Cincinnati Masters: Roger Federer faces Mardy Fish in final

It's Already Like It Never Happened: World Cup Awards pt. 2

With 2010's feast of football becoming a worryingly distant memory already, it's time to dole out a few more gongs, and put our heads between our knees, close our eyes and breathe through our nose until the whole sorry three-ring circus swings into gear on August 14th.

Hero of the Tournament: With the majority of players, pundits, coaches and FIFA suits making a total show of themselves, there was only one winner - and it had to come from a different species. Paul, the octopus in a German aquarium with a penchant for predicting football scores had a perfect record in this tournament, giving him a success rate of 12 out of 13 in the last two tournaments, comfortably outclassing virtually every paid expert on Earth. This is either a clear indication that picking the winner of a football match is total, blind luck, or that Paul will one day rule us all. Take a look at him and make up your own mind.

The Bringer of Fabio's Rage Award: So many choices. A four-way dead heat, at the very least, for the following: JT's eye-wateringly ill-advised coup d'etat by press conference; Emile Heskey's stepover, stumble and shank against Algeria; the moment Rob Green will always see when he shuts his eyes; and of course, those rumours.

The Game Most Like Every Other: This tournament will be remembered for Suarez's handball, German counter-attacking and the thrilling denouement, but most of the games were rubbish, lest we forget. Paraguay v Japan summed up so many games - seemingly a massive prize at stake and not a lot to lose (both teams had matched or exceeded expectation), the result was a feast of ballooned long shots, cynical shoves and meandering, inevitably hopeless dribbling. Paraguay shaded a shoot-out and then had the temerity to celebrate.

The Tinkerman Trophy for Tactical Switcheroos: A tie between Diego Maradona, who changed a fluid, fearsome set-up for the quarter-final, presumably to make it as easy as possible for Germany to tear them apart, and Bert van Maarwijk, who clearly had a system in mind for the final, but decided after about 4 minutes that they just had to keep kicking them.

The Robbie Earle Award for Services to Punditry: The BBC's Alans: Hansen, now carrying the demeanour of a sarcastic undertaker, and Shearer (call centre manager, can be a real prick) who on several places did little more than huff, mutter and fidget in their expensive chairs by way of analysis.

The Moment that Almost Made all the Disappointment Worthwhile: Iniesta, 116th minute, World Cup final. Brings ball down, lets it bounce, smacks it in. At once, justice served on a Dutch side with a brutal and bizarre game plan, and the most exciting conclusion to a World Cup final since 1986. Also, after so much tenative, negative play, the whole bloody thing was won in a second. Sudden death is surely the way forward in 2014.

World Cup Awards pt.1

 << Clive Tyldesley: Not a personal highlight of the world's greatest sporting event

Tonight, it ends. Spain or Holland will take the trophy, and everyone will head for the airport. For many, the idea of no more World Cup for four years will be devastating. To be honest, I think I'll need a little while before the prospect of sitting through this again will seem appealing. It has definitely picked up dramatically in the knockouts, but this has been an average World Cup. The truth is that as the Champions' League has grown, the World Cup has dwindled. Nothing so far has felt as enormous as the Champions' League's later stages (and trust me, I'm not saying that's a good thing). The frustrating thing is that as it doesn't carry the giddying financial benefits of the bloated, elephantine UEFA contest, it makes sense for teams to go all out - a seven-game shootout for what to most fans is still the ultimate prize. Sadly, all too often teams have appeared shackled by pressure - perhaps only Germany and Argentina appeared to just keep going until their luck changed. Neither team are playing tonight, but they have both been welcomed home with open arms.

2010 has certainly had its moments - there are a few new faces that have lit up the tournament, some old heads dragging nervous teams through, and no small amount of controversy. Here, for what it's worth, are Sporthole's awards:

Player of the Tournament:
Overcoming the doubters? Dragging a mediocre side within reach of the trophy? Bagging 5 goals, 4 of which were from outside the box? Generally being a swaggering, awe-inspiring one-man fight against the entire world? Step forward Diego Forlan.

Worst Player of the Tournament:
A number of contenders here - from those who thought midway through a month-long, incredibly important tournament was the perfect time to try and overthrow their leaders (Patrice! JT! I'm looking at you, you idiots), to big-name talents who never arrived (Rooney, Kaka, Cannavaro... Ronaldo, Drogba, Torres... it's a weirdly long list). Sadly (and this is kinda cruel on the guy), the award has to go to the player who did the most damage to his own team in the shortest time. Despite only featuring in 1 of his side's 4 matches, he may have irreparably derailed a campaign that had started so well. It takes a pretty special breed to single-handedly change a team's confidence and self-belief so dramatically. The man in question? With an honourable mention to Felipe Melo, there could only be one winner...

