The staff of Worldview can't handle international events and the World Cup alone. We've recruited four special commentators to help us along. Jesse Hardman, who served as our 2002 World Cup commentator, is back and will be posting his thoughts on the World Cup blog throughout the tournament. And we'll also be hearing from our listener aficionados Euan Hague, Pavel Yusim, and Dan Shalin.

Thank You And Good Night
Posted by noreply@blogger.com (Pavel Yusim) on 7/11/2006 6:22:07 PM

FIFA bent over backwards trying to force-feed Fair Play to the participants, but the Holland vs. Portugal match still devolved into a brawl. Holland's loss broke my heart, and watching Valentin Ivanov's descent into Dostoevskian madness made me cringe, but that match produced a moment that to me was the most poignant of the entire World Cup:

Boulahrouz, Gio, and Deco, the three players sent off in the second half, did not leave the stadium. Instead, they were sitting on the sidelines right next to one another. When the camera focused on them somewhere in stoppage time, I saw that Gio was having a conversation with Deco.

Gio and Deco are teammates in Barcelona, so I presume they were speaking Spanish, a language that Boulahrouz, who never played in Spain, probably does not understand, so he was just staring straight ahead, shifting uncomfortably.

I scoured the Web for an image of this scene, but could not find it. It is hard to explain why I found it so appealing. There is, of course, the usual fascination with how it reflects today's hyperlinked, hyperglobalized world. An Indonesian Dutchman and a Brazilian Portuguese are conversing in Spanish, while a Moroccan Dutchman looks on. We have seen and heard all that a gazillion times in recent years. Yawn.

Instead, I think this image reveals the nature of Germany '06. You see, this was a low-scoring, hard-fought, emotional World Cup. Cristiano Ronaldo cried on three separate occasions. Punches were thrown after the Germany-Argentina game. Finally, Zidane let his white-knuckle rage explode minutes before the whole thing was over.

You see, this was a hardscrabble, working-man's World Cup. The boys may read humanitarian messages before the game, they may shake hands or exchange some symbolic paraphernalia, but when the ball begins to roll, the fight is on. Still, when it's all over, it's over - you can get some sandwiches, open some beers, and shoot the breeze about the whole thing.

Here in the United States, soccer has an odd reputation. It is a game of the immigrant and the intellectual. The cabdriver and the college professor. Americans often watch soccer to broaden their horizons, to catch some exotic names and feel connected to faraway cultures. This World Cup offered plenty of that, but also something else - a sport in its purest form. A bunch of boys from what is increasingly the same neighborhood battling it out.

When I was a little kid, we used to play a game. It involved taking turns kicking a ball against a wall. At the end, the losers lined up facing the wall and bent over, while the winners once again took turns kicking the ball, except this time their objective was to hit the losers squarely on the ass. Getting hit on the ass by a well-aimed soccer ball is unpleasant, but being smashed head first into a brick or a concrete wall by the impact is really painful. Locking your elbows was crucial.

Now, how many kids here in the United States had an experience like this? My guess is, not many. And, silly as it may sound, that is the reason the game is not that popular here.

So, all of you out there watching the games, listening to Worldview and reading this blog, here is my advice to you - get out there and play. Find a field where a bunch of surly-looking Poles are playing a game and join in. They will refuse to pass you the ball, but then you can prove yourself - block some shots with your body, get hit on the ass with the ball, and there you will have it - instant history. Something to tell your kids about to make them want to play.

And that is all I have to say to you stragglers who are still reading this two days after the World Cup ended. And also this - it has been awesome. I want to thank everyone who has been reading this, my fellow bloggers, and Worldview for setting this up. Every four years I get swept up into the World Cup. If you get World Cup Fever, I get World Cup Typhoid Fever. In my posts, I have tried to illustrate why it means as much as it does, and I was thrilled to see that people were paying attention.

Four years from now, I plan on going down to South Africa to report from there. Look for me!

My first soccer coach was our neighbor, two doors down, Hans Schroeder, a wiry man with long silver hair that seemed to branch out wherever it felt like given the day.
A 3rd grader at the time, I didn?t fully understand or appreciate that Hans was German. I was too worried that his big angry dog, also German, would unceremoniously end my short life before I would go on to do great things, like 4th grade. Hans?s practices were not about fun and lets kick a ball, they were full blown training sessions, with running, and drills, and lots of orange cones. I found my game that season, and was rewarded with a nickname, Hans said the best in Europe all had them, I became ?the Needle?. We did not lose that season and I think we all walked away with a sense that we had experienced something unique, beyond the half time orange slices and Capri Suns. Hans was from somewhere else, a place where soccer was about strategy and passion and beauty, and he had instilled that in us.
That?s the thing, growing up in the US in the 80?s, soccer was there, but it wasn?t a dream, it wasn?t a passion, it was something your German neighbor watched on PBS once a week with commentators who had funny English accents. There was very little sense the United States had a national soccer team, let alone one that would play in the World Cup. Then the Red White and Blue qualified, barely, for the 1990 Cup in Italy, and praise the lord soccer was on television. Countries and names and amazing goals flooded into my consciousness for the first time. A forward named Jurgen Klinsmann, the star coach of this World Cup, led Germany to the championship over Maradona?s Argentina. I was in love.
My high school coach only fueled my burgeoning interest with his video library of classic World cup matches. Before big games we would be excused from class and summoned to a small school theatre to watch footage of things like a France, Brazil shoot out from Mexico City, 1986. We chanted Viva le Blue as France?s star, Platini danced his way around the field. The World Cup became the benchmark, we all wanted to play like the foreign heroes that graced the tube. One of our rank and file actually made the jump from the high school video room to the field in Korea/Japan 2002.
While most of us don?t make that big a leap, packed bars across the US at noon on a Sunday to watch the World Cup final means we have at least jumped in the water. I myself walked over to the nearest cookie cutter Local to watch with hundreds of people, at least two of them priests in full regalia who had obviously found a higher calling. As play pressed and France scored my memory kicked in and I began chanting Viva le Bleu, as if it had been Platini and not Zidane with the goal. Half the bar screamed ?Zizou,? the other half erupted when Italy equalized with a brilliant corner and header. Who knows how many of the fans were actually French or Italian. Down the block an East African café was filled with Somali and Eritrean men screaming along with the thousands in the Berlin Stadium. A British pub was about to collapse under the weight of hundreds on its roof watching outside in the summer heat. Everywhere I went it was on.
I could analyze yesterday?s game, which had its great moments and like any final, it?s stories. Zidane?s angry attack will overshadow his beautiful penalty. Italy?s quality was not flashy, but effective. I?m still enjoying the fact that I got to watch it all. Part of what is unique about the World Cup in the US is that we are both still new to it, and yet thanks to our diversity, we are full of it. My first soccer coach Hans probably threw his shoe through his television when Germany gave up two late goals to Italy. The hundreds of Italian Americans flooding Boston?s North End were simultaneously in euphoria. And many, myself included, were secretly happy that the US didn?t make it too far, because then we were free to pick another team.
A good friend of mine went to Germany for the opening round, attending all 3 of the US games. His favorite memory was walking into a Mexican restaurant and watching a game with fans from around the world while Mexico supporters poured Cuervo down his throat. But his other favorite memory was of the people who comprised the US fan base. He was taken by the cultural, racial and geographic diversity of the crowd, including what he said was an overwhelming number of Southerners. And if to put an exclamation point on this evolution, my new favorite soccer fan emerged from the darkness of our global isolationism yesterday and attended the World?s greatest spectacle. There he was, grinning like he does. Bill Clinton, hob knobbing with other world leaders, leaders who have World Cup histories and trophies and moments. Yes Bill still represents a team that has yet to win, but he also represents a country that has come a long long way.

When Zinedine Zidane walked off the field in Berlin today, it was not only the end of his competitive career. It was the end an entire generation of soccer players representing France, one of the finest generations to ever play the game.

You can call it the Zidane generation. Like the Platini generation of the 80s, it made a mark on the game as a whole, except this generation achieved much greater success. It was uniquely French, in my opinion - a bunch of players of various extractions, invariably coached by a prim-looking white guy. In dirigiste France, that is always the way - the man in charge is a good old boy, and he tells the people what to do. The people ignore him and do everything their own way. From the very beginning, back in 1998, I could never escape the feeling that these French teams were self-coached. It seemed that when they lined up to sing the Marseillaise, the were rallying not against their opponent, but against the suit in charge. I know what you are thinking - "put down that Victor Hugo book, Pavel." Well, I saw what I saw, and you missed it, so go pound sand.

