Three and in – not just another football blog

WINNERS

Katlego Mphela
Another impressive display against France. If it weren’t for the width of the woodwork, he’d have ended the tournament with three goals and a deservedly enhanced reputation.

Diego Maradona
If any further proof was needed that the Fates are with Maradona this summer, his wild card pick, the 36 year-old Martin Palermo, scored in yesterday’s 2-0 win over Greece. Nine points from nine in the group stages, Argentina are the front-runners as we enter the last sixteen.

South America
Uruguay and Argentina have qualified as group winners – Brazil, Chile and Paraguay all look well-placed to do the same.

LOSERS

Africa
The continent lost the plucky hosts and the uninspiring Nigeria in a day. Today’s game between Ghana and Germany could determine whether the host continent has a single nation competing in the last sixteen.

Yakubu Aiyegbeni
Sidefooted wide from three yards when presented with an open goal. Rolled in a penalty afterwards, but nothing will exorcise the ghost of that particular miss. Expect him, like Robert Green, to be immortalised in World Cup Bloopers DVDs from now on.

Raymond Domenech
Perhaps France could make their own 2010 Bloopers Epic, with Domenech the star. After qualifying through dubious means with Thierry Henry’s handball, a karmic curse has hung over their campaign. Yesterday’s defeat to South Africa, which saw Domenech forced to drop several of his best players due to their off-field conduct or sheer unwillingness to play, was their predictable nadir. Domenech’s refusal to shake Carlos Alberto Parreira’s hand at the end was the undignified exit her deserved. Good luck Laurent – I’d advise starting with a Blanc slate.

Day 2

Waiting for the flight from Nairobi to Johannesburg to take off was a bit like being on a World Cup-themed version of “It’s A Small World”, as they played Wavin Flag and a psuedo-African tune by Columbian songstress Shakira on a 40-minute loop.

That was nothing compared to the noise that greeted us on our arrival in Jo’burg.  I had nothing to declare save my embarrassment at England’s performances thus far, so skipped through customs to arrivals.  Emerging from the bureaucratic corridors and queues in to the wider world, my ears suddenly found themselves under assault.  I had heard my first vuvuzela.

An individual vuvuzela is louder than either your TV or the imitations on sale in Tescos would lead you to believe.  Several hundred vuvuzelas are, for want of a better phrase, very very loud.  I’m not, however, about to complain.  After the first ten minutes the throbbing of your eardrums passes, and in the lulls you begin to miss their enthusiastic drone.

And drone enthusiastically they did as we arrived to watch South Africa take on France in a suburban fan park.  After a warm-up performance by a man I’m thus far only able to identify as the South African Craig David, the game was underway.  Yoann Gourcuff’s sending off and each of the South Africa goals was greeted with a chorus of vuvuzelas, cheering, and zulu mining songs.  I clapped, Englishly.

At half-time there was a genuine sense of optimism.  Uruguay were leading Mexico 1-0 – another goal for them and another for South Africa would see Bafana Bafana qualify.  Sadly, it was not to be.  Florent Malouda’s goal made qualification logistically daunting, whilst missed opportunities for Mphela and Tshabalala dampened hope.

Still, they’ve plenty to be proud of.  They’ve been fantastic hosts, and there’s no shame in ending the group stage with four points.  And they beat France.  A chaotic France led by Raymond Domenech, but France nonetheless.

After a 20-hour journey which permitted a maximum of two hours sleep, we opted for a quiet night in watching Yakubu emulate Chris Iwelumo, on a far bigger and more humiliating stage.  Last night’s results mean that this weekend I’ll be at the mouth-watering Argentina vs Mexico.

Today we’ll be watching England in a bar before heading to Germany v Ghana.  A lot of South Africans have pointed out the irony of three Englishmen arriving the day before our team is due to go home.  I hope the fun of our trip could survive England’s potential departure – the rumour of starts for Defoe and Milner do not exactly fill me with optimism, despite Man City’s willingness to make Milner the world’s first billion-pound player.

Come On England.  Save me the embarrassment of having to explain your exit to the natives, just as I’ve already had to justify the continued existence of Emile Heskey.

It’s all or nothing for England this afternoon. Will anyone pass to John Terry? At which minute will David James chuck one into his own net? Will Slovenia be blown away by the craft of James Milner?

All these questions, and any other ludicrous ones you can think of, will be answered during the live blog which kicks off at 2.45pm.

On the face of I might very well be alone when I say I’m going to miss France at this World Cup. I suspect, however, that there are plenty out there who feel the same.

