Day 16: Maxi magic
24 June 2006, 18:53
A week ago, if I started listing the stars for Argentina, it would have taken a little while before I got to Maxi Rodriguez. He’s hard to forget now. He’s scored three goals so far in the World Cup. The last one may have been the goal of the tournament. Tied 1-1, the match with Mexico went into overtime. No one took a firm hold on the proceedings, and it looked like it might be decided by a penalty shootout.
Eight minutes into the extra period, Sorin crossed to Maximiliano Rodriguez. Maxi was standing to the right of the Mexican goal, just outside the penalty area….
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Day 16 Preview: The Argentine connection
24 June 2006, 00:36
Twenty years ago the World Cup was held in Mexico. It was not long after a terrible earthquake hit the capital city, killing more than 9,000 people. The tournament went on as planned. Some felt it would provide a moment of cultural relief. Others felt it was a distraction.
Mexico beat Iraq that year to progress to the second round (This year they beat Iran). Then they lost in the quarterfinals to the West German powerhouse. The tournament, though, belonged to a diminutive Argentinian named Diego Armando Maradona. He dazzled the Mexicans as he led his country into the final against Germany. Nearly everyone in Aztec stadium (and nearly everyone around the world) was pulling for him to do something spectacular, like he did against England and Belgium. He did…
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Day 12: Two world wars and what?
20 June 2006, 23:42
I had been hoping for an England Germany match-up in the second round. Whenever they meet, the English chant, “Two World Wars and one World Cup,” which I always think is a little bit sad since Germany has won three World Cups. They won two in the forty years since England’s lone championship (a victory over Germany in London). England had failed to reach the final since. Regardless, the rivalry – and all its weird socio-historical hoopla—is hard to resist….
Day 7: Ecuador? Si, Si.
16 June 2006, 10:15
Readers of the Newsletter may be familiar with my Ecuador shirt, which I mentioned in my Group A preview. During the last few years, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve worn that bright-yellow jersey. I’ve thought it about it occasionally, but it never seemed to be the right fashion choice. Finally, it is.
Yesterday I stepped out onto the streets of Park Slope (yes, I do occasionally leave the house) proudly sporting my 2002 La Tri replica. And what a response! Not far from my house, I heard my first shout, “Ecuador!” I gave a thumbs-up. Then, through the open window of a pizza restaurant, someone yelled, “Ecuador, arriba!” “Si, Si.” I said, trying to sound Ecuadorian. The cries of recognition went on and on. Everywhere, these days, there is an Ecuador fan. A well-dressed old man, sitting on a stoop, nodded at me. “They win again today. No?” Yes, sir, they did.
Ecuador won, and they won in style, beating Costa Rica 3-0. They passed the ball calmly and incisively. The striker who (nearly) shares my name, Augustin Delgaldo, put in a heroic effort, creating chances and taking them. His goal, the second of the game, in which he played a little one-two with a teammate in a tight space, then took the ball off his chest and fired it into the near side of the goal, was fantastic. By the time, Ivan Kaviedes scored the third and pulled a yellow Spider-man mask out of his shorts, the game was over. Ecuador had advanced to the next round. In my preview I also mentioned that this group was Ecuador’s to lose. Now it really is. They only need a draw against Germany to finish on top of group A.
Poor Trinidad & Tobago. They held up against the English colonizers for 82 minutes yesterday, almost scoring twice. Finally, they collapsed. The impermeable defender Brent Sancho was out-jumped, at last, by Peter Crouch, and England broke through. The Univision announcers call Crouch “Mr. Roboto” because of his robot celebration. They call David Beckham “Spice Boy” and make fun of him endlessly. Beckham was stilted throughout the game, running little and passing poorly. But it was his cross that Crouch headed in to break the deadlock. England fans will be happy for the victory and happy for Wayne Rooney’s first (unremarkable) appearance. They will relish little else.
In Berlin, Sweden met Paraguay. Which of these teams is more annoying? Neither of them seems to know what to do with the ball in the attacking third. I had been excited by Paraguay before the tournament, but after the fortieth time one of their midfielders stopped forty yards out and floated the ball over everyone, I wanted to pull my hair out. Sweden has a similarly frustrating style. They go, go, go. But where? I was intrigued by Wilhelmsson, more for his Jedi-Knight look than anything. With his braided rattail and weird facial hair, he’s a poor man’s Liam Neeson. And while we’re on the subject, Paraguay’s promising striker Nelson Valdez really needs to shave that peculiar facial hair. Sweden finally scored, and sent the Paraguayans packing (Sorry, Ben) 1-0.
I went out last night to see a friend’s band at the Bowery Poetry Club. I wasn’t sure whether to wear my Ecuador shirt. Would the poetic youth understand? Besides, it was beginning to smell. But this kind of chance only comes once every four years. I took it. Poets and hygiene be damned.
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Day 2: Keepah Surprise
11 June 2006, 22:40
I was excited to watch the England-Paraguay match for two reasons. First, I follow English soccer and always take an interest, if not necessarily a supporting interest, in the progress of the English team. Second, my best friend though childhood, Carlos Torres, is Paraguayan. It was at his house that I first drank coffee: a cup of café con leche (more leche than café). It was delicious.
I got up early, feeling a bit jet-lagged (I was out late Friday night celebrating the Ecuadorian victory). I drank a quart of coffee (a dark roast from Peru), trying to relive my first Paraguayan experience. But the coffee didn’t take, and the game was awful. England looked like I felt—disorganized and sluggish. The Paraguayans were no better. The one goal came from an accident. Beckham whipped in one of his trademark free kicks, and a Paraguayan defender headed it into his own net. The only clear victor was my hangover, which vanquished any silly nostalgia for coffee or soccer or things that require consciousness.