They won the World Cup in '98. They won the Euro in 2000. They failed in the most miserable way in 2002. They made this World Cup beautiful. Zidane made the final of this World Cup ugly. They could fly high and they could sink low. They could be as gracious as they could be vicious. Soccer is a spectator sport, and boy, did they ever keep us entertained! And now they are gone.

After the Platini generation retired, France skipped two World Cups - that is a long period of oblivion, and a new one is likely to begin right now. But before it does, here are some of the highlights and the lowlights of what has been:

June 18, 1998 - Zinedine Zidane, the captain and star of the host nation of the 1998 World Cup, kicks a Saudi player and gets red-carded. No one bats an eyelash - he must be another talented jackass who ain't got what it takes.

July 8, 1998 - Lilian Thuram scores the only 2 goals he would ever score for the national team in 120 appearances to turn around the semifinal against Croatia.

July 12, 1998 - France wins its first ever World Cup. Zidane scores twice.

July 2, 2000 - In the Euro final against Italy, the French team ties the match deep into stoppage time. A goal by Trézéguet wins the Euro for France.

June 11, 2000 - The French team walks off the field in Incheon, South Korea. They are eliminated from the World Cup - the only defending champions ever to not score a single goal.

June 13, 2004 - Zidane scores two goals in stoppage time to turn around a match against England.

June 25, 2004 - Defending champion France, led by Zidane, completely runs out of ideas against Greece in their quarterfinal clash. Greece goes on to win the Euro.

August 2004 - Zinedine Zidane, Lilian Thuram, and Claude Makélélé retire from the national team.

August 2005 - Zinedine Zidane, Lilian Thuram, and Claude Makélélé come out of retirement to help the flagging national team qualify for World Cup 2006.

June 18, 2006 - France gets its second tie in a row at the World Cup. Zidane gets his second yellow in the waning seconds of the match. If France fails to beat Togo, Zidane will never play again.

June 23, 2006 - France beats Togo without Zidane to advance to the knockout stage of World Cup 2006.

July 9, 2006 - Zidane delivers a vicious, if well-executed, headbutt to the chest of the Italian Marco Materazzi, in the extra time of the World Cup 2006 final. He is sent off. Italy wins the World Cup on penalty kicks. The entire French team remains stoic in the face of defeat, except for Lilian Thuram, who weeps openly.

That headbutt is now part of World Cup lore. I think that, at that point, with 10 minutes left in extra time, Zidane knew that the Master Plan had failed. His team could not produce another goal, and the winner would be decided by the farce that is a penalty shootout. He did not want to lose that way. Hell, he did not even want to win that way, so he did what felt right - knocked out the asshole who had been bothering him and walked away.

Isn't it how we end up doing the dumb things we do? For a single fleeting instant, it makes absolute sense to do the wrongest thing. And in the next instant, it is all over and you are left with a lifetime of regret. It is not easy to understand this, but that is what having a temper is like - you can control it, but you cannot kill it. One day your brain will short-circuit, and a voice will tell you - 'Do it. Now. This is exactly what you need to do.' It may take you only a second to get it under control again, but it will be too late.

I have no doubt that is what happened to Zidane today. His temper is part of his legacy, so we have to accept it and not get sanctimonious on him. His game was unbelievable. Without him there would be no Zidane Generation. We can only hope there are more players like him in the future, temper and all.

That means 'here is tomorrow' - and that tomorrow has arrived at last for the... Ok, that one's going nowhere fast, so I will just say this:

Forza Italia!

Once in a great while, Italy comes to the World Cup, underwhelms, then overwhelms and takes the trophy back home while everyone else looks on, dumbfounded. Today, they simply outlasted France, all the way down to the last penalty kick. How very Italian of them.

Forza!

I'd like to applaud yesterday's 3rd place match, which in World Cup loserly tradition was a great, unencumbered, wide open match. Germany showed what a truly great team they were this Cup,
and Klinsmann
What a great coach he has become. Not only did he select an amazing cadre of talent, but he even managed some gamesmanship in the midst of winning games, yesterday making sure every player who had yet to get minutes in the World Cup played.
Youth was definately served on the German and Portuguese side, Cristian Ronaldo sweeping up the field, Schweinsteiger rocketing the ball on goal (which was nice to see as 90 % of shots in the past games seem to be aimed at the International Space Station. I don't get why good players, like Cristian Ronaldo, don't forgo the spectacular and simply try to shoot low and on net, you never know what might happen)

We had a
Portugal's Petit seemed lost out there, a 0-0 halftime sub, he came into the game and promptly gave Schweinsteiger more space than the Louisiana Purchase to blister goals one and three. Mr. Petit also got a nice World Cup tattoo, as Schweinsteiger deflected a laser off the poor man into the net.

Figo got into the mix with an assist, and the probably retiring Oliver Kahn, left out of the Cup so far, was given a game by starting keeper Lehman. I had forgotten what a scary beast King Kahn is...

--Oliver says, "Figo, I will eat your head now to celebrate my domination."

Why am I recapping a 3rd place game? Because it was a well played game, energetic, entertaining, good story lines including the Germans wanting to give the home fans a good send off. It was fun football. There is a reason 3rd place games average 4 goals. Teams relax a little, there isn't as much on the line, but obviously they still want to win.

The Final is often tense, teams tied down by a fear of losing as much as the excitement of a possible Championship. I suspect France's experience and Italy's organized approach will help avoid Germany's somewhat blah loss to Brazil in 2002 and Ronaldo's jitters in France 1998.
I hope so.

I'd love to see a 2-1 game as Dan proposed. Especially with an early goal to force the other team's hand.
I'm a sucker for an underdog, especially when it's got some good stories, like France does. I like Dan's suggestion to start Trezeguet. The guy certainly will have energy after watching the Cup so far.
I hope the game doesn't come down to the bumbling Barthez, the one glaring weak link on either side, that would be unfortunate.
I guess in the end I'm as much a fan of history and sociopolitical nuance as I am the actual game. I like the image of the multicultural France triumphing in the Berlin Olympic stadium, a place that a little more than a half century ago they would have been scorned.
I realize that sounds a bit sappy, maybe it means I'm ready to be an ESPN commentator.
Go France.

I just want to thank Professor Cliff Hague for his entertaining and insightful contribution to the Blog. He and Euan have now become the Worldview World Cup Website's equivalent of the Gudjohnsens. I refer, of course, to Eidur(now of Barcelona and formerly of Chelsea) and his father Arnor, who became the first father and son to play in the same international football match when they appeared for Iceland against Estonia in 1996.

I understand that if the topic of this blog had not been "World Cup 2006," but rather "Theories and Evidence confirming the English Football Association's nearly century-long conspiracy against Manchester United," that Hague Sr.'s entry may have been slightly longer.

Anyway, Happy 40th Anniversary to Euan's parents (referenced in one of Hague Jr.'s earlier entries). The question is whether the couple's ruby anniversary will be marked by a similar event as their wedding summer; by a native of Ashton-under-Lyne, England helping to lead his team to a World Cup title.

In 1966, it was Ashton's Geoff Hurst scoring the hat trick in England's triumph. Sunday, Italy's left wing Simone Perrotta could become the town's second World Cup winner. He was born in the Greater Manchester community (pop. 43,000) and lived there until he was six, when his family returned to its native Italy.

I have to say the signs do in fact point to Perrotta and Co. raising the Jules Rimet at Berlin's Olympiastadion.

The Azzurri (my pre-tournament pick for the final, though Sunday will be the fifth time in seven games I root against them) have their usual impenetrable defense. Buffon can be spectacular and will not make Barthez-esque mistakes. Their workrate on the backline and in the midfield is tremendous, led by bulldogs Cannavaro and Gattuso. But it's the diversity of the attack that impresses me, as evidenced by having 10 different goalscorers in this tournament. In the recent past, outside backs like Maldini and Panucci would elegantly bring the ball up the wing and stop well short of the box. Now, Zambrotta and Grosso keep going forward. Down the flanks, true to their places of birth, the Argentine Camoranesi brings a little Latin flair while the English Perrotta plays a more direct, muscular British game. With Pirlo in the form of his life, Totti has become a luxury. He's always capable of a moment of magic, but the team's success no longer depends on it.

The only concern is up front. But Lippi deserves credit for adding forwards as the game goes on (and for having chosen a number of forwards in order to do just that, Sven). Look for Inzaghi to get a chance on Sunday. I have no inside information. But, I am rooting heavily for France and I cannot think of a more disappointing way for a team to lose than on a goal by that guy (see Champions League semifinal Milan v. Lyon).

