt. Pepper weren't as good as they used to be. It might be true but they still produced The White Album! The Danes, on the other hand, are just a kind nice friendly cousin, who always turn up to the big events, always do all right, always bring a tasty lady or two with them and never outstay their welcome. I like them, I'd just like to see a bit more of them, that's all.
The first-half was, I guess, what you'd expect. Slow, patient, but with moments of outstanding skill and beauty. And some moments involving Dirk Kypt. And Dennis Rommedahl. So, it wasn't all great. In fact, in patches it was decidedly ordinary.
ITV didn't even try to big it up at half time but Edgar Davids seemed relaxed. To the point of being comatose, actually. Soon as the second-half kicked off, the Dutch scored. Or, rather, Simon Poulson (who, of course, plays in the Netherlands for AZ 67) headed a van Persie cross into his own net. Which was funny. The game woke up a bit with the introduction of the tricky Eljero Elia but you always sensed the Netherlands had too much for some Danish representatives who had, unusually, little up front. A second half highlight, in fact, was a very amusing shot of one of the Dutch bench shouting 'oh schite!' when a deflected Wesley Sneijder shot hit the Danish bar. Kypt added a second late on, set up by the impressive Elia. Easy, peasy. And, indeed, lemon squeezy.
Indomitable Lions v Banzai Warriors
The BBC opened their coverage with a surprisingly (for them, anyway) patronising 'Land of the Rising Sun vs Africa in Miniature' video compilation which was, basically, an excuse to dig some Roger Milla footage out of the archives. That was followed by a potentially fascinating discussion on how 'totally boss' Emmannuel Adebayor's shirt was, as compared to Wor Shearer's. Mercifully, we were saved from that going on for too long when The Single Best Moment Of The World Cup So Far happened. Adebayor's mobile phone went off live on air! Sackable offence that. Hopefully.
Laudably brief and suitably inscrutable, the Japanese national anthem begins 'May thy peaceful reign last long/For a thousand years/Until this tiny stone becomes a massive rock/And the moss covers it, deep and thick.' Woah. Skill. Cameroon's, by contrast, asks its singer to 'proudly rally to defend your liberty.'
Why is there always so much fighting in national anthems? Discuss. What followed was a very poor first half indeed, the highlight of which was probably a 'what the hell is he wearing?' moment for the Cameroon keeper. It was all sartorial queries, in fact, with Benoît Assou-Ekotto wearing low-slung hipster shorts with the white tag sticking out the back. They were so low, in fact, that you could see his (seemingly leopard-skin) pants underneath. Guy Mowbray revealed that the Japanese manager intends to give up the job after the tournament to become a farmer. 'Not in Tokyo, though' suggested Mark Lawrenson providing, amazingly, the first half with its biggest laugh. If you discount Assou-Ekotto's pants of course.
Sadly, it's always very difficult not to be borderline racist about Japanese names, particularly when they've got a Matsui and a Honda in the team. Big Tosh Toshiba and little Sid Sony didn't make it, seemingly. So, for anybody - like me - who were briefly amused by such disgracefully obvious thoughts, it was very satisfying when Keisuke Honda only went and scored. Jazz. 'I'd say it was against the run of play,' noted Mowbray. 'But there hasn't been much play for it to be against.'
Eto'o was having a right 'mare but then, he wasn't alone in that. Cameroon were so desperate by the middle of the second half that they brought Geremi on! And yet, for all their lack of penetration they always seemed to be in with the vague chance of scoring against a very hard-working Japanese teams whose one major fault was a keeper not so much nervous of crosses as downright bloody petrified by them. Yet, as every second went by there were shots of Japanese kids in the crowd going absolutely effing mental. And then the dodgy keeper went and made the save of the game from Eto'o late-on. So, big surprise this. The sun also rises.
Forza Azzurri v Some Para-Guys
There's not many games of international football than can make me tear myself away from a very entertaining Twenty/20 game at Durham over on Sky. Actually, that's a lie, yes there are. But when one of the teams is the Azzurri that makes the pain somewhat less. Gary Lineker kicked off the BBC's night noting that recent Italian success has usually followed 'corruption, negativity and pessimism.' Shouldn't that be all Italian success has followed those things (and, in some cases, included those things)? He then introduced the panel (Hansen, Dixon and Seedorf - fast emerging as the BBC's bright new star) as 'nearly as old as the Italian team.' Ho, ho. He went on to scotch the rumour that the Azzurri had held a minute's silence when they heard Last of the Summer Wine was finishing and ended a thoroughly entertaining little New Faces-style stand-up routine by noting that Paraguay's star player is usually their keeper, with specific reference to José Luis Chilavert who, of course, scored eight international goals. 'That's one more than Heskey.' Ba-doom, tish. Thank you and goodnight Gary. He's here all month.
A stirring rendition of Il Canto degli Italiani followed. 'Let us band together/we are ready to die/Italy has called us/ ... and we're playing five at the back using the offside trap, as usual.' Paraguayos, República o Muerte on the other hand speaks of the three centuries of oppression that the peoples of America suffered. Mercifully, this only lasts for seven verses. So, considerably less than three centuries. It just feels like it.
