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.
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