Red Hot Chile Peppers v Honduras
According to Jon Champion, a translation of the name of the Mbombela stadium in Nelspruit is 'Many people together in a small space.' Or, you know, 'less people than expected together in a small space because most of the tickets have been given away by FIFA to broadcasters and corporate scum.' We got a lengthy discussion about the Honduran anthem which begins 'Your flag, your flag/is a shock of sky/Crossed by a block of snow.' There are, apparently, seven verses of this, each more jaw-droppingly tedious than the previous one. Chile, tragically, have never taken the opportunity to adapt one of Victor Jara's songs as their own anthem, post-Pinochet. Instead, we get something that sounds a bit like 'La Marseilles' only without all the references to blood and snots. 'Chile, your sky is pure blue/Pure breezes blow across you too.' I'm sure it is, an'all but, I'm sorry, I just can't get the image out of my head of thousands of glazed-eyed, blood-thirsty right-wing fuckers, with a massive chimney on in their pants, thuggishly killing and torturing dissidents in the Santiago Stadium to the strains of this whilst bellowing 'Viva, El Presidente!' Once used as a 'place of interrogation and internment,' the stadium itself - Estadio Nacional de Chile – is now regularly used as a venue for outdoor pop concerts and people like Whitney Houston, Guns N' Roses, Peter Gabriel and Sting continue to torture poor innocent Chileans who have done them no wrong. The fascists.
Chile started brightly although you always do wonder how seriously you can take any team with a man called Ponce in their side. Champion suggested that they weren't the Chile of ten years ago - of Salas and Zamarano whom he talked about with an almost misty-eyed nostalgia. But they were bright, sharp, quick and skillful and it was no surprise when Jean Beausejour scored from a scrambled toe-poke after a lovely four-man build up.
'Isn't it nice to see a team that's pleasing on the eye?' asked Craig Burley. Well, indeed. Some decent football also brought out the best in the commentators, although they still couldn't resist a few digs at an - admittedly picky - referee. 'Apparently he is the best in the Seychelles,' said Champion, with barely-suppressed sarcasm. Champion himself was having a bit a 'mare, actually, completely getting the story of The Football War wrong. (It was El Salvador that declared war on Honduras, not the other way around.)
In the second half, the Hondurans brought on a substitute. Which was Welcome. Heh. No, seriously though, I'm here all month. But Chile's pace and quality - particularly the very impressive Alexis Sanchez - was always likely to produce chances. And, then That Big Ponce missed from two yards. In fact, if you can fault the Chileans for anything it was more often than not trying to walk the ball in. A trip, for Voodoo Chile for when they make their slight return (and don't be late). Bring your shooting boots next time, lads.
Blue Spanish Eyes v The Swiss Misses
On the BBC, Gary Lineker set the ball rolling for this one with a perfectly weighted hospital pass. 'Howard Webb. Alan, you're a big fan, aren't you?' Ice promptly formed on the upper reaches of Mount Shearer! So, we reached the thirty first and thirty second teams in the World Cup. One, the perpetual underachievers of world football who, in the last two years, finally appear to have got their shit together and started playing like we always knew they were capable of. The other, Switzerland. As in Switzerland vs Ukraine in 2006. As in, Oh God! Not Switzerland Again?!
Jonathan Pearce pulled out every Spanish cliché you can think of short of 'olé!' in his introduction. ('March of the Toreadors', 'El Dorado' etc. etc.) Spain's national anthem is, of course, famously, an instrumental. The 'Albatross' of anthems, if you like. Switzerland's anthem does not, contrary to common belief, mentions cows, goats, chocolate or cuckoo clocks (which are, actually, a German invention anyway). Oh, ninety minutes of Switzerland and Mick McCarthy. There. Is. No. God. As it happens, the first half was pretty much a non-event. Spain were, of course, beautiful in possession - as has been noted elsewhere, they're not invincible, they do have some flaws at the back but, for anybody to exploit them, first you've got to get the ball off them. And that's often the really tricky part. But, for all their swagger and poise Switzerland stood big and tall and strong and essentially stopped them from playing. They're good at that. As those of us who sat through the horrible non-game against Ukraine will, frankly, never forget. In fact, the highlight of the half for me was being amused by Pearce's inability to pronounce 'Senderos' the same way twice in succession.