Oh, Christ almighty, Jonathan Pearce and bloody Mick McCarthy again! Have the BBC no pity?! The game, well, it was all going completely to plan for forty minutes - 0-0, a result that, you imagine, both teams would've been delighted with. The Eyeties had Rino Gattuso sharpening his scythe on the bench and, with a chance of a counter-attack always a possibility, it was starting to look very predictable.
Then, Paraguay had a free-kick forty yards out on the right, Aureliano Torres curled it goalwards and Antolin Alacaraz got above Cannavaro and de Rossi and thumped a header into the corner of the net. That woke everybody up. Except, interestingly, the Italians, who carried on for the rest of the half playing as though of a one-nil defeat actually wasn't that a bad result. Although, their body language suggested one or two of them were losing their temper with each other. Never a good thing, either for the Azzurri or any poor hapless sods they happen to be playing. The Italians, as a consequence, sent for Di Natale and Camoranesi and prepared for war. At half time Shearer, at the match in a persona rather than a BBC capacity, was interviewed. Lee Dixon later noted that when he'd left the studio, Shearer had been without a coat. But now, in the pouring rain seemed to be wearing one. A ladies one, at that. I now have an unshakeable imagine in my mind of a darkened alley outside the ground and Shearer elbowing some hapless Paraguayan bird in the face before nicking her coat and running off into the night. Anyway, back to the football. From a corner, de Rossi equalised. Unsurprisingly. After that, it was all Italy, with some nice cut-away shots of Paraguayans in the crowd actually praying. But no further goals. Then, we got a Garth Crooks report from the Dutch match earlier. And a bunch of Dutchies who seemingly wished they could pass it on the left hand side in a schmoky Amsterdam has-bar. Or, in fact, anywhere a long way away from Garth.
Goals: 18
Red Cards: 4
Rushing in from work, and having to get some proper bait to stop me from fainting necessitated yer actual Keith Telly Topping to miss most of the opening twenty minutes of this one. Pity, as it features two of my favourite football teams (and, indeed, two of my favourite countries) in the whole wide, wide world. I missed, for instance, the gloriously mental, Netherlands national anthem with its fifteen verses and pledging allegiance to the King of Spain (true story). I missed the Danish one as well, with what is, undoubtedly, the most stirring opening couplet of any national anthem, anywhere: 'King Christian stood by the loft mast/In mist and smoke.' I also missed ITV's build up. So, no great loss there, then.
Of course, it's always a question with the Dutch of which one is going to turn up - the glorious, free-flowing sons of Johan, Wim, other Johan, other Wim, Johnny, Ari, Robbie, Ruudi, third Wim, four Wim etc. In other words, magnificence in all things. Or, is it going to be the team full of the same players, full of quality and imagination, who seem to spend most of their time arguing with each other and threatening to piss off home. Every tournament since 1974, they've teased us, they've played with our emotions, they've 'oh yah, for schure, we do eet thish time, with the pasching and the schcoring and the sexchy voetbal.' And every bastard time, they lie (alright, except Euro '88, I'll give them that one). As recently as two years ago, in the last European Championships for two games they were awesome. I mean, mesmeric. And then they lost to Russia. They always do it. They're gits! Nevertheless, whenever anyone tells you the Dutch aren't quite as good as they can be, you must balance that by remembering that's a bit like saying The Beatles after Sgt. Pepper weren't as good as they used to be. It might be true but they still produced The White Album! The Danes, on the other hand, are just a kind nice friendly cousin, who always turn up to the big events, always do all right, always bring a tasty lady or two with them and never outstay their welcome. I like them, I'd just like to see a bit more of them, that's all.
The first-half was, I guess, what you'd expect. Slow, patient, but with moments of outstanding skill and beauty. And some moments involving Dirk Kypt. And Dennis Rommedahl. So, it wasn't all great. In fact, in patches it was decidedly ordinary.
ITV didn't even try to big it up at half time but Edgar Davids seemed relaxed. To the point of being comatose, actually. Soon as the second-half kicked off, the Dutch scored. Or, rather, Simon Poulson (who, of course, plays in the Netherlands for AZ 67) headed a van Persie cross into his own net. Which was funny. The game woke up a bit with the introduction of the tricky Eljero Elia but you always sensed the Netherlands had too much for some Danish representatives who had, unusually, little up front. A second half highlight, in fact, was a very amusing shot of one of the Dutch bench shouting 'oh schite!' when a deflected Wesley Sneijder shot hit the Danish bar. Kypt added a second late on, set up by the impressive Elia. Easy, peasy. And, indeed, lemon squeezy.Indomitable Lions v Banzai Warriors
The BBC opened their coverage with a surprisingly (for them, anyway) patronising 'Land of the Rising Sun vs Africa in Miniature' video compilation which was, basically, an excuse to dig some Roger Milla footage out of the archives. That was followed by a potentially fascinating discussion on how 'totally boss' Emmannuel Adebayor's shirt was, as compared to Wor Shearer's. Mercifully, we were saved from that going on for too long when The Single Best Moment Of The World Cup So Far happened. Adebayor's mobile phone went off live on air! Sackable offence that. Hopefully.