Something else that I think the Italians have in their favor: their starters against Germany, which figure to be the XI against France, were all between the ages of 27-32. While I do agree with the Financial Times' Simon Kuper who recently wrote that a football player's prime is much younger than most coaches think, I also know that Italy is not relying on young minds (Ribery) or old legs (Zidane, Thuram, Makelele).

But . . . Italy does not have Zidane and, more importantly, they do not have Thierry Henry. We have all seen the Arsenal forward win games by himself, a Michael Jordan on grass. I will continue to believe he has one of those performances in him with the national team. Something that has been very interesting to note with Henry has been his evolution, or should we say devolution, since the Champions League Final. Remember, after the loss to Barcelona he said he was being kicked all game, but did not go to ground because he "was not a woman?" The man is one of my favorite athletes of all-time, but he has, unfortunately, now made a conscious decision to start selling fouls. The dramatic license he took after being elbowed by Spain's Puyol (interestingly the man he said was kicking him at the Stade de France) and the flop after getting tripped by Carvalho (would he have earned the spot kick otherwise?) have led to two of France's biggest goals. It's a shame Henry has felt it necessary to get in touch with his feminine side, though I blame the sport more than the player.

France had a game plan against Portugal and they executed it to perfection. A similar scheme is unlikely to work again. If I'm Raymond Domenech, I give Italy a bit of a different wrinkle by starting Trezeguet up front with Henry. This allows the Arsenal man to have free reign on the left (in the absence of Malouda). Trezeguet is certainly fresh and the opposition just might help him play like he's in a Serie A match or on the training ground in Turin. The only problem with this tactic is Saha's suspension, which would make Wiltord the only available striker off the bench. Starting Trezequet is a gamble. But France's ageing legs might require them to score earlier rather than later.

I also think Domenech could finally get burned by removing Henry late in the game, which he did against Brazil and Portugal. Sure, the Arsenal man is tired. But if either of those teams got a late equalizer, the world's best forward would have been on the bench during extra time.

So, my prediction: Henry opens the scoring 15 minutes in with a classic run down the left, cut back and right-footed curl past Buffon. Toni equalizes just before halftime when Barthez spills a Pirlo free kick. Then, in the 77th minute history repeats itself, somewhat. Zidane, who is clearly running on fumes, plays the ball into space down the right, the sub Govou beats Grosso to it, crosses and (reminiscent of the Euro 2000 Final) Trezeguet slides and pokes it in at the far post. France defends with everything they've got and get lucky to have a Gilardino penalty claim waived off in the final minutes. 2-1 Final. Let the party begin along the Champs-Elysees!

Today, when the narrative arc of this World Cup is about to wind down, I am finding it enormously appropriate that its final match will be played between France and Italy.

The Italian team came to Germany following a brutal match-fixing scandal in Serie A. Eight of the team's starters play for clubs that may be forcibly relegated for their roles in the scandal. These boys came to Germany to redeem Italian football in front of the rest of the world, but probably even more importantly, to redeem themselves in front of their fans back home.

The French came here accompanied by a barrage of jeers from the press and fans of all stripes and colors. Four years ago they came to the World Cup as defending champions, and their defense of the title was the worst in recent memory, if not ever. This time, they barely squeaked through the qualifying process. It is universally held that if it were not for the return of Zidane and Thuram, Les Bleus would be watching this one from their wheelchairs couches. At this World Cup, everyone expected the old and slow French team to be overrun by the younger, fitter Swiss, Koreans, and Togolese.

Well, the Italian players will still be in deep Kaká when they return home. The French are still over the hill. The only difference is that all of these boys have proven that they are top of the pile now, regardless of how their future turns out. This is exactly what they came here to prove. Having something to prove is the best motivator, and that is why these teams will meet in the final.

And now for the Final Analysis. No, not for the early 90s psychothriller where Richard Gere tries to save Uma Thurman from Eric Roberts, but it turns out that Uma Thurman is evil, but not as evil as Kim Basinger. It is time to figure out who is going to win the final.

The French have been awesome. They are a great team and a great story. Zidane's comeback and subsequent hoisting and kissing of the Cup will make a story to rival Pete Samras' comeback to win the U.S. Open a few years ago. All right, it will eclipse the bejesus out of that story. But winning matches still boils down to scoring.

France had no problem outscoring the sheepish Spaniards. They completely shutdown the Brazilian offense, but Brazil never had what it takes in this competition - Ronaldinho never had chemistry with any of his strikers, and Ronaldo never had the speed necessary to find himself in position to receive the ball when playing against the likes of Lilian Thuram. That brings us to the semifial against Portugal.

Every time I watched Portugal play, I was reminded of the fluidity of the modern game. The Portuguese attack is fast, creative, and extremely fluid - every one of their offensive players can appear anywhere on the pitch. At times it looked like they were running circles around the Dutch, English, and French defense, but the problem is that they only scored once in 3 matches. For whatever reason, they are not the best finishers, these Portuguese.

Well, Italians are the best finishers. Their entire game is built on clinical finishing. Also, none of their strikers are fat and they are no timid bunch. To beat them, the French will have to improve their defense and their offense, and I am not sure if they can squeeze any more out of themselves. So let us break this one down:

Intangibles - Italy trumps France (see above).

Goalkeeping - Buffon trumps Barthez.

Defense - Cannavaro vs. Thuram is a toss-up.

Midfield - Zidane trumps everyone.

Offense - Henry trumps Luca Toni, but these guys are really not what constitutes offense on these teams. It's Zidane, Vieira, and Ribery for France, and Pirlo, Grosso, Gilardino, Zambrotta, and a few other guys for Italy. Italy outnumbers France.

So, here is my Final Prediction - Italy will win the World Cup. Watch and weep.

It's been a busy two weeks, but my in-laws are now back in South Dakota with a new appreciation for football. Harry, my father-in-law, who manfully sat through hours of turgid England and Portugal games, wanted to understand the offside rule more fully so I found a small Football Rules book in my local Oxfam thrift store and spent £1.99 on it (that's about $3, acutally given the poor exchange rate for the dollar at the moment, it's nearer $4). Published by the English Football Association and richly iullustrated with pictures of Wayne Rooney, I wondered whether I should buy copies of this rule book for him and for some of the referees at the tournament. Do you think FIFA have at last noticed what a difference it makes when a referee doesn't book 10 players in the first five minutes? The Italy v. Brazil game was the best of the World Cup (so far...) partly because the players were free to just get on with it.

I ended up with three of my £1 bets being successful, winning a total of £25. My biggest winner was £1 on Italy, Germany, Portugal and France being the four semi-finalists. That won £15. The other two winning bets were England v. Portugal and Germany v. Argentina to both be draws at 90 minutes. I decided to pocket the cash rather than "re-invest" it at the bookies, so I'll be buying a month's supply of Irn Bru to bring back to Chicago! To learn more about Irn Bru, visit http://www.irn-bru.co.uk/

Christiano Ronaldo, unsurprisingly, is public enemy number one in England. There was an article in the paper about how police forces throughout England are already making plans to increase security at games when he is playing next season. I'm pretty sure he'll be in Madrid by Christmas - but do Real need Ronaldo? I agree that he is a skillful player, but he's not really progressed in the last three years and has the frustrating tendency to blast the ball over the bar from ridiculous angles and distances when a pass would be a better option. Or he just falls over and claims a free kick, which he will then blast wide before looking bemusedly in the direction of the ball as if that's never happened before. They're talking about a £22m ($40m) transfer fee in the media here - that's money that's better received than spent! By the way, Ronaldo said in the papers today: "I am Wayne Rooney's friend." I think he might be the only person with that opinion.

I'm leaning towards Italy in the final and think they'll win 2-1. They're a team whereas most of the other competitors at this World Cup have been more like good players pushed into unfamiliar positions with unfamiliar colleagues and tactics. Despite France's renaissance, Henry still looks half the player he is at Arsenal. The press noted that his goal against Brazil was the first that he'd ever scored from a Zidance assist. Personally, I've always been a fan of tackling midfielders and must say I like how Gattuso has been playing. To get through 120 minutes of the semi-final without a booking was a great performance, especially given the amount of work he got through. I saw Gattuso playing for Rangers in a game against Hearts about 6 or 7 years ago. He was the best player on the pitch and already ran the midfield as a 17-year-old. Of course, I like Zidane as well. Another stat in the paper here noted he averages 4.2 seconds per possession - by far the highest of any outfield player at the World Cup. He's been the best player of his generation and deserves to go out on a high, but in 1970 Italy lost the final to Brazil. 12 years later, in 1982, they won it against Germany. 12 years after that, in 1994, they lost the final to Brazil and 12 years after that, in 2006...