Moment of the Tournament:
From the moment Switzerland showed the world that the big guns could be beaten, the top teams have looked nervous or worse, creating a World Cup with perhaps more drama than true quality. So essentially I'm picking the most dramatic moment. Let's see. What's the most exciting point for something to happen? The last minute. Unless there's extra time of course... so how about the last minute of extra time? A goal? Too easy. A near-miss? Only if... there's some kind of cheating involved. Like, say, if an opponent punched the ball away off the line? But then what happens? The guy gets sent off, they score the penalty and it's game over. It's exciting, but surely it could be better. Wait a minute. What if they missed the penalty? And the guilty party saw the whole thing happen, and started whooping from the sidelines? Congratulations, Luis Suarez, perpetrator of perhaps scientifically the most dramatic act possible in a game of football.

Villain of the Tournament:
For many, it may be Suarez, but there are three factors that save him from this undesirable honour. Firstly, he may have acted on instinct. Secondly, he was punished and Ghana ultimately missed the chance they were given. Finally, he's not Clive Tyldesley. Now, I've always hated Tyldesley, but at this World Cup he managed to lower his reputation, despite being surrounded by such luminaries as Townsend, Mowbray, Chiles and Pearce in the truly awful UK coverage of the tournament. Somehow, he always manages to rise above the competition. To hear Tyldesley is to hear a man who knows nothing about football. If you dare to be one of the 10 people who will watch the final on ITV tonight, take a listen. Note down the number of times our Clive comments on Holland's fluid midfield movement, or Spain's expansive use of David Villa. You will not require a pen and paper to do so. All the guy ever does is spew out cliches and absurdities, constantly looking for omens or signals, rather than trying to glean information from what is actually happening. Tyldesley reached possibly his lowest ebb during England v Algeria when, in the 82nd minute, he commented that Enzo Bearzot's Italy drew their first two games in 1982. What is wrong with this guy? He must have been the only man in the entire world that was still thinking about England winning the World Cup at that point. Ignorant to tactics and strategy, divorced from reality; the footballing mind of an 8-year-old Chelsea fan, with the voice of a chipmunk to match. ITV - please get rid of this idiot.

Please, Please Let It Be Less Awful: The Sporthole World Cup Preview Part 1

<< Who wants it then, lads? Eh? Not you, Stevie...


You might have noticed recently that every time you stick on the telly you're confronted by 3 men in Ciro Citterio shirts, muttering about ball retention with grim, washed-out faces. If not, you may well have noticed a husky fella from Birmingham wittering inanities over a graphic of a large gold ball. Don't be confused. There's a World Cup happening in South Africa (not the reasonably developed, progressive and dynamic nation at the southern edge of Africa, but apparently a crime-ridden woe hole of the same name that FIFA has decided to rescue by allowing it to stage a vapid, commercialised shell of a once-great tournament).

Anyway, there's only eight teams left, and France, Italy, England, Ivory Coast and Portugal ain't amongst them. Which is kind of a shame for Nike. I wonder if the tabloid Cesc is reading also says YOU LET YOUR COUNTRY DOWN in massive, hysterical type. No, the last eight is a curious mix - four South American teams, three from Europe and one from Africa. Amongst them lie dark horses that make Black Beauty look pasty and bovine, superstar teams showing a level of mercy that may be familiar to the North Korean team, and favourites more nervy than Tiger Woods picking up a newspaper. Here then, are my worthless thoughts on the eight teams that remain:

Uruguay:


One of two quarter-finalists whose chief purpose as nations is stopping Brazil and Argentina actually having to touch each other. Famous for two things – being called ‘U R Gay’ by Homer Simpson, and winning 2 of the first 4 World Cups, the last one now some sixty years ago. Also there’s Fray Bentos.

Uruguay find themselves in the quarter-finals for the first time since, I dunno, pick one, it’s been ages, and even start as slight favourites against Plucky Ghana. Even without a winnable quarter-final, it would be hard to see Uruguay as outsiders given their history – they have won as many World Cups as France, England, Holland and Portugal put together. That said, few saw their fluid yet functional side progressing past a tough group on paper. The fact that it featured the worst seeds in World Cup history, a team collapsing in on itself like a wet croissant, and Mexico may have helped, but this disappointingly disciplined outfit have certainly impressed.

What happens next: A likely semi-final berth against Brazil, with a flight to Montevideo taxiing by the 60th minute. Andy Townsend et al to continue their bemusement at Diego Forlan miraculously becoming a good footballer, despite being consistently, unrelentingly awesome in Spain for about ten years now. ‘Arry Redknapp to flick through his sticker album and pick up an ineffectual striker, almost totally at random. Eenie, meenie… Edison Cavani!