Obviously I don’t mean I’ll miss them on the football pitch. Despite their array of talented players they simply didn’t function as a team. Much of this is, of course, down to Raymond Domenech, football’s most hilariously awful manager. Normally someone who manages a national team of the stature of France can pick and choose his next job. Who in their right mind would offer him a position after seeing the way he lost control and was scorned, ridiculed and humiliated by his own players? Not even Liverpool would be that desperate.

What I’ll miss about them is the wonderfully surreal and almost always hilarious soap opera that surrounded them. From that night in Paris when Thierry Henry’s handball set up the winner for William Gallas it’s as if the karma police have been taking revenge, a death of a thousand small cuts. I said cuts.

As an Irishman I never bought into the outcry that surrounded the handball. They happen all the time in football and the lengths to which the English presssed whipped up the anti-French and anti-Henry hysteria was laughable. Where was the condemnation of Luis Fabiano’s just as deliberate handball against the Ivory Coast? Double standards doesn’t even come close.

And as an Irishman living in a country plagued by corruption, a financial scandal that has seen the tax payer cough up for the gambles taken by speculators and property developers, enabled by an incompetent, hapless, crooked government, the fact that there was a protest march over a handball in a football game while we allowed ourselves to be financially ridden up the jacksy for decades to come makes me laugh. It’s a bitter laugh but a laugh nonetheless.

Evra was unhappy at the breakfast croissants throughout the tournament

Yet the French revolution at this World Cup has been pure entertainment. The talk of traitors in the camp, Nicolas Anelka becoming the French Roy Keane and telling his manager exactly what he thought of him, bust-ups, fights on the training ground, resignations, refusal to train, whispers of player power, clear evidence of player power, Domenech leaving players like Nasri and Benzema behind, and eventually the shitstorm reaching such epic proportions that the French government are involved.

I can’t imagine Mr and Mrs Sarkozy are too pleased at being torn away from their Parisian swingers parties to deal with a bunch of egocentric footballers who have effectively nobbled their own tournament because of their personal animus towards the coach. It’s marvellous.

And Domenech – what can you say? Instead of going out with a bit of quiet dignity he made himself look even more foolish with his refusal to shake the hand of Carlos Alberto Parreira at the end of yesterday’s game. It’s no less than he deserves and I bet his horoscope never told him this was coming.

The whole thing has been wonderfully absurd. Anything, and I mean anything, was possible the longer they stayed in the tournament. Instead they go home, booked into economy class by the French FA, to meet the public who, despite knowing things were difficult, had a right to expect their team to behave in a professional manner while representing their country.

The apologies have started, the finger pointing is yet to come, and hopefully the fallout from their World Cup debacle will be just as entertaining as their time in it.

Two things I want to touch on. Firstly, the notion that England’s players are bored while on World Cup duty. Now, I understand there are restrictions on what you can do and when you can do it when preparing for and taking part in a major tournament.

Despite his millions Wayne often found himself with nothing to do

Yet surely the prize at the end is worth the ‘sacrifice’. Ok, you might have to spend a few weeks away from home, not picking up random birds in nightclubs/Ayia Nappa and roasting them, before driving your car after 8 Jaegerbombs then telling the cops you’re someone else when you wrap it around a lampost, but it can’t be that bad.

These are millionaire footballers staying in state of the art facilities. They must have internet, laptops, video games, iPods, iPads, iProds (for the non-catholic players), DVDs and pretty much everything else technology can provide. Are we to believe there isn’t a snooker table? What about the idea that a footballer, after a long day’s training, might, you know, pick up a book and read for a while? I know, I know, it’s hard to credit but there’s absolutely no reason why these lads should be bored or even complain about life being tedious.

They’re living the dream of every young man that ever played football – representing their country at the World Cup, yet so pampered and spoiled are they, they complain and gossip to journalists instead of realising just how lucky they are. On my sympathy scale which goes from 0 – 100, I give them -34.

And the second thing – the playacting. Keita from the Ivory Coast, Torosidis from Greece, Vidal from Chile (25′ in) and all the other players guilty of trying to out-ham Al Pacino all seem to have forgotten one thing … the cameras.

There are TV cameras everywhere filming from the side, above, below and every other possible angle. Their victory in getting an opponent sent off is short lived. Once the game is finished the replays and discussions both online and off see the player in question branded anything from a ‘tart’ to ‘big Jessie’, and who wants to live with that kind of reputation? Being labelled a ‘tart’ by the manager of Wolves is as bad as it gets.

