Ladies and gentleman, you are being asked today to answer one simple question: “Is football still the beautiful game?”
You’ve all heard accusations that “the game is gone”, that “football has been stolen”, that those in charge are interested only in money. You yourself might, indeed, have said: “I’m done with this, it’s rotten to the core.”
There are lots of reasons to support such a view.
The president of Fifa seems hell-bent on pursuing a relentless power grab, expanding the World Cup (currently being hosted by three North American countries) and the Club World Cup. Gianni Infantino clearly believes the expression: “Never mind the quality, feel the width.” Back in the good old days, unscrupulous London backstreet tailors hoping to flog suits made from shoddy material would utter that boast, though pensioners may remember it as the title of a TV sitcom from the 1960s.
Meanwhile, the president of Uefa and his minions exert more and more influence over venerable competitions first run in the 19th century by the founding fathers of organised football. Who cares if the FA Cup scraps replays because of fixture congestion? What’s the problem with reducing the chances of a struggling club desperate for a transformative pay-day? Don’t you realise the Uefa Europa Conference League takes precedence?
Greed is good, might is right and the problem is all yours if you can’t understand. Follow the money and it will take you to the nearest television screen. No spectators required.
Those are just some of the off-field woes.
Ignoring for once the protectionism behind PSR, SCR and other policies intended to preserve the status quo, take a look at the action. A win-at-all-costs approach encourages the players and their coaches to cheat, to act in the very opposite manner of sporting. There was an offence known as unsporting behaviour or ungentlemanly conduct; now those terms just describe what happens between 3pm and 4.40 every Saturday afternoon.
Whoops, I drifted back to childhood there. My bad. Now they describe what happens any day of the week, every day of the week, normally for two hours-plus, starting at whatever time broadcasters dictate. No spectators required.
Only the most powerful of forces could stand up to this ceaseless commercially driven onslaught. Is there any reason for hope?
In support of the beautiful game I would like to point you in the direction of Argentina v Cape Verde, an apparent mismatch between the reigning world champions and a delightful holiday destination, a series of small islands off West Africa in the mid-Atlantic.
The ultimate Goliath v David confrontation was brilliant. From the first minute to the last, Cape Verde, aka the plucky little underdogs, gave as good as they got. It was sporting theatre at its finest, a bit of needle, some sublime skills displayed by players from both teams.
When it eventually ended, after two and a half hours of thrilling action, the ITV commentator said: “That was one of the greatest World Cup games.” Which was better than his ill-judged comment at kick-off, when he announced anything other than a victory for Argentina against the smallest nation ever to reach the World Cup knockout stage would be a seismic shock.
In the context of Venezuelan earthquakes, with thousands of casualties, with survivors still being pulled from the rubble, with the victims being honoured at the World Cup, where moments of silence were organised before matches started, Jon Champion’s turn of phrase was crass.
Cape Verde, also known as Cabo Verde or the Blue Sharks, rarely looked as though they had bitten off more than they could chew during this, their first appearance at a World Cup finals. Eyebrows were raised when they drew 0-0 in their opener against the much-vaunted Spain.
Those eyebrows remained higher than Carlo Ancelotti’s quizzical expression after the 2-2 against Uruguay, when Cape Verde managed twice as many shots on target. They should have got more than a 0-0 against Saudi Arabia; the comparative xG was 1.52 v 0.4. That third draw was, however, enough to propel the island nation into a clash with the three-time world champions.
Argentina were generally less than impressive in the stadium of the Miami Dolphins against the oldest starting line-up to feature in a World Cup tie. Vozinha, who has turned 40, made several superb saves but was powerless to prevent Lionel Messi scoring the first goal after a top pass from Lisandro Maratinez on 29 minutes. There was to be no opening of the floodgates, whatever the expectation.
The skilful, organised and energetic Blue Sharks equalised on 59 when not one but two defenders were nutmegged before the ball flashed low and hard past Emi Martinez. Take a bow, Deroy Duarte and his assistant, Ryan Mendes.
Almost unbelievably, despite another inspired performance from Messi, that was the end of the scoring until extra-time. Argentina regained the lead two minutes into “overtime”, as the Yanks call it, much to the relief of their fanatical and unsporting supporters, who were often heard jeering the minnows. Martinez turned from provider into scorer.
The clock was ticking towards 1am, my eyelids were heavy but there was no way I was deserting Cape Verde. Just as in the Belgium v Senegal match, the fat lady had still not sung.
Sidny Lopes Cabral, nominally a left-back, scored the second equaliser on 103 minutes. His shot from near the left edge of the penalty area had pace, it had bend, it had accuracy, it had everything dreams are made of. Oh my goodness, what has just happened?!
Cabral is 23, born in Rotterdam, plays for Trabzonspor in Turkey’s top flight. No wonder my daughter Jo sent a WhatsApp from Vegas with the classic reaction: “Sign him up.” Why not, when one football site values him at £3.5m?
Perhaps inevitably, there was to be no Hollywood ending. Football is often a cruel game as well as a beautiful one. The enticing prospect of a penalty shootout diminished when a goalbound header by Cristian Romero that Vozinha might have reached took a deflection off Diney Borges and flew into the net for Argentina’s third.
In the 11 minutes remaining, Cabral’s second superb strike forced Martinez to produce an equally effective save. This time it was from a free-kick conceded by a cynical hack.
My answer to the question posed in the intro is a resounding “Yes”. Think Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, though there was nothing fake in this old man’s reaction to one of the most beautiful match-ups he has seen.
A great strength of football is its ability to overcome all the corruption, all the cheating, all the greed. Argentina v Cape Verde was good enough to restore the sorely tested faith of any disenchanted follower. For about 140 minutes, this was 11 v 11, with no quarter asked or given.
What ultimately ended in a glorious defeat for Cape Verde was high-quality entertainment, with jaw-dropping goals, physical and mental bravery, breathtaking skill.
Fifa being Fifa, Infantino being Infantino, a day that featured one of the great World Cup games had a rival for our attention. In its infinite wisdom, Fifa wanted to alter the timing of England’s last-16 tie against Mexico at the Azteca. It was scheduled to start at 1am on Monday, British time. Then it was brought forward six hours, to 7pm on Sunday. Apparently, nobody in the world governing body had seen the need to ask the two teams what they thought.
The story first broke during the dull-as-ditchwater game between Australia and Egypt. Confusion, as they say, reigned for most of Friday evening. That’s reigned, not rained. Fifa reportedly wanted the change to reduce the risk of thunderstorms and downpours disrupting the match.
No thought for the players, the ripped-off spectators, the integrity of the tournament. Fifa had spoken.
Amazingly, the storm in a teacup ended when Infantino and Co produced the most spectacular U-turn since Steve McQueen in Bullitt nearly 60 years ago.
We called such flip-flop management a “reverse ferret” when I worked in Fleet Street. It relates to an extreme sport said to be popular in Yorkshire.
The contestant dons a pair of baggy trousers, ties them at the ankle with string and stuffs a ferret down the leg. The winner is, perhaps surprisingly, not the domesticated polecat but the human who can endure the longest.
Editorially, a reverse ferret referred to the proprietor’s decision to, for example, throw all the newspaper’s support behind one election candidate, then suddenly change tack, with no acknowledgment of the previous stance.
Compared with Fifa’s mis-management of the World Cup, such media shenanigans seem positively benign. I wonder what’s next from the world governing body of the beautiful game.