Cheers, Euan

Bravissimo! Belissimo! If I knew more Italian superlatives I'd add them. I watched the semi-final with Peter, a German friend. We were in Brussels for a meeting, earlier in the day. By kick-off time bars were packed, crowds stood on the sidewalks outside peering in to glimpse the big screens as best they could. On a hot humid night Peter and I managed to squeeze inside, drink good Belgian beer, and follow the plot as it unfolded.

If it went to penalties, Germany would win. Peter knew that. The way they had dispatched Argentina in the quarter-final was self-stereotyping: confident and efficient. In contrast, Italy have a record of losing penalty shoot-outs. Their first priority, as always, would be not to concede a goal. Sloppy defending is about as Italian as a super-size burger, with soggy lettuce and ersatz fries. So Italy would have no anxiety about the scores being 0-0 after 90 minutes... but they would be determined to avoid a tie at the end of extra time.

The minutes ticked down. More and more Italy were probing down their right, where Lahm was constantly left exposed as the only defender. In contrast every German attacker found himself outnumbered as Italy's midfield and defenders gave a classic display of co-ordinated positioning and precision tackling. Gattuso and Pirlo were outstanding, and once possession had been won they set the tempo for the team to move forward as a unit.

Eric Cantona, artist, existentialist philosopher, football genius, once said that a great goal has to be both important and beautiful. Grosso's 118th minute glorious arc met both criteria; Del Piero's finale only the second, but still ignited a wave of ecstacy from the Italians crammed into our bar.

The whistle went. The doors burst open. The streets became a swirl of tricolores. Chants of "Ital-ia, Ital-ia" echoed round the grandiose columns of the Bourse. Parades of cars hooting their horns spread the celebration. As midnight struck, Brussels became Roma, Milano, Napoli. An excited young woman hugged Peter and said "I can't believe it. We've beaten Germany. Isn't it fantastic?"

So on Sunday afternoon, you guys in Chicago need to get yourself into one of the Italian bars with a big TV tuned, like the rest of the planet will be, to the match. Then sit back and enjoy the drama. Euan will be watching it with the rest of our family (I'm his Dad and standing in for him this time on the Blog, because he's busy showing his in-laws the delights of tartan Scotland). World Cup Finals are family affairs, milestones marking your passage through life. Don't miss this one.


Euan's Dad

When Alessandro Del Piero scored the second goal to confirm Italy's spot in the World Cup Final, there was no doubt delirium from Trento to Catanzaro (yes, I just Googled a map of Italy to find a very Northern point and a very Southern point). But as Del Piero curled the ball into the corner of Lehmann's goal, I couldn't help but think of a young boy from Naples. Let me explain.

In the fall 2002, on my honeymoon in Italy, my wife and I took a side trip to Naples to watch the Italian National Team take on Yugoslavia in a Euro 2004 qualifier at Estadio San Paulo.

A phone call to the U.S. Soccer Federation had yielded complementary tickets to the match courtesy of the Italian Football Federation (A wedding gift they said, though it will probably lead to my being called to testify in the Luciano Moggi corruption trial at some point). Our seats were in the Tribune, the more laid-back section of the crowd where we were surrounded by families and business men and others who probably received tickets from the federation.

In front of us, a father sat with his two sons, about 6 and 10 years old. The younger boy was standing next to his father and wearing a Del Piero jersey. The match began, and every time the Juventus forward took a free kick or corner, the little boy chanted in his high-pitched voice "Del Piero, Del Piero." As a free kick sailed just over the bar and a corner was corralled by the goalkeeper, the father turned to his son and uttered something in Italian that appeared to be "don?t worry, keep cheering and the great Del Piero will come through for us eventually." Others around us also gave the boy words of encouragement.

Then, midway through the first half, Del Piero's free kick from 30 yards deflected off the wall and past Jevric the goalkeeper. The stadium erupted. But nobody in the 50,000 was happier than the father and his little boy. The father picked up the smiling kid and kissed him several times, as if the child had actually scored the goal. He then held the boy aloft, turning him around to show everyone the name on the back of the jersey. "Del Piero, Del Piero" they both shouted. A few people, strangers, tousled the boy's hair. Without the real Del Piero to congratulate, the people in Section A Rows AA-CC were expressing their gratitude to the mini Del Piero. But the good times wouldn't last.

Yugoslavia tied the score. Italy began to go into a defensive shell (imagine that). They created a few chances, but Del Piero was poor in front of net. He began turning the ball over and he ballooned a couple of free kicks. Midway through the second half, the crowd was frustrated with the striker, whose form with the national side was often below his form with Juve. As the crowd whistled in derision at another Italy turnover, the little boy shouted "Mama Mia, Mamma Mia." The father, meanwhile, was seething with anger. He directed obscenities at the field in-between sips from a large plastic water bottle. More poor play by the team in the skin-tight blue Kappa jerseys, more howls and whistles from the crowd. With 10 minutes remaining the Italian attack had gone completely stagnant and it seemed inevitable that Trappatoni's men would not be taking the three points as expected.

It was all apparently too much for the father in front of me to take. He looked at his little son, though maybe he saw the face of Del Piero. Then, with a swing worthy of a bar fight, he cracked the boy over the head with the nearly empty water bottle. The sound of plastic crumpling on skull got the attention of several people, and they turned and looked in astonishment. I too was flabbergasted. Amazingly, the little boy hardly flinched, which allowed me to see some humor in the incident. However, the older brother looked scared. The father just stood there staring at his youngest son, trying to comprehend what he had just done. He soon began to shake his head as if to say "Wow! I have really gone too far this time." Then, he did the equivalent of issuing himself a red card, quickly gathering up the two boys and heading for the exits. For me, the final minutes of the 1-1 game were a blur after having witnessed one of the all-time worst examples of a fan losing perspective.

The incident was a bizarre end to a bit of a surreal evening. Before the game, my wife had almost been trampled by a horde of Italy fans chasing the team bus outside the stadium. The pregame warm-ups were done with Kenny G music blasting over the P.A., designed, I think, to pacify sections of the notoriously rowdy Neopolitan crowd. Then there was the sight of dozens of riot police patrolling an away section with seven Yugoslavia fans. The rest of the traveling support had run into visa problems back in Belgrade. But nothing was stranger than the angry father and his little Del Piero.

This Sunday, fans across Italy, from Civitaveccia to Vieste (Google again), will be glued to their television sets to see if the Azzurri can lift the nation's first Jules Rimet trophy in 24 years. I have to admit that I will be rooting for the French. However, for reasons that should be obvious, I will also hope Del Piero performs well.

I have to say, considering expectations, predictions, hopes and dreams for this World Cup, we have a pretty solid final game, which is not always a given.
The keen observer will point out that I was down on France and disdainful of Italy for most of the World Cup, so I won't jump on any bandwagons now. But I will say that if you are a fan of high qualify football, like me, things turned out for the best.
Why I am happy...

1.To their credit Italy, and in comparison to their other games, Portugal(aside from some Figo and Ronaldo, who was at times magnificent, hijinks) played the game, staying away from excessive diving. Both games were end to end pressure and action.

2. The refereeing was superb in the semifinals, low on cards, high on letting players play.

3. Italy played to win against Germany, not giving up with mere minutes left, and scoring the game winner, a wonderful goal. France also played to win, their substitutes against Portugal were all attacking players, instead of taking a page from Argentina's failure by packing it in and hoping.

4. No Brazil and no Germany in the final, the first time we can say this since 1978.

5. Great goalkeeping. The bar I watched the France Italy game in erupted at the site of Portugal's goalie coming in to compete for corners at the end of the game. It got even louder when he kept the ball in France's end with a back to goal volley. Italy's Buffon rarely looks spectacular, if you watch him closely you'll realize that is because he has excellent positioning, he always knows where to be. Lehman was great. Barthez, not so great, but extremely entertaining.

6. We've seen a lot of terrible penalty kicks taken in this World Cup (The Swiss, Larrsen, Lampard and Gerrard come to mind). It's not the ideal way to decide a game, but that being said, Zidane's pk was wonderful. A. had it not been hit hard the goalie would have saved it. B. you have to love the fact that he took two steps and buried it. No hesitation.

France, with its experienced players, could and probably has coached itself.