Laudably brief and suitably inscrutable, the Japanese national anthem begins 'May thy peaceful reign last long/For a thousand years/Until this tiny stone becomes a massive rock/And the moss covers it, deep and thick.' Woah. Skill. Cameroon's, by contrast, asks its singer to 'proudly rally to defend your liberty.'
Why is there always so much fighting in national anthems? Discuss. What followed was a very poor first half indeed, the highlight of which was probably a 'what the hell is he wearing?' moment for the Cameroon keeper. It was all sartorial queries, in fact, with Benoît Assou-Ekotto wearing low-slung hipster shorts with the white tag sticking out the back. They were so low, in fact, that you could see his (seemingly leopard-skin) pants underneath. Guy Mowbray revealed that the Japanese manager intends to give up the job after the tournament to become a farmer. 'Not in Tokyo, though' suggested Mark Lawrenson providing, amazingly, the first half with its biggest laugh. If you discount Assou-Ekotto's pants of course.Sadly, it's always very difficult not to be borderline racist about Japanese names, particularly when they've got a Matsui and a Honda in the team. Big Tosh Toshiba and little Sid Sony didn't make it, seemingly. So, for anybody - like me - who were briefly amused by such disgracefully obvious thoughts, it was very satisfying when Keisuke Honda only went and scored. Jazz. 'I'd say it was against the run of play,' noted Mowbray. 'But there hasn't been much play for it to be against.'
Eto'o was having a right 'mare but then, he wasn't alone in that. Cameroon were so desperate by the middle of the second half that they brought Geremi on! And yet, for all their lack of penetration they always seemed to be in with the vague chance of scoring against a very hard-working Japanese teams whose one major fault was a keeper not so much nervous of crosses as downright bloody petrified by them. Yet, as every second went by there were shots of Japanese kids in the crowd going absolutely effing mental. And then the dodgy keeper went and made the save of the game from Eto'o late-on. So, big surprise this. The sun also rises.
Forza Azzurri v Some Para-Guys
There's not many games of international football than can make me tear myself away from a very entertaining Twenty/20 game at Durham over on Sky. Actually, that's a lie, yes there are. But when one of the teams is the Azzurri that makes the pain somewhat less. Gary Lineker kicked off the BBC's night noting that recent Italian success has usually followed 'corruption, negativity and pessimism.' Shouldn't that be all Italian success has followed those things (and, in some cases, included those things)? He then introduced the panel (Hansen, Dixon and Seedorf - fast emerging as the BBC's bright new star) as 'nearly as old as the Italian team.' Ho, ho. He went on to scotch the rumour that the Azzurri had held a minute's silence when they heard Last of the Summer Wine was finishing and ended a thoroughly entertaining little New Faces-style stand-up routine by noting that Paraguay's star player is usually their keeper, with specific reference to José Luis Chilavert who, of course, scored eight international goals. 'That's one more than Heskey.' Ba-doom, tish. Thank you and goodnight Gary. He's here all month.
A stirring rendition of Il Canto degli Italiani followed. 'Let us band together/we are ready to die/Italy has called us/ ... and we're playing five at the back using the offside trap, as usual.' Paraguayos, República o Muerte on the other hand speaks of the three centuries of oppression that the peoples of America suffered. Mercifully, this only lasts for seven verses. So, considerably less than three centuries. It just feels like it.
Oh, Christ almighty, Jonathan Pearce and bloody Mick McCarthy again! Have the BBC no pity?! The game, well, it was all going completely to plan for forty minutes - 0-0, a result that, you imagine, both teams would've been delighted with. The Eyeties had Rino Gattuso sharpening his scythe on the bench and, with a chance of a counter-attack always a possibility, it was starting to look very predictable.
Then, Paraguay had a free-kick forty yards out on the right, Aureliano Torres curled it goalwards and Antolin Alacaraz got above Cannavaro and de Rossi and thumped a header into the corner of the net. That woke everybody up. Except, interestingly, the Italians, who carried on for the rest of the half playing as though of a one-nil defeat actually wasn't that a bad result. Although, their body language suggested one or two of them were losing their temper with each other. Never a good thing, either for the Azzurri or any poor hapless sods they happen to be playing. The Italians, as a consequence, sent for Di Natale and Camoranesi and prepared for war. At half time Shearer, at the match in a persona rather than a BBC capacity, was interviewed. Lee Dixon later noted that when he'd left the studio, Shearer had been without a coat. But now, in the pouring rain seemed to be wearing one. A ladies one, at that. I now have an unshakeable imagine in my mind of a darkened alley outside the ground and Shearer elbowing some hapless Paraguayan bird in the face before nicking her coat and running off into the night. Anyway, back to the football. From a corner, de Rossi equalised. Unsurprisingly. After that, it was all Italy, with some nice cut-away shots of Paraguayans in the crowd actually praying. But no further goals. Then, we got a Garth Crooks report from the Dutch match earlier. And a bunch of Dutchies who seemingly wished they could pass it on the left hand side in a schmoky Amsterdam has-bar. Or, in fact, anywhere a long way away from Garth.Goals: 18
Red Cards: 4
