Laces out, Gonza!
By Mark Daniell
14/07/2014
So, I’m going to be honest. This wasn’t the first piece I wrote today. There was another one, one that touched on current geopolitics and 20th century history, on an imagined Pope-off, on goalkeepers’ knees and strikers simply shooting on target once in a while. We even got a little existential and questioned what it was all about. It wasn’t pretty, it got angry, some things were said. At one point the life of man was summed up as little more than a short bruise on the oily-skinned brown ball of filth that is this planet, but you know, nothing was off the mark.
But that wasn’t a piece for publication. It would probably have got flagged for incitement to violence, or used as a manifesto in the assisted suicide debate, neither of which we want. So, it’s been binned and we find ourselves here. Here at the Mouse and Keys, where, in the very first Brazil piece a month ago my express, written wish was clearly not adhered to by karma. I specifically said, "please, not Germany, not Germany..." And it is, indeed, Germany.
(Imagine each break in paragraph as a series of deep breaths.)
But I’m not about to get into a fight with karma. At best, it’s a lose lose battle, at worst it’s a waste of time. Besides, we all know karma doesn’t really exist: I was wearing the lucky underpants, I was in the right location, I was eating the right food and my son was wearing the right t-shirt, even though he’s three and was fast asleep. We held up our side of the bargain to the letter. I can only conclude that karma would have done the same, had she existed. But no. And now we have Germany, world champions. Again.
It’s ok, we only have four years to wait for the next opportunity. Four years. For the next opportunity. Four years. Argentina had to wait 24 years to get to the final again. For good measure I’ve looked into this a bit, and on average it takes 16 years for a runner up to get back into the final. (And that’s if you exclude all the teams that have never got back into the final, I’m afraid that’s you Sweden…) Will I be looking forward to the next World Cup? well, inevitably, yes. Time will have washed and dressed the wounds and the hype will have started all over again. I will be older, but just as much of a shmuck. I do hope that the BBC works a bit harder when it comes to the Russian party mind you. I think I speak for most of us when I say I was a little disappointed in the coverage of this World Cup. Maybe I’m just too accustomed to the pundits, but they seemed uninspired, unoriginal and most often dull. Also, instead of geeing them up a bit, or encouraging any form of debate, Gary Lineker always seemed to dampen any raised voice with a cowardly ‘okay...’ segueing to the next topic on his crib sheet. There just didn’t seem to be any passion. ITV did a lot more to try to win us over, bringing in O’Neill and Strachan to talk about football, Ian Wright for some fashion bravura and Glenn Hoddle for, well, no, if anything given Glenn employment was a warning to us that karma doesn’t exist. They had Chiles of course, and the TNT of Tyldsley and Townsend, but those guys are like rain at a British BBQ, it wouldn’t be the same without them.
The real trouble was, and will remain in the World Cup post-mortem, that most reporters, be they TV or print, decided on a nice ‘narrative’ in advance and wanted to perpetuate it no matter what. They were not so much reporting what they’d seen, as selecting the bits that agreed with their preconceptions. So, today’s newspapers will be all about the mannshaft winning deservedly through their fluid constructive play, when, in fact, it was one very late instant that produced the result. Had it gone the other way and Palacio taken his late chance, the papers would have been all about Messi deservedly entering into the pantheon of greats, even though he was a bystander. Neither 'narrative' is accurate, but it's what they like. The truth is the result came down to a lucky break.
Of course, it’s hardest to take because you know that, narrative or no narrative, in the end, all that matters is the result. Time will meticulously eradicate all the details, the missed opportunities, the ridiculously dangerous challenge by the best goalkeeper in the tournament in which, oh yeah, he was fouled, and leave nothing but another yellow star on the German jersey.
But I’m not bitter. Danke. There’s got to be a fall guy for every winner. Messi wasn’t fully fit, and Argentina weren’t lucky. In the end, the difference between the two teams was a bit of luck, and last night it just didn’t go our way.
And whichever fucktard tells me that bullshit anecdote about making your own luck can go and play with the traffic and see what karma has to say about that.