Finally, you have two teams who have gotten better as the tournament has worn on, especially France. This has exponentially more potential than a final with two teams on their last legs, star players missing(as was the case last World Cup with Ballack), backing into a championship. Italy has scored eleven goals from ten different players and conceded only an own goal. France has beaten some of the better teams in the tournament, Spain and Brazil, to get to the final. You have two great defensive lines. Zidane vs. Pirlo in the middle, and the rest will be a surprise.

I can't wait

Disclaimer note: in the time honored tradition of being a curmudgeon, I must preface this positive take on the World Cup with the facts that A. Had Henry not flopped against Spain, France perhaps does not get the go ahead score and maybe is not still with us today. B. Italy got a questionable penalty to beat an Australian team that was poised to upset them in overtime, they too were lucky. But making the W. Cup final takes luck(the kind of luck that happened when Barthez gifted Portugal a chance, handing the ball to Figo who promptly headed it over the net), and good teams take advantage of their luck. Party on.

The little Italians spend the entire World Cup jumping up and down behind the gigantic Germans and towering Brazilians, screaming "We are here, please, please, notice us!"

Can you see them now? Picture 'em rollin', baby - these might be the World Champions in a few days. Gilardino, who celebrates scoring a goal by genuflecting on the sidelines and playing an imaginary violin. Alex del Piero, who every day looks more and more like Samir from Office Space. Even the hapless Luca Toni might become a legend come Sunday.

Most importantly, there are the Fab Fabios - Cannavaro and Grosso.

When I watch Fabio Cannavaro handle the ball in his own end, I cannot imagine anyone scoring against this team again. He is cool, calm and collected. He is smooth, seamless, and threadless. He hovers over the pitch. The ghost of the great Giacinto Facchetti hovers over him. Remember, the Italians have given up only one goal so far - a fluke deflection off Zaccardo's foot into his own net after a corner kick in the U.S. game.

In the waning seconds of the round of 16 match, Fabio Grosso made a breathtaking run down the left side only to be taken down by an Australian defender. The referee pointed to the penalty spot. This was probably not the right call. The foul looked a lot like a dive, but that is not what is remarkable here. The fact that a left fullback makes a run for it in the last minute of the game when his team is down a man - that is what's remarkable here. This team knows how to take calculated risks, which sometimes means throwing caution to the wind when the price is right. That is Calcio at its finest.

This ability to take a risk is what precluded Germany from winning yesterday's game - as the final whistle drew near, Germany became utterly paralyzed by the fear of losing. Phillip Lahm, their left wingback, could hardly ever be seen on the Italian half. Attacking with practically only the Ballack-Klose-Podolski triumvirate worked great against Sweden. It was starting to wear thin against Argentina, but after Argentina went ahead, Jose Pekerman made subs that were only designed to keep the status quo - not a shrewd move, and he paid the price. In the semifinal against Italy, the Germans were done for. It is pure karma that it was Fabio Grosso's amazing shot that put the kibosh on the German dream - one left wingback doing his job while the other was not. In hindsight, Germany was a solid top 4 team, but not a World Champion.

The world makes sense again.

How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? A bald and sweaty cloud that runs in circles around your midfielders, that is.

After I finished watching the England-Portugal game, I checked out of my hotel in Toronto, strapped on my France - Champion du Monde t-shirt, autographed by the entire 1998 team, and raced my bike down to Zazou Lounge, a hangout for French expats in Toronto. The place was packed, I ended up sitting on the floor, clutching my beer, surrounded by guys and gals in Zidane shirts, and oh, was it ever glorious - on the field and off.

When Ronaldo blocked a Zidane free kick with his hands and everyone jumped to their feet and held their breath as the camera panned on the referee reaching into his shirt pocket, only to explode in applause when he retrieved the yellow and showed it to Ronaldo - oh, was it ever glorious!

When, in the second half, Zidane curled his free kick to the far post, and Henry put it away in one quick acrobatic motion, was it ever glorious!

And then the best part came - the final whistle sounded and everyone ran out onto King Street, waving flags and chanting Vive La France. I made a couple of laps on my bike amidst the crowd, and then rode away. I did not want to see the jubilation die down.

This game reminded me of why I have that t-shirt in the first place - the French dominated in every department, and they won fair and square, with perfect defense and creative offense fueled by Zidane. If they had scored earlier, this would surely have been a rout, a la 1998.

France is the anti-Portugal of this World Cup - a team that plays a good, clean game and wins matches by scoring goals rather than picking fights with the opponent's best players. It is fitting, but also very scary that these two teams will meet in the semifinals.

Portugal is like that one kid in the neighborhood. Remember him, that one kid that always invokes some obscure rule that says that the ball should be turned over to his team, that the fair goal that you scored should not count, or that elbowing an opponent is somehow perfectly fine? You know that the rule does not exist, but when you call him on it, he bribes your friends with candy to get them to agree with him. You want to smack him, but that is exactly what he wants you to do.

I am sure everyone remembers a kid like that in their neighborhood. That kid is probably sitting in his house on the hill that he gained by trampling over others, and he is watching a game on his gianormous TV, and he is rooting for Portugal, and we do not want him to triumph, do we? No, we do not, and neither do Zidane and Company. That is why on Wednesday they will come out onto the beautiful, shimmering, scintillating pitch in Munich and they will kick some Portuguese ass. That is my prediction. Watch it come true, boys and girls, watch it come true.

If you are sad by the departure of Brazil, Argentina, or even Poland and Ghana from the World Cup, good news, you can still root for them, or at least players from those countries.

Argentines are still well represented with Mauro Camoranesi whose grandparents were Italian, therefore he chose to play for Italy.

David Trezeguet's father was an Argentine playing in France. He moved back to Argentina at the age of 2 and started his pro career there.

Portugal's coach Scolari is of course Brazilian, but so is star midfielder Deco, who was born in Brazil but took Portuguese citizenship when he started playing professionally there.

Germany has two players with Ghanaian roots, one, Gerald Asamoah, immigranted from Ghana in 1990. The other, David Odonkor's father is from Ghana.

Germany's star strikers are both Polish, Podolski and Klose.
The list goes on, meaning wherever you are from, there are still players, if not teams, to root for.

Well, what can I tell you that you don't already know. Wayne Rooney is a tempest in a teapot, although I felt he was unlucky yesterday, and personally, I wish he'd popped ManU teammate Cristian Ronaldo in the face after he walked off the field.(Look for him to do something of that sort when the Premiership season starts again).
Personally I like Rooney and his drive to win, even if it gets him into trouble, at least he's passionate.

I also looooooove Crouch. How's about his deft touch out there. He really added some spark to England. I also like his turning radius, it's about the same as a tractor trailer. ---a life size depiction of Crouchy

Sven Goran lost the game for England, as we all suspected he would. How could he not start a second forward with Rooney? Crouch and Rooney up top would have provided at least one goal. Sven and Bruce Arena both stuck to their one forward formations, and lost, in a miserable boring fashion. They should be exiled to a remote island together where one side of the island's population is coached by Bruce and the other by Sven and they play the 4-5-1 formation until somebody wins, meaning they can leave the island. This game will take decades effectively keeping them away from major competitions.

We know that Portuguese players are not well versed in anatomy. When they are kicked in the knee or the foot, they tend to grab their ankle or calf and do a few aikido rolls. I had a dream last night where I was walking on the sidewalk and along came Figo. I slapped him in the face and he grabbed his left ankle and rolled right into oncoming traffic.

I have to say, aside from the Rooney red card, the ref in the Portugal England game generally ignored the Portuguese acting, which was nice. I think some of those antics should get cards, maybe then they'd stop.
After much thinking, I've finally come to a place where I can see this new form of referreeing for what it is.
If all the yellow cards are an attempt to curtail violent tackles or perpetual rough play, that's not a bad thing. But, if games are going to be called differently, that means there will be a transition period where refs and players adjust. Therefore, it might have made sense to start this new ref philosophy during some of the club seasons, perhaps in the Champions league, so everyone could get a handle on it before the World Cup.

The Big Upset wasn't that big of an upset considering Brazil's play. Their seeming disconnect on the field was bound to do them in. I thought they'd get one late, especially with Ronaldhino's near goal on a set-play just outside the box. But Brazil didn't connect on any set plays the whole tournament. Ribery was great running at the four players Brazil asked to play sometimes behind the other six players. Henry's finish was nice, I am not quite sure how one of the best players in the world goes unmarked however. But what do I know.
I like France, I like how they have built a head of steam and confidence. I think a Germany France final would be a good one.

More later. I have to go play pick-up soccer with some Somalis I met. They play 4-4-2, and it is glorious.