In seriousness though, the players would do well to remember that they are viewed as physically superior athletes, strong of mind and body, and should do what they can to protect that. When you fall over clutching your face as if poleaxed and replays show no contact whatsoever, you’ll be remembered as a cheat and a poor actor. It’s not like the old days where one or two cameras might miss something, everything is captured in glorious slow-motion HD.

Players, think about what your dads would think if they saw you act like that? Exactly. The shame, the unbearable shame of your own dad thinking your were a remorseless flimflammer. As he lives out his life in a dusty old retirement home he’ll never get over the fact that his son acted like a ponce (not Waldo) and a cissy (not Djibril).

Think about that, think about the cameras, and football might find its way back towards the light.

This is the very dictionary definition of ‘The Best Of A Bad Lot’. I really don’t care for World Cup songs or indeed what you might term football singles. Well, the video to Vindaloo was quite good. But I digress.

This is Rik Mayall almost playing it straight and perhaps producing a song that ought be getting more airplay than it is.

WINNERS

Switzerland – despite losing 1-0 to Chile yesterday they set a new World Cup record for time without conceding a goal. They surpassed Italy’s old record of 550 minutes by making it to 551 minutes. At which point they promptly went one down to Chile. Timing.

Portugal – Having spent all their energy making life difficult for Brazil, North Korea had nothing left against Portugal who took full advantage to spank the dear leader’s men 7-0. With six different goalscorers the Portuguese will be brimming with confidence and goal difference could be vital as they head for a massive game against Brazil.

David Villa - Barcelona’s new striker scored both Spain’s goals as they beat Honduras 2-0. He might have had a bit of luck on the second but there’s no denying the quality of his first. Even a missed penalty, his 5th in his last 7 for Spain, couldn’t blight his evening. If a couple of more Spaniards can find their shooting boots the pre-tournament favourites could well start to scare people.

LOSERS

Play actors -  Chile’s Arturo Vidal was the first offender yesterday. Sure, Behrami’s arms were flailing about the place but his overreaction and exaggeration of the slightest of contact ensured the Swiss player saw red. This seemed to make this Swiss think ‘Anything you can do’ and centre-half Steve Von Bergen held his face as if punched by Mike Tyson as players jostled at a set-piece.

Added to Kader Keita’s histrionics last night it’s a shame this is creeping into games more and more as the stakes get higher.

Pundits and commentators – ITV’s Peter Drury has been guilty before of poor commentary. Referring to Arsenal captain Cesc Fabregas as a Barcelona player is typical of his sneering style.

Meanwhile, during the BBC’s coverage of the Chile/Switzerland game, Mark Bright appeared to watching an entirely different game from everyone else, condemning Behrami for his ‘aggressive play’ when it was anything but. His nadir came as he bleated ‘He’s clearly pulled him back there!!’ as slow motion replays showed a Chilean player taking a dive, under no contact whatsoever, to win a free kick. How he is paid actual money to provide this kind of analysis is anyone’s guess.

Khalid Al Ghamdi – The Saudi Arabian schoolteacher/referee handed out a whopping 9 yellows and 1 red in the game between Chile and Switzerland. There was hardly a tackle worth speaking about either. He and his officials fell for Vidal’s Oscar winning performance and his whistle happy approach is one I hope we don’t see much more of in this tournament.

John Terry (again) – two days running for the former England captain. After his ill-judged press conference on Sunday, Terry was put firmly in his place by Fabio Capello:

When you speak, you have to speak privately, not with the media. This is the big mistake. This is very big mistake.

And to ensure Terry’s perfect isolation, Capello continued:

I spoke with some players, and only John Terry said this.

The Italian will be using it to try and draw a decent performance from his most senior centre-half, which would be something neither he nor Carlo Ancelotti has managed for the best part of 6 months now.

Eren Derdiyok – The Swiss striker had a golden chance to equalise in the 92nd minute against Chile. With only the keeper to beat and just 8 yards out he scuffed his shot wide. If he ever sleeps again I’ll be amazed.

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As always your thoughts on these selections are more than welcome, if you have any to add please just comment.

Day 1 | 11.43pm UK-Time

Sitting on the first leg of my flight to the World Cup, I can’t help but feel I’ve already won. Our party of three proved triumphant in that most heated of battles: the aeroplane seating lottery. Yes, I’m sitting by the emergency exits. Not only will I be the first out the door if something goes horribly wrong, but until it does I can enjoy the luxury of extra legroom.

