The Fat Madonna Sings
By Mark Daniell
25/06/2010
There are times when I really resent the fact that Marty Mcfly hasn’t at some stage in the recent past screeched into my life with an awesome eighties denim/puffer combo and a handy sports almanac. Honestly, what odds would you have got on both finalists from 2006 going out in the first round and wallowing at the bottom of their respective groups? Groups that included South Africa and New Zealand? It blows the mind. And you know the worst thing? Back To The Future part II takes place in 2015, so we’ve only got one more World Cup before Marty’s missed the opportunity completely. Great Scott McfLy! Shake leg! (Poor taste, I know).
But there we have it, the team I anti-support has fallen at the first hurdle, and I have to say I’m surprised. It was undoubtedly the finale of the tournament so far, and in truth I struggle to remember a more open, more desperate and more entertaining last ten minutes of an international game. Italy finally got their mojo back, opened up in attack and left vast swathes of the pitch open. Slovakia, unlike most teams in those circumstances, poured three or four men forward with every counter, desperately trying to kill the game off.
There was drama of course: Skrtle’s goal line clearance that might have just crossed the line, depending on your nationality; Quagliarella and Mucha’s farcical face-clutching and goalmouth writhing designed to get each other sent off, but which succeeded only in looking like two seals mating in a fishing net; and then of course, Quagliarella’s own equaliser being ruled offside by the narrowest of margins (one single coat of pomade, I think it was).
Slovakia mixed it up further with a delightful 89th minute goal, and lastly, when Italy were right up against it, two minutes into the four minutes of injury time, Quagliarella scored an exquisite little chip and chose to trot off on some poncy goal celebration, twiddling his hand next to his ear. Honestly, there are times for goal celebrations and there’s three two down with seconds left before you crash out of the World Cup.
Even so until the final whistle was blown I didn’t truly believe Italy were going out. We’ve seen Italy play with fire and get away unburnt before, most notably against Nigeria in USA 94, so I was just bracing myself for that magical, last gasp, last chance, last last last minute equaliser that would see them scrape through. Naturally, Slovakia started dropping like flies, chewing up precious seconds in pretend agony, calling on the stretcher-bearers and making time-wasting substitutions. This got Pirlo all hot and bothered because he knew they were just copying what they’d seen him do in Serie A every week. But then, as scripted by the Gods of football, Italy had their chance. A long throw, a flick-on to the far post where Pepe stood unmarked four feet from goal, a right foot shot... wide. I suppose Karma dictates if you use up your chips one tournament you’ll have none to cash in in the next. I don’t think Italy can complain too much though, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde: to draw against Paraguay may be regarded as a misfortune; to draw against New Zealand looks like you suck. Anyway, they’re still World Champions, for a couple of weeks.
As an aside I’d just like to say if I’d been Slovakian I’d have wanted to stuff some of that cotton wool mouth guard right into Peter Drury's face. Every time Slovakia scored he would declare with utter conviction that Italy were OUT! Then retract the statement three minutes later when they pulled one back. It’s the footballing equivalent of saying Cook’s looking really comfortable at the crease, a definite commentator no-no now we're in the knock-out stages.
A recent poll of 4000 football fans estimates that 23% of us carry out good deeds in the run-up to an England game in the belief that our actions bring good fortune to the team. That’s the sort of information charities need to get in on. Instead of daft Hyundai ads that misleadingly declare “Italy are into the Semi Finals!” they should pop in a few Unicef appeals and shamelessly tap that superstitious bent. We’re all susceptible: I’ve got my lucky red pants. They haven’t let me down yet and I’m wondering if I wash them will I rob them of their magical powers? You know what, it may be crusty, but I just can’t take that chance...