Saturday, I capped off a memorable day of soccer with a large meal at one of those Brazilian streak places popping up all over Chicagoland. I'm trying to eat according to which countries are playing in the World Cup and thought I would be able to take care of Brazil next week. No so. The meal was good, but filling. For $32 it's all-you-can eat salad and meat, and waiters constantly come by with different cuts. By the end of the meal I was pretty darn stuffed and felt just like . . .like . . . if only I could think of a fat Brazilian.

What a day? I was rooting for England and France and, like many, was on the edge of my seat for the better part of five hours. Thankfully, the wonderful win by Les Bleus helped ease the pain, somewhat, of the England loss. However, my anger at Sven-Goran Eriksson may linger for some time. Did he get anything right in this tournament? His squad selection was ridiculous, his tactics laughable and his game management was atrocious. In a previous blog about Bruce Arena I mentioned how the U.S. coach should have shied away from the 4-5-1 formation Eriksson had experimented with and quickly abandoned in a pre-tournament warm-up. How nice to see the Swede?s failed formation return for the knockout stages.

Yes, Rooney?s sending off was a blow. I reluctantly stand-by my view that the groin stamp was accidental. In slow motion it looks deliberate, but real-time is less conclusive. It was two guys battling. Could Rooney have known Ricardo Carvalho was in such a vulnerable position behind him? Maybe. But I think Rooney's reputation preceded him. However, 10-man England still could have won this game.

I won't even go into the fact that Peter Crouch was the only available senior striker on the bench, that decision was made weeks ago. My biggest problem with Eriksson Saturday was his failure to use his last substitution until it was just too late; and even then in a totally ineffective manner. Fatigue was obviously a major factor on both sides in the sauna-like conditions in Gelsenkirchen; even more so for England, which was down a man. But Eriksson, I thought, had made a shrewd move by holding back his last sub. Portugal's third and final change had come in the 86th minute.Even with their extra man and fresher legs, Portugal did not dominate the extra sessions like they should have. Imagine how the introduction of a sub at the beginning of the second extra session might have swung the game back in England's favor. I had visions of the athletic Jermaine Jenas entering and making powerful runs through the middle past one tired maroon shirt after another. Perhaps he would draw a few free kicks or link up with his club mate Aaron Lennon down the wing. Nope. The announcers informed us that England did not even have any subs getting loose.

Yes, there was a risk that by using up the final sub, an injury could have reduced England to 9 men. But the alternative, of course, was hanging on for penalties. I know Sven was a teacher back in Sweden years ago, but clearly history was not his subject of expertise. England is now 1-5 in shootouts all-time and has exited three of their last four World Cups and two of their last three European Championships on PKs. As we all know, the coach eventually used his final sub, putting on Jamie Carragher with a minute left. He was on to basically take a penalty, which he missed.

I normally don't like to be too critical of officiating or coaching, but both have left something to be desired in this tournament. Why do these coaches over-think everything? Argentina?s Pekerman was blessed with Messi, Saviola and Aimar on his bench against Germany. If you put two of those guys on a 1-0 lead can grow to 2 or 3. At the very least, they will lead repeated attacks that keep the ball away from your own net. Everybody knows that.

Instead, he sent on Cambiasso (for a tired Riquelme) and Cruz. The team conceded a goal, had little firepower for the extra sessions and was eventually sent packing by Lehmann?s memorable performance in the shootout. Pekerman resigned immediately after the game. That decision and Eriksson's pre-tournament agreement with the F.A. to move on after the Cup were unfortunate because fans in Argentina and England were denied the opportunity of seeing their coaches fired.

Carlos Alberto Parreira of Brazil took the blame for his team's quarterfinal exit. Of course, a coach saying that has now become cliché, and is usually code for "it's all the players' fault." I was critical of him a month before the tournament when he named a starting lineup. Now, it seems that might have been the team's downfall. Instead of allowing the likes of Cicinho, Robinho, Gilberto (of Hertha Berlin) and Sevilla's in-form Daniel Alves (not even selected) to play themselves into the first team, he remained committed to Cafu, Roberto Carlos and Ronaldo. They are still good players, but are no longer Brazil's most dangerous. Parreira also started too many similar players in the midfield. Against France, he went with Kaka, Ronaldinho, Juninho and Ze Roberto. He should have paired two of them with two speedy wing players. As somebody pointed out, at club level, Ronaldinho has Eto'o and Giuly running onto the end of his passes.

Of course, France deserves all the credit for the victory. Is there any chance Zidane could reconsider his decision to retire from soccer, allowing us all the pleasure of watching him play for few more years?

My final thought on coaching is this. I feel Klinsmann and Scolari deserve praise because they have kept it simple. They have stuck with the same system and their lineups have been consistent. Also, they seem to get the right subs on and at the right time. On Friday, Germany was trailing for the first time in the tournament. But Argentina's left back Sorin picked up a yellow card leaving him somewhat vulnerable. The moment called out for Germany's pacy right wing Odonkor, who had helped to turn the Poland game in the first round. Instead of waiting too long, like Arena and Eriksson had done too often with their subs, Klinsmann got the player on the field with 30 minutes remaining in the game. Though his crosses weren't great, Odonkor's speed caused a lot of trouble down the flank and his introduction coincided with Germany's best spell of play in the contest.

Finally, this from the German game. How many times will the world television feed show German Chancellor Angela Merkel in the crowd without the ESPN announcers identifying her? No, she's not as familiar as Franz Beckenbauer or Sepp Blatter. But she is Germany's first female Chancellor. And she is being shown on camera more-and-more each game. Obviously, the announcers don't know her, but wouldn't somebody at ESPN like to find out why they keep showing that woman?

"Can you please take my bags up?" Ronaldo asked the porter nearest to him.

"Yes, sir." The porter reached for the largest bag, grunted, but still could not dislodge it.

"That's one heavy bag, sir. Books?"

"No, this my baggage from the France '98 final. It's always with me. I take it on the field with me."

Many of us soccer fans who are soooo ready for Brazil to get one in the nads wish this were, in fact, true, don't we? Well, who says it isn't? The last two times Brazil and France played, those matches were the most memorable in their respective World Cups (1986 and 1998). Also, France won both of those encounters.

I can break down Brazil until I am Verde-Amarelo in the face. For this encounter, though, I would rather be Bleu in the face. Brazil is great, as always. They have the Ronaldos - big and little, they may have Kaka or Juninho instead of him. Besides Zidane, they are up against relative nobodies, like Franck Ribery, the hardest-working, although not the prettiest, man in showbusiness. On paper, Brazil is an absolute favorite.

But then, in the history of this competition, Brazil lost 12 times, and every one of those times they were the absolute favorite. It's all about destiny, baby, and it's on the side of the old and the bold today.

Pavel's red-blooded, Louis Vuitton-wearing, Chateau Latour-swilling Grand Prediction is: Les Bleu in 1.

Say what you will about Luis Figo's headbutting Mark Van Bommel, but it was, among other things, an act of leadership. Figo realized that the referee's grip on the reins of the match was loosening, so he helped it descend into further chaos.

Say what you will about David Beckham's puking on the field at the end of the Ecuador game, but it was, among other things, inspirational. England players now know that their captain can win a match for them, and he can do it under extreme physical pressure.

So, these two teams, which are playing tomorrow, have no shortage of leadership. They also have no shortage of talent, or will to win. They are relatively even on intangibles, except for one thing - Portugal has already gotten through a big match, while England has been squeezing past opponents using minor miracles.

Now, that does not mean England cannot do it. In my mind, England is the sentimental favorite. They are a fan's favorite. They have players that can decide a match. England can win if Beckham, or Hargreaves, or Rooney pull something incredible out of their proverbial hat. But what if they don't? What if Beckham is lethargic, Rooney is underwhelming, and Hargreaves is uninspired? Then England is dead meat.

And that is why Portugal is the favorite going into this, bookmakers' odds notwithstanding.

Pavel's red-blooded, flannel-shirt-wearing, can-of-PBR-on-the-forehead-smashing Grand Prediction is: Portugal in 6.

Since Pavel has already broken down the tactical matches for they day, and Euan has kindly shared the English betting odds, I'll try to offer a different track.

I am rooting for Argentina, England, and France because they all feature faces that only a mother would love. Allow me to be shallow for a moment. If these guys weren't football stars, where would they be? Probably offloading freight down at the docks, not that there's anything wrong with that, me grandpappy was a longshorman.

Bachelor number 1
Carlos Tevez, stocky Argentine forward who holds the ball and goes to goal.

He's a Libra, likes red wine and beef from las pampas.