It’s been a while since I travelled outside of Europe, so my aviation experiences have, for several years now, been confined to the torturous Ryanair. The luminous interior, incessant noise and confined space makes flying with them feel like having an MRI scan. In the Hadron Collider.

So when the stewardess on this Air Kenya flight started bringing me free food and drink I panicked. Surely it was going to cost me an arm, leg, or other valued appendage? But no, it’s all included. If I’d known I would’ve gone mental and ordered everything.

There is a screen in front of me which shows a real-time graphical representation of the plane’s progress. For some three hours now, I’ve watched this pixellated plane plod across the globe. As flight sim games go, it’s not exactly Rogue Squadron. Moments of drama have been few and far between: an early scare when the little plane on the screen appeared to be pointing the wrong way soon passed. Since then it’s been plain sailing. Flying, even.

I mentioned Kenya: between the hours of 4-7am UK-time we’ll be hanging out in Nairobi airport. A security guard back in London sternly informed me that the airport has a 24-hour bar which is renowned for serving excellent sausage-rolls. I find the ubiquity of the sausage-roll surprising and reassuring all at once.

There seem to be quite a few football fans on the flight. A Football Intelligence officer casually checked my details in the departure lounge, and I’ve seen a few England shirts dotted around the plane. We’re sat across from an America-based German (he’s not Jurgen Klinsmann, before you ask), who is anticipating a possible conflict of interest in the second round. To my left are two men, one Kenyan and one English, who appear to have struck up a friendship after discussing the finer points of the evolution from ‘Championship Manager’ to ‘Football Manager’.

The little plane on the screen blips onwards. Cairo is to the East, and to the West there’s Ouagadougou. All those letters, comparatively few scrabble points.

Time for a nap before Nairobi.

Day 2 | 05.24 UK-Time

Nairobi airport is full of screaming children and a hundred identical duty free shops. Much like Heathrow airport, then.

Our sausage roll quest ended in disappointment when we realised we neither knew what the Kenyan currency was, nor had any.

We bumped in to some travelling England fans who fitted enough stereotypes to terrify me to my very core. The leader of their pack fixed me with a glare so unflinching I was convinced he was going to thump me – glasses or no glasses. Turns out he was quite a harmless, affable sort of bloke.

A flight to Johannesburg and a trip to watch South Africa take on France in a fan park await. Thus far, I have had no sleep. It’s going to be a long, but hopefully memorable day.

It was all going so well.  I’d found my passport, packed my bags, and decided which football shirt to wear on the flight over (South Korea 2002, if you’re interested).  I’d just spent 45 minutes on the phone to a man who was more interested in talking to me about Sam Allardyce’s refusal to play Nikola Kalinic than selling me the travel insurance I’d asked for.  But I’d sorted it. And then, it happened.

Putting the phone down, I went to get up from the sofa, and collapsed in what I’ll exaggeratedly call ‘agony’.  With just hours until my flight, I suddenly knew Rio Ferdinand’s pain: my World Cup dreams were in danger of slipping away from me at the last possible hour.

All sorts of thoughts rushed through my mind: Could I cope with twelve hours cooped up in economy class?  If not, who would be the beneficiary of my ill-fortune – my ‘Michael Dawson’, if you will?

As it is, a hot bath and more ibuprofen than I should probably take have allowed me to pass a last-minute fitness test.  I’m on the plane.  Twenty hours or so until touchdown in Johannesburg, via breakfast in Nairobi.  See you on the other side.

WINNERS

Luis Fabiano
Two tremendous goals to end his international drought.  The first almost lifted the goalposts of the ground, whilst the second involved clever dribbling and a couple of well-disguised handballs.  You can almost forgive cheating when it looks this good.

Shane Smeltz
The former AFC Wimbledon striker must have thought his chance of World Cup glory was gone after he flashed a header wide against Slovakia.  Turns out he was saving his goal for a bigger target: Italy.

Ryan Nelsen
Gave the Italians a taste of their own catenaccio-flavoured medicine with a masterful defensive display.

LOSERS

Kader Keita
Appears, like Rivaldo before him, to have a highly-sensitive nerve that runs from his lower body to his face.  It’s the only possible explanation for this reaction.

John Terry
Last Man Back says it best: The Ego Has Landed.

Patrice Evra
Likely to undergo the same fate as Terry and be stripped of the captaincy of his country after leading his country in a strike at the training camp.  The French?  Giving up?  Who’d've thought it…

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Your thoughts/ammendations/abuse welcome, as ever.