The BBC did their best to big it all up at half-time, Seedorf taking about movement off the ball and Shearer reminding everyone that it only takes a second's lapse of concentration and, like a shark, they'll bite you in two. It was worth turning in for the start of the second-half to hear McCarthy using the phrase 'kung-fu kicking.' Those cats were fast as ... stuff.
Of course, the one thing that one was absolutely certain of was that Switzerland wouldn't score in a month of Sundays. Switzerland promptly scored! Gelson Fernandes poking one in after a scramble in the area. Remember, it only takes a second's lapse of concentration and, like a shark, they'll bite you in two. Spain were clearly rattled.
They brought on Torres and Jesus. You know a team's in trouble when they turn to The Lord for a bit of yer actual saving. And, you know, some quality crosses. Alonso hit the bar but, at the other end, the Swiss were giving it some an'all and big, awkward, gangly, Derdiyok hit the post on one of their - quite regular - counter-attacks. As McCarthy noted, they'd defended deep, pressed the ball and were fit, strong and hard-working. 'They're not as good players as Spain so they've got to find other ways of winning. If they try to play football against them, they'll get beat.' It's ironic, when we got a match of stonewalling defence, it actually brought out the almost lyrical and poetic in Mick McCarthy. Almost.
Five minutes of injury time, Howard Webb clearly believing he was officiating at Old Trafford. It was desperate stuff. There were lots of half-changes and some niggly fouls and a Swiss head on every Spanish ball into the box. Switzerland held firm. Like their banks. There'll be dancing in the vaults of Geneva tonight. And the lonely goatherds will be nervous. Spain, meanwhile? Is this back to normal service for them? It's nice to know that, in an uncertain world, some things never change. Or, if they do, they change back pretty soon afterwards!
Soud Afreeekka v U-Are-Guys
The Rainbow Nation versus the least colourful team in world football. This should be ... grey. Taking place, of course on a significant date - the anniversary of Soweto - gave the match a potential weight of polemic that, one felt, could have been counterproductive. But, I have to say Garth Crooks did a - really rather decent - piece on the history and context of the massacre and, cutting back to the studio, a stony-face Gary Lineker noted that, not that many years ago the BBC's panel for this game (including Emmanuel Adebayor) 'would not have been allowed in this country.' See, this is the necessary difference between the BBC and ITV. When the BBC do this sort of thing, it has some gravitas, some depth. Some dignity. When ITV do it, it ends up trivialised, patronised and followed by Andy Townsend.
South Africa opened brightly, though a long-range shot from Tshabaladingdong that sailed over the bar was described as 'a bit Hollywood' by Mark Lawrenson. Nice! Then, Uruguay came, belatedly, to life with a most unuruguayan-style performed full of skill, pace and passion. Where'd that come from? Diego Forlan scored to shut the crowd up with a deflected shot from distance. Thereafter, he was the best player on the park by a distance for much of the rest of the match. Lawrence again: 'Forlan's running this game. He could play in his slippers, nobody's getting anywhere near him.' The second-half continued with a kind of tedious predictability, broken only with South Africa brought on a substitute.
That was a Surprise. I can wait. Then, with ten minutes left, Khune fouled Luis Suarez in the box and the referee gave the penalty and sent the keeper off. Both, seemingly, correct decisions. Forlan dispatched the spot kick with a kind of disdain that, if only momentarily, shut up the vuvuzelas. Which was both novel and welcome. And so, the carefully built house-of-cards of FIFA's South African feel-good start to the tournament - and how great it was for the future of all mankind, with the joy and peace-lurv-and-harmony and the holding-hands - was all blown down in seconds and reality kicked the nation, hard, in the Jacob's Cream Crackers. It was quite a sight, actually. We got TV shots of locals streaming out of the stadium muttering to themselves, the fickle public speaking, both loudly and clearly. Failure, is not an option. Football is not a matter of horns and drums. It's much more important than that. In injury time, Forlan and Suarez combined to set up Alvaro Pereira for the third. Uruguay, the Millwall of international football. No one likes them, but they don't care!