The story behind this hard scrabble barrio beater:
Tevez has said he has no fear of important soccer matches because he survived the rough "potreros" (neighborhood soccer fields) as a young boy, dribbling through glass shards, cans and rocks against bigger, stronger kids. He was such a playground legend that second-division All Boys signed him at age 8. He signed with the Boca junior team at 12.
"I was born to play football," Tevez told World Soccer magazine. "If I had not made it, I would be a scavenger like the hundreds you see on Buenos Aires' streets at night trying to make a living by rifling through the trash for cardboard, paper or anything they can sell for a few coins."
Tevez has not let success change him. He wears a chipped front tooth and a giant, unsightly scar on his neck from when a pot of boiling water fell on him as a baby. Boca Juniors offered to pay for plastic surgery, but Tevez declined when he found out he would have to miss a few weeks of playing time. Besides, he said, "the scar is part of who I am."


Contestant Number 2:
Frank Ribery, fleet of foot midfielder for France.
Frank enjoys art house flicks, foie de gras, and collecting out of circulation francs.

"Ribery is considered to be the 'baby' of Raymond Domenech's side, despite being 24 years old now. A waspish attacking midfielder, the northerner never goes missing and is capable of conjuring up a goal from almost anywhere. His trajectory at club level has been far from conventional, but in the space of three seasons, he has rocketed from an unknown amateur outfit to the French first division and a career as an international. The long scar down his face is from a horrific car accident he suffered as a young child."

Bachelor number 3:

Wayne Rooney. Heir to Paul Gasciogne and according to Maradona...Maradona. This face belongs on a cereal box, and so do some of this England striker's goals.

Wayne loves nothing more than to spend a day at the tracks, a few pies and a well poured pint.

Wayne Rooney was 16 years old when he scored his first goal in England's Premiership league on 19 October 2002. The next year he became the youngest ever to play for the English national team, debuting against Australia in February of 2003. Rooney was brought up in a rough urban area of eastern Liverpool where he and his two brothers attended the local De La Salle Catholic School. There was concern for Rooney's fitness ahead of the World Cup after his right foot was broken. Not to worry, he's back and running hard, straight to your heart. England coach Sven Goren Erickson compared his impact to that made by the legendary Pele at a similar age during the 1959 World Cup. When the current Portugal coach Scolari was asked to compare Pelé to Rooney he replied 'One is black and one is white'.

It's raining in Edinburgh today, and I've just come back from visiting Rosslyn Chapel - a fascinating place: http://www.rosslynchapel.org.uk/ which is now associated more with "The Da Vinci Code" than the development of Protestant Christianity in the 15th Century, but still amazingly detailed and intricately carved. Last night I met up with my friends Ian and Jon in a pub we often seem to meet up in when I'm in Edinburgh! Ian went to Germany without any tickets for any games, but with a budget big enough to spent three or four days almost entirely under the influence of alcoholic beverages! After finding out that it cost the best part of $1000 to buy a ticket on the street for Brazil v. Australia, Ian ended up paying $200 outside the stadium to go in and see Tunisia v. Spain. He sat with Tunisians throughout the game and said the atmosphere was brilliant - and no-one checked his name against that on the ticket or his passport or anything. Now Ian is a nice, polite, mild-mannered young man (see him dancing at: http://www.youlittledancer.com/) but could a group of, say, England fans get into German seating so easily?

Another thing I've done here is place a bet on the quarter finals. Betting is legal and, arguably, actively encouraged here in Britain! My father-in-law and I went into a high street bookmakers and placed low money bets on this weekend's games. I'll come out richest if Ukraine win, Maniche scores and England and Portugal are level at the end of 90 minutes. Otherwise the winner will be Mr. William Hill. These are the odds I was quoted for the winners of the quarter-finals: Ukraine = 3-1 (i.e. if you put $1 on Ukraine and they win, you get $3 in winning plus your $1 stake back); Germany = 10-11 (so you need to put on 110 cents to win 100 cents!); Italy 2-9 (bet 90 cents to win 20); France 2-1; Portugal 5-4; Brazil 4-11; Argentina 4-5; England 4-7 Because these are UK-wide bookmakers, the numbers of people betting on England shortens their odds, making Portugal quite a good bet I think - my father-in-law went for that one, and as we'd agreed that we'd put our money on different teams and results, I didn't. You can bet on everything: score at half-time and 90 minutes, different individual scorers, number of corners and sendings off, etc. An overwhelming array of choices. So, roll on the quarter-finals and I hope you're still eating those World Cup foods Dan! Cheers, Euan

As far back as I can remember, my father has always stuck to two beliefs about soccer:

1. Pelé - Tostão - Jairzinho is the greatest offensive line ever.
2. Oleg Blokhin is an overrated chump.

Now, the first of his tenets is not controversial. It starts with 'Pelé' and contains the words 'greatest' and 'ever'. It's all good.

Tenet number two bordered on blasphemy in the Soviet Union. The most prolific scorer in national team history, overrated? The 1975 European Footballer of the year, a chump?

Well, my father would say, have you ever seen the guy score an equalizer? How about a game-winning goal against any opponent worth its salt? I never had, so I had to agree. But then, in my time, Blokhin was already over the hill and I thought it was fitting for him to specialize in scoring the last three goals in a 5:0 blowout, or getting a consolation goal a minute from time.

Blokhin went off my radar for no less than 17 years, until I saw him again, all decked out in a fabulous yellow-and-blue track suit as head coach of Ukraine two weeks ago. His team was torn to shreds by the Spanish, and my father called to tell me that Blokhin is a big fat overrated chump. I had to concur.

Then, all the Eastern European teams fell one by one. All but Ukraine, that is, and as I watched the first half of their clash with Switzerland, my opinion began to change. The talented Ukrainians overran the defensive and mousy Swiss. They had nice penetrating attacks, solid defense, and even some flair. The second half of that game started, and I settled in to watch it, expecting Ukraine to finally break Switzerland's back.

The breaking of the Swiss back never took place. As time wore on, the Ukrainians played more and more conservatively. In extra time, things got worse. They just handed the initiative over to the Swiss, content to just wait for the shootout. Clearly, that was Blokhin's game plan - push early on, try to get ahead. If that does not work out - sit back and play to not lose.

Everything made sense to me right there and then. Blokhin is the kind of guy who would rather make the quarterfinals 3 times than win once. He is happier with a hat-trick in a meaningless game than an assist in a game that means everything.

Ukraine is a talented team, and it has a superstar striker in Sheva, and a goalkeeper who can raise to the occasion in Shovkovsky, but coach Blokhin is a bit of a chump. And chumps don't beat Italy.

Pavel's red-blooded, flannel-shirt-wearing, can-of-PBR-on-the-forehead-smashing Grand Prediction is: Italy in 4.

The World Cup is a conservative institution. Every edition may take us through many twists and turns, but it is always one of a handful of elite teams that wins it. All six former champions that came to Germany are still alive here.

When a nation first sneaks into the elite group, baggage begins to accumulate, and a little more ticks on with every match. It was in 1954 that Germany entered the elite, when it upset Hungary to win the World Cup in a match that has been dubbed The Miracle of Bern. Argentina did it 22 years later by winning as an underdog on home soil.

It is that 22-year difference that makes Germany the favorite every time it plays Argentina. In 1986, when these two teams disputed a World Cup final, Maradona was the X factor that reversed that equation. Four years they met in the final again, and Maradona's presence was no longer enough. The rivalry will pick up tomorrow where it left off 16 years ago, with the hometeam Germany the clear favorite.

Moving right along, let us look at some factors that are a bit more, well, tangible:

Klose to Podolski - this partnership worked great for Germany in the Round of 16, but now el gato is out of the bag - there is no doubt coach Jose Pekerman has an antidote in mind.

The Riquelme Factor - this kid wants to be Maradona. He wants to be Maradona bad. He is not Maradona. There is still time.

The Ballack Factor - Ballack has been the leader for Germany, but he has not been responsible for any important goals yet. That will likely change soon.

The Teutonic Towers - Metzelder and Mertesacker, the German back line, were effective against the predictable Swedes, but it will not be so easy against Argentina. Prediction: Argentina will not be shut out tomorrow

Refereeing - No referee wants to deprive the host nation of a victory on a questionable call. No one likes that situation, but it is what it is - South Korea was really the fourth best team in the world four years ago, right?

The Subs - When push comes to shove, Klinsmann brings in Neuville and Odonkor. Pekerman sees that and raises him Tevez and Messi. Klinsmann folds.