I gathered myself for the second game, Sweden v. Trinidad & Tobago. I hadn’t been looking forward to this one. Not only was I worried about the live commentary I had to do on the Times blog (Could I watch and type at the same time?), but the game seemed like a meeting of the boring and the bad. I was wrong. This was the best game of the tournament. The Swedes in their blaring yellow outfits tried to break down the lowly Trinidadians with a direct attack. They played long balls into the corners and crosses toward the goal, relying on their big skilled forwards. But the Soca Warriors held firm.
Just as the second half began, the game changed. Swedish midfielder Christian Wilhelmsson, who sported a remarkable braided rattail, was fouled at the edge of the penalty area, and T&T defender Avery John was ejected for a second yellow card. Now down to ten men, the Soca Warriors faced increased pressure from the Swedes. Scoring chance followed scoring chance, but the Swedes were blocked again and again by Brent Sancho and the T&T defenders. The best player of the game—and the best in the tournament so far—was goalkeeper Shaka Hislop.
Hislop is 37-years-old and is in the twilight of a journeyman’s career in English soccer. He was not slated to start the game, but during the warmups, he was told that the starting keeper, Kelvin Jack, was injured. Suit up, the coach said, you’re playing in your nation’s first World Cup game. He was ready. He was acrobatic and strong. He made amazing saves and routine ones. He barked commands and kept his team in the game. It ended 0-0—a moral victory for the Soca Warriors. I’m sure the most popular song right now in Port of Spain is Keepah, a buoyant paean to the glories of the goalkeeper.
In the last game of the day, from the group of death, Argentina faced the Ivory Coast. The African team had solid orange uniforms, and they came out strong, running at the favored Argentines. The South Americans, sporting their traditional light blue stripes, absorbed the pressure and calmly took their chances on the counterattack.
Playmaker Juan-Roman Riquelme is always the focus when Argentina has the ball. Riquelme is not fast. He is not going to dribble through the defense. (In Argentina, fans questioned whether he deserved Maradona’s famed number-10 shirt.) But he is incredibly skilled on the ball. He sees the field better than anyone, and he can dictate the terms of the game. He created two goals in a matter of minutes, one from a free-kick and the other on a perfectly threaded pass to Javier Saviola. The Elephants were crushed.
For the next hour, Argentina passed the ball around calmly. With 15 minutes to go, the Ivorians, sick of sitting back, charged hell-bent at the goal. It was great. When the Elephants are on, they have a flowing orange attack. Didier Drogba scored, but it wasn’t enough. Argentina held on, 2-1.
On day 2, I realized I should have done more training for this tournament. Meybe coffee is not going to cut it.
The Last Supper
08 June 2006, 18:36
On the eve before the Cup begins, let’s consider the strange cult of English football. Many fans express themselves in odd ways, but here are two examples of England worship that might make you think twice about the island nation. First we have DaVinci’s Last Supper revised. Beckham is Jesus, of course. But why is Rio Ferdinand Judas?
Next we have a video of a young man, a flag, and a special song. This is version number two. I can’t wait for the third one to come out. Bring on Paraguay! Football’s coming home!
Group B Preview
08 June 2006, 10:30
Wayne Rooney’s health is the big question mark that hangs over Group B, but before I get into that, I’d like to celebrate Trinidad & Tobago (and particularly Tobago). It’s the smallest nation that qualified and perhaps the biggest underdog (along with Angola). The team is led by 34-year-old Dwight Yorke and 37-year-old Russell Latapy (When I asked a Trinidadian friend about them, he said strangely of Latapy, “He’s a smoker too.”) Down in the Caribbean, you can hear a host of dancehall hits celebrating the “Soca Warriors,” and their popularity has spread throughout the world. T&T jerseys have been on back order for weeks. I wish I had one. I want to be part of the Trinidadian party when they face their former colonists. Who knows? They may tie.
On to Rooney. If you’ve been under a rock, you may not have heard that England’s 20-year-old superstar broke his foot and is struggling to make it back. Every day there is a new story about his health, and yesterday I read in the English tabloids that Rooney is 300 percent sure that he will play. That’s a lot of percent. Case closed.
England has looked pretty good in recent friendlies without Rooney. They’ve relied on Peter Crouch, a pale string bean, as his replacement. Crouch lacks grace and speed, but he makes up for it with remarkable agility, good vision, and a great robot dance, straight out of Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. The player that impressed me most for England, though, is named David Beckham. Beckham is entering the VH1 stage of his celebrity. He can’t dribble, and he has lost a step. But there is no one more accurate with long passes and free kicks. He could hook up well with the tall Crouch. That being said, no English player performs with show-stopping flair, save one thuggish-looking youth—and he has a broken foot.
The other favorite in the group is Sweden, but they are hampered by injury problems. Calvin-Klein model/midfielder Freddie Ljungberg has been sidelined recently with a sore foot. They will need Ljungberg and (non-model) striker Zlatan Ibrahimovic to play well if they want to advance.
The wildcard in this group is Paraguay. They may go very far in the tournament, or they may bow out early. They have some talented young players including 18-year-old Jose Montiel and 22-year-old Nelson Valdez. Their top attacker has a great name: Roque Santa Cruz. Like Ljungberg, he is an injured looker (Die Welt named him the sexiest player in the tournament) struggling to be fit for the first game. What I like most about Paraguay: the orange stripes.