Ghana:

As this tournament has progressed, the nation of Ghana has been granted a whole new identity. Arise, Plucky Ghana, everybody’s second favourite team, who so courageously outplayed Serbia, heroically matched a creaking Australia, and emulating the other plucky bunch of warriors in this tournament by drawing with America and getting turned over by Germany. An extra time goal later and they emerge blinking onto the big stage, a semi-final spot a realistic target.

I hate to jab a big pointy stick into the bubble of admiration for these feisty little rascals, but Ghana may be the most ball-achingly average team ever to reach the last eight. Well, almost (I’m looking at you, Ukraine). Ghana have played to their strengths and have gone a step beyond what was a realistic last-16 target, with a commendable victory against the U.S. However, they are and always have been a decent side, easily amongst the world’s top twenty. Talk of them being a giant-slaying minnow is, frankly, bollocks. As is the idea that they are now Africa’s team. I don’t know how much research went into the widespread theory that South Africans will root for a team that is about as close to them as Argentina. Would English fans get right behind Russia should they bomb out early on as hosts? Seems unlikely.

What happens next: Ghana lose out but can at least walk home, the main hut in the Ghanaian capital, which they all share, is actually visible from the ground. That’s what Alan Shearer told me anyway. Go any further and Ghana risk being suffocated through relentless patting.

Argentina:

Currently ably filling the role of team that scraped through qualifying, and now look like cantering to a third trophy (see Brazil 2002, England 2010 but the other way round). The albiceleste have looked excellent at times without facing a great challenge, and the tippy-tappy double header of Germany and Spain may drive the tactically laissez-faire Maradona over the edge. He has been the real star of Argentina’s campaign, looking like a well-connected nightclub owner whose lack of height only makes him more menacing. The other star represented on their slightly 70s crest (I know it’s for the World Cups really), Leo Messi, has yet to take centre stage, often taking on the appearance of a lank-haired boy being kicked around a playground. If Argentina are going to sew another gold star onto that snazzy uniform, they may need Messi to dish out some vengeance.

What happens next: Tougher to call than the worst long shot of the tournament. Appear to have the flair, quality and (dare I say it) coach of likely winners. It’s hard to look beyond a Brazil-Argentina final as long as Spain’s nerves stay shot, but remember: this team lost to Bolivia a year ago. Bolivia. 6-1.

Germany:

Ah, Germany. As a Man City and England fan, I know a thing or two about unrequited hatred. Both of my team’s fiercest rivals save their murkiest bile for another. Germany last week finally made that difficult call last week, letting England know that they really appreciate how much they mean to us, but, y’know, oh, this is really hard, there’s sort of someone else. Namely Holland – it seems that Frank Rijkaard gobbing in Rudi Voller’s mullet was a crime weighty enough to forget the two world wars and one world cup that so beguile the English psyche.

I hated Germany for a long time after Andreas Moller goose-stepped across the Wembley turf after his winning penalty at Euro 96 – until someone pointed out to me that had Gazza done the same in Berlin, he would have been a national hero. In recent years, Germany have shunned their traditional image of efficiency and Bond villain-esque levels of provocation, and now play with a youthful verve, with a multicultural, skilful side, watched by realistic supporters who are gracious in victory and defeat. They’re everything England could be. Sort of makes me hate them even more.

What happens next:

Despite the 4-1 serving they handed out to a fully deserving England, Germany have blown hot and cold so far. My feeling is that this transitional team may not fully expect to make it all the way back to Soccer City on July 11th. A swashbuckling Argentina, thirsty for vengeance after the repeat fixture in Berlin four years ago, may be too much. Come Euro 2012 however, Germany will have the same side, each with two years’ experience at the highest level. England may be better off not qualifying at all.

On a different note, I have been collecting World Cup stickers for a couple of months. I’m the proud owner of 9 of the Algerian team, 8 English players (more than turned up for the actual tournament), about 5 Marco Borriellos, and not one single solitary German footballer. What’s that all about? We need answers, Panini.

Breaking News: Burnley Getting Served by Man City

Sporthole are receiving reports that Burnley, currently sitting in 19th spot in the Premier League, are getting totally served by 5th placed Man City. Four goals in 17 minutes, all scored by Man City at Burnley's Turf Moor ground, have seen the struggling outfit well and truly F'd in the A. As the game moves towards half time, they are in danger of having their asses handed to them on a plate. More as we get it.

Auntie Val's Formula 1 Preview

Roy! ROY! What is that awful noise? I'm trying to do my crossword! Oh, it's those bloody cars again. Is that dishy British lad still there? Not crashed yet? Buttons, yeah I like him. I don't mind the racing cars on a Sunday. It's a bit boring though. I prefer a book.

Wayne Rooney Can Only Raise Weary Half-Smile to Latest Volley of Sycophancy