Now, all the above factors appear to stack up in favor in Argentina. The question is, are they enough to counterbalance the a priori advantage Germany holds? I would love for that to be the case - I want both Brazil and Germany out of this contest as soon as possible - but I don't think so.

Pavel's red-blooded, flannel-shirt-wearing, can-of-PBR-on-the-forehead-smashing Grand Prediction is: Germany in 7.

I'm finally getting around to blogging after a couple of days away. Monday and Tuesday were somewhat exhausting as I tried to fit work and Round-of-16-action into my schedule.

During the first round, I was able to leave the house for work at 8 a.m. after pushing record on my VCR. With an 8-hour tape, I knew I could get all three games, which were guaranteed to be over by 4 p.m.

However, with knockout competition comes the possibility of extra time and penalties. So, I was forced to leave for work at 9:30 a.m. in order to push record and ensure that I got all the action on tape.

Of course, this required me to stay later at work, come home later and start watching later. This is why Ukraine and Switzerland did not finish their penalty shootout until 1 a.m. at my house Monday night. Tuesday morning I repeated the drill, later to work and later to start the games at night.

The workday was also intense. I avoided any talk radio on my one-hour commute, did not check the internet and avoided co-workers as much as possible in case they chose not to heed my repeated, and sometimes stern, requests to "please don't tell me any scores." I even hummed aloud in order to drown out conversations when picking up my afternoon coffee at Starbucks.

So, just to sum up, I'm keeping unusual hours, coming in late to work, prone to odd public behavior, am sometimes irritable and I have disengaged from others. I must be a prime candidate for an intervention of some kind.

This is why I'm looking forward to the two day reprieve from World Cup soccer on Wednesday and Thursday. I'm downright tired (Though I am thoroughly looking forward to the quarterfinals).

All of this got me thinking back to the summer of 1998, and how much easier it was for me to watch the World Cup back then. I had graduated from college that May and still had a college-town apartment for another three months. So, I just hung around, not doing much of anything, putting off the real world as long as possible and watching World Cup soccer every day without any conflicts. It was a great time, a really good tournament and it culminated in a win for the compelling French squad. And I became a big fan of Les Bleus. After they won Euro 2000, it seemed inevitable this exciting, diverse bunch would dominate the game for years.

But it all started to go downhill quickly. There were repeated failures in World Cup 2002 and Euro 2004 and some bumpy qualifying campaigns. After a while, France was no longer even a good side in a slump, they were just a poor side. My feelings of affection for the squad began to wane. I'm not sure if I felt let down by the team or they simply seemed less important in the soccer world.

At this World Cup, I hoped France would finally get things right, but after the first two games it seemed unlikely. They showed a few signs of becoming the old France in Game 3, but it was against Togo.

Meanwhile, Spain had the brightest of starts to the tournament. They had been my pick to win in 2002 and I suffered alone, quietly at 4 a.m. when they were robbed against South Korea that year. The 2006 squad was even more talented, had depth and a coach willing to take chances. Also, I am a big fan of Cesc, Puyol, Xavi and Xabi Alonzo. I had even gone to a store and tried on one of Spain's cool pinstriped adidas jerseys prior to the tournament, though I elected not to buy it.

So, when I sat down Tuesday night for the France v. Spain game I did not know who I was rooting for. I decided to just hope for a good game and knew I would cheer for either team against Brazil in the next round.

But, that didn't last long. I felt my allegiance going one way and one way only. It was confirmed when I cursed the referee for awarding the penalty kick against Thuram. I was squarely in the corner of Les Bleus. A French loss would truly mean the end of an era, the end of Zidane, Henry, Vieira, Thuram and Barthez as a team. Tuesday night, they felt like old friends. Friends I first met in that summer of 98, when the real world was still a few weeks away and breaks between World Cup games were occupied by games of FIFA 98 on Sony Playstation, pickup basketball at the park or an afternoon nap.

That was a long time ago and a lot has changed since then. But when second half goals from Vieira and Zidane put France through to the quarterfinals, it was comforting to know that something from the summer of 1998 survives, at least for a couple more days.

Yesterday was a day for new beginnings.
Out of the ashes of Monday's international "Day of the Penalty Kick" came some end to end hard fought action.
France awoke to a beautiful new world that inludes a quarterfinal against Brazil, an interesting rematch of the 1998 final. With the aging Zidane, Viera and Barthez leading the way, we've got a nice little "Triplets of Belleville," redux.

---Zidane, Barthez, and Viera speak to the press

Alas I had my eye on those Spaniards. Flirting with their pretty passing, solid defense, and youth, they were truly attractive. What happened? Well, for starters, France could have done us all a favor and won their preliminary group, meaning Spain would have gotten to play Switzerland instead. And Sergio Ramos could have stayed on his backpost (apparently he doesn't read this blog), and been in position for Viera's header.
But that's all paella in the sky.
Zidane's closing of the door was a nice goal. He looked like the Zidane of old instead of the old Zidane. I am still waiting for the Henry that plays soccer for Arsenal to come visit the World Cup.
One has to wonder what France will have left in the tank to play Brazil. But since France runs on Nuclear power, maybe they can lend some of that to the team. (there's probably a treaty against this somewhere)

France must figure out how to get this
into this to beat Brazil

Ribery looked like a little Peugot race car out there, running around the Spanish pretty boys with his tarnished looks. Welcome to the World Mr. Ribery.

--Ribery as a child

I thought Ghana looked great. They passed well, went at Brazi's defense(wha?) and played till the end. It was an entertaining game to watch and the Black Stars were unfortunate to go scoreless, thanks in part to a Dida foot spasm on a corner kick. Too bad Micheal Essien was not on the field yesterday, but I guess he should have known better than to attempt to defend players, which inevitably gives you the yellow card fever. Ghana was the youngest age team in the Cup, I hope we see them again.

Brazil was Brazil, and despite everybody's conjectures that the players don't really like each other, that they look flat, that they aren't inspired, they win. Watching Brazil is a completely unique experience, good or bad. They are playing a different game, not necessarily at a different level always, but a different game altogether. Who else allows their back to make a run straight up the middle for a goal?
If anyone caught Ronaldhino's late in the game reaction to Cafu's shot right at the keeper, that's not about getting along with your mates, that's about knowing you would have scored had Grandpa passed you the ball. I would have screamed too.
At the end of the day Brazil always finish some of their many creations and many teams, often good sides like Ghana, fail to do the same. I think the focus is not Brazil haven't looked great, but Brazil is still building the perfect storm.
If this is a photo of a team that does not get along, than I'd be a little wary to see what they'd do after a goal if they did like each other

I too am experiencing awakenings this early morn, as it is the first in nearly three weeks that I will be away from my football. Personally, I need the rest. I am exhausted.
You know you've been immersed when you pull up to the In and Out Burger drive through and ask for your burger Shevchenko style.
What will I do today?
Call some friends and explain that I wasn't kidnapped or on the run, just watching soccer.
Maybe eat or try to find the door to my apartment.
It's all a little scary, but knowing soccer will be back on Friday helps.

Lastly, Thanks to the Tiger for submitting a haiku on the demise of the US team. Brilliant work my friend. I think the team should post this in the locker room as a reminder.
----------------
US out again.
When the chips are down, some teams
Go down with the chips.

---US co-ed soccer fan says,
"can I get some beer with those chips?"

The little man with spectacles spoke for a while, waving his hands around, but no one was listening, because the little man was so little and his hands were so small. So we lined up and sang the Marseillaise, and then we split up. Lilian and his boys built the barricade in the back, and Zizou and his boys took positions upfront. We fought, and we drove the Spanish away. Everybody cheered, even the little man with spectacles. Vive La France!

Facile allegories aside, it appears that the French team came together, possibly because, but more likely despite the leadership of coach Raymond Domenech, the archetypal Little Frenchman. Zidane was inspirational on the field, although Vieira was somewhat more creative.

The Spanish were tentative as favorites and were never able to really take the game to the French side. Their best attempts were thwarted by the French defensive barricade. Overall, France looked very similar to the side that won the World Cup eight years ago - defense was rock-solid, the striker uninspired, and the goals came from the midfield.

This match was a case of France successfully using a rope-a-dope strategy. The young Spanish team did a lot of running early on]. The French delegated all of their running to Ribery, while the older guys did their best not to overextend themselves. It was fitting that Ribery was the one that scored the equalizer.

France's wily veterans really came alive in the second half. Then they ran out of gas. Then, in a last-ditch effort, they scored, and it was all over. And then Zidane scored another one.

The Spanish press will likely call this another 'heartbreaking loss for a Spanish team that was capable of so much more', but they will be wrong. This one was not even close.