Goals: 28
Red Cards: 5
According to Jon Champion, a translation of the name of the Mbombela stadium in Nelspruit is 'Many people together in a small space.' Or, you know, 'less people than expected together in a small space because most of the tickets have been given away by FIFA to broadcasters and corporate scum.' We got a lengthy discussion about the Honduran anthem which begins 'Your flag, your flag/is a shock of sky/Crossed by a block of snow.' There are, apparently, seven verses of this, each more jaw-droppingly tedious than the previous one. Chile, tragically, have never taken the opportunity to adapt one of Victor Jara's songs as their own anthem, post-Pinochet. Instead, we get something that sounds a bit like 'La Marseilles' only without all the references to blood and snots. 'Chile, your sky is pure blue/Pure breezes blow across you too.' I'm sure it is, an'all but, I'm sorry, I just can't get the image out of my head of thousands of glazed-eyed, blood-thirsty right-wing fuckers, with a massive chimney on in their pants, thuggishly killing and torturing dissidents in the Santiago Stadium to the strains of this whilst bellowing 'Viva, El Presidente!' Once used as a 'place of interrogation and internment,' the stadium itself - Estadio Nacional de Chile – is now regularly used as a venue for outdoor pop concerts and people like Whitney Houston, Guns N' Roses, Peter Gabriel and Sting continue to torture poor innocent Chileans who have done them no wrong. The fascists.
Chile started brightly although you always do wonder how seriously you can take any team with a man called Ponce in their side. Champion suggested that they weren't the Chile of ten years ago - of Salas and Zamarano whom he talked about with an almost misty-eyed nostalgia. But they were bright, sharp, quick and skillful and it was no surprise when Jean Beausejour scored from a scrambled toe-poke after a lovely four-man build up.
'Isn't it nice to see a team that's pleasing on the eye?' asked Craig Burley. Well, indeed. Some decent football also brought out the best in the commentators, although they still couldn't resist a few digs at an - admittedly picky - referee. 'Apparently he is the best in the Seychelles,' said Champion, with barely-suppressed sarcasm. Champion himself was having a bit a 'mare, actually, completely getting the story of The Football War wrong. (It was El Salvador that declared war on Honduras, not the other way around.)In the second half, the Hondurans brought on a substitute. Which was Welcome. Heh. No, seriously though, I'm here all month. But Chile's pace and quality - particularly the very impressive Alexis Sanchez - was always likely to produce chances. And, then That Big Ponce missed from two yards. In fact, if you can fault the Chileans for anything it was more often than not trying to walk the ball in. A trip, for Voodoo Chile for when they make their slight return (and don't be late). Bring your shooting boots next time, lads.
Blue Spanish Eyes v The Swiss Misses
On the BBC, Gary Lineker set the ball rolling for this one with a perfectly weighted hospital pass. 'Howard Webb. Alan, you're a big fan, aren't you?' Ice promptly formed on the upper reaches of Mount Shearer! So, we reached the thirty first and thirty second teams in the World Cup. One, the perpetual underachievers of world football who, in the last two years, finally appear to have got their shit together and started playing like we always knew they were capable of. The other, Switzerland. As in Switzerland vs Ukraine in 2006. As in, Oh God! Not Switzerland Again?!
Jonathan Pearce pulled out every Spanish cliché you can think of short of 'olé!' in his introduction. ('March of the Toreadors', 'El Dorado' etc. etc.) Spain's national anthem is, of course, famously, an instrumental. The 'Albatross' of anthems, if you like. Switzerland's anthem does not, contrary to common belief, mentions cows, goats, chocolate or cuckoo clocks (which are, actually, a German invention anyway). Oh, ninety minutes of Switzerland and Mick McCarthy. There. Is. No. God. As it happens, the first half was pretty much a non-event. Spain were, of course, beautiful in possession - as has been noted elsewhere, they're not invincible, they do have some flaws at the back but, for anybody to exploit them, first you've got to get the ball off them. And that's often the really tricky part. But, for all their swagger and poise Switzerland stood big and tall and strong and essentially stopped them from playing. They're good at that. As those of us who sat through the horrible non-game against Ukraine will, frankly, never forget. In fact, the highlight of the half for me was being amused by Pearce's inability to pronounce 'Senderos' the same way twice in succession.
