Oh, For Frank’s Sake

First of all, credit where credit is due: England were outclassed by Germany, and no amount of finger-pointing over Frank Lampard’s disallowed goal will change that. The more deserving side won the day.

Now, having gotten that off my chest:

Would somebody please tell me how exactly this wasn’t a goal? The refereeing at this World Cup has been shockingly inadequate, and FIFA’s continued resistance to introducing goal-line technology or at least goalside assistant referees is little more than idiocy. Too many legitimate goals have been disallowed, too many offside goals allowed to stand.

Having said that, I don’t think that this goal would have changed much. Chances are, England would have lost 4-2 instead of 4-1 had the goal been allowed, and (again) deservedly so.

One could argue that going into half-time having pulled level instead of trailing, the England team might have had better morale for the second half, but… the defense was torn apart for the third and fourth Germany goals, and in almost exactly the same way as for their first.

When a team makes a defensive blunder… well, it happens, you get over it. When the team makes essentially the same defensive blunder three times, perhaps some questions need to be asked, both of the players and the coach. England looked dangerous at times going forward (despite only scoring 3 goals in 4 games), but were a disaster at the back.

Part of the problem, I believe, is that the team was largely constructed around one individual – Wayne Rooney. Any time you build the team around one guy, you’re screwed if that one guy can’t produce the goods. Rooney was underwhelming at best in this World Cup.

Maybe if Robert Green hadn’t let in that goal against the Americans, maybe if Rooney had converted those chances against Algeria, maybe if Lampard’s goal had been properly awarded… maybe, maybe, maybe.

If you can’t perform well enough to overcome maybes, you don’t deserve to be there.

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So much for soccer.

It seems I am destined for another season of soccer-related disillusionment.

My beloved Spurs, for all that the squad looks good on paper, do not play on paper, and are thus languishing at the bottom of the league with zero wins and two ties after eight games.

My predictions for the Premiership this season have already gone to hell in a handbasket.

After my praise of Argentina’s soccer talents, they’ve had a couple of lousy results and the manager has… parted company with them.

Until further notice, please do not attempt to talk about your favorite team with me, lest I jinx them. Hence the lack of my often over-effusive support for England in this post. Though if you support Arsenal or Chelsea, please come forth, in which case I shall be more than happy to jinx the tar out of them.

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In appreciation of Argentinean soccer

I may be the first and only Englishman ever to write these words; indeed, even to think them might be called heretical if not downright treasonous.

That said, England haven’t given me much to shout from the rooftops about, unless I wish to spend a great deal of time shouting ‘fuck’.

Besides, I tend to appreciate good soccer above and beyond any national/club rivalries. It’s an easy high road to take when one’s team is shit.

As would be expected of a Tottenham fan not far from 30 years of age, I learned the name Osvaldo Ardiles almost as soon as I knew what soccer was. While Mario Kempes’ bright star had already begun to fade by the time I was truly taking an interest, there was a parade of incredible talent coming to Italy from Argentina throughout the 1980s and 1990s, and I took full advantage of the nearby San Siro stadium to witness the likes of Caniggia, Batistuta and (of course) a young man named Diego, whom my countrymen regard with a mixture of superstitious awe and absolute horror, largely due to two goals scored within ten fateful minutes in 1986.

Wow, that was a long sentence. Almost as long as Maradona’s run to score the second of those goals, during which I am pretty sure he beat at least 12 English players.

I was fortunate enough to meet Maradona once, during his Napoli days, and to this day have cursed my bad luck in not having any form of writing implement to get an autograph.

In any case, the flow of talent has not by any means dried up. While Brazil are frequently considered the kings of South American soccer, from Leonidas right through to Kaká, most teams consider a fixture against Brazil to be a prestige game and a fixture against the Albicelestes to be a dangerous proposition, and with good reason. If you’ve paid any attention to soccer in the last few years, you have heard the names of Agüero, Tévez, Mascherano and Messi – the latter especially being a name to leave even seasoned defenders quaking in their boots, especially after slicing into the Brazilian defence again and again as Argentina racked up a 3-0 victory over Brazil in the Olympic semifinal just recently.

One to watch in the future, too: Andrés Ríos. This kid’s going to be terrorizing English defences himself before long.

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