The BBC did their best to big it all up at half-time, Seedorf taking about movement off the ball and Shearer reminding everyone that it only takes a second's lapse of concentration and, like a shark, they'll bite you in two. It was worth turning in for the start of the second-half to hear McCarthy using the phrase 'kung-fu kicking.' Those cats were fast as ... stuff.
Of course, the one thing that one was absolutely certain of was that Switzerland wouldn't score in a month of Sundays. Switzerland promptly scored! Gelson Fernandes poking one in after a scramble in the area. Remember, it only takes a second's lapse of concentration and, like a shark, they'll bite you in two. Spain were clearly rattled.
They brought on Torres and Jesus. You know a team's in trouble when they turn to The Lord for a bit of yer actual saving. And, you know, some quality crosses. Alonso hit the bar but, at the other end, the Swiss were giving it some an'all and big, awkward, gangly, Derdiyok hit the post on one of their - quite regular - counter-attacks. As McCarthy noted, they'd defended deep, pressed the ball and were fit, strong and hard-working. 'They're not as good players as Spain so they've got to find other ways of winning. If they try to play football against them, they'll get beat.' It's ironic, when we got a match of stonewalling defence, it actually brought out the almost lyrical and poetic in Mick McCarthy. Almost.Five minutes of injury time, Howard Webb clearly believing he was officiating at Old Trafford. It was desperate stuff. There were lots of half-changes and some niggly fouls and a Swiss head on every Spanish ball into the box. Switzerland held firm. Like their banks. There'll be dancing in the vaults of Geneva tonight. And the lonely goatherds will be nervous. Spain, meanwhile? Is this back to normal service for them? It's nice to know that, in an uncertain world, some things never change. Or, if they do, they change back pretty soon afterwards!
Soud Afreeekka v U-Are-Guys
The Rainbow Nation versus the least colourful team in world football. This should be ... grey. Taking place, of course on a significant date - the anniversary of Soweto - gave the match a potential weight of polemic that, one felt, could have been counterproductive. But, I have to say Garth Crooks did a - really rather decent - piece on the history and context of the massacre and, cutting back to the studio, a stony-face Gary Lineker noted that, not that many years ago the BBC's panel for this game (including Emmanuel Adebayor) 'would not have been allowed in this country.' See, this is the necessary difference between the BBC and ITV. When the BBC do this sort of thing, it has some gravitas, some depth. Some dignity. When ITV do it, it ends up trivialised, patronised and followed by Andy Townsend.
South Africa opened brightly, though a long-range shot from Tshabaladingdong that sailed over the bar was described as 'a bit Hollywood' by Mark Lawrenson. Nice! Then, Uruguay came, belatedly, to life with a most unuruguayan-style performed full of skill, pace and passion. Where'd that come from? Diego Forlan scored to shut the crowd up with a deflected shot from distance. Thereafter, he was the best player on the park by a distance for much of the rest of the match. Lawrence again: 'Forlan's running this game. He could play in his slippers, nobody's getting anywhere near him.' The second-half continued with a kind of tedious predictability, broken only with South Africa brought on a substitute.
That was a Surprise. I can wait. Then, with ten minutes left, Khune fouled Luis Suarez in the box and the referee gave the penalty and sent the keeper off. Both, seemingly, correct decisions. Forlan dispatched the spot kick with a kind of disdain that, if only momentarily, shut up the vuvuzelas. Which was both novel and welcome. And so, the carefully built house-of-cards of FIFA's South African feel-good start to the tournament - and how great it was for the future of all mankind, with the joy and peace-lurv-and-harmony and the holding-hands - was all blown down in seconds and reality kicked the nation, hard, in the Jacob's Cream Crackers. It was quite a sight, actually. We got TV shots of locals streaming out of the stadium muttering to themselves, the fickle public speaking, both loudly and clearly. Failure, is not an option. Football is not a matter of horns and drums. It's much more important than that. In injury time, Forlan and Suarez combined to set up Alvaro Pereira for the third. Uruguay, the Millwall of international football. No one likes them, but they don't care!Goals: 28
Red Cards: 5
