Germany have not won a World Cup since 1990. That hit me a few days ago. It's one of those things that you know to be true, since I can recite every winner since 1930, but only becomes a "wow, really" moment when you stop and count the years.
Germany winning World Cups is an assumption buried in my mind, just like the perception that home teams always win. The latter started when I first found out that England won at home in 1966 and thought, of course they did, they were at home. That was quite quickly followed by Germany in 1974 and Argentine in 1978. The feeling that Germany win a lot came about, on reflection rather than instinct, after their presence in the latter stages so often in my lifetime. They were in the final in '82, '86' and '90. USA '94 seemed like a huge shock when they lost in the quarters and again in 1998. Normal service was resumed in 2002 (finalists). Germany '06 was supposed to be the one that saw my beliefs merge.
2006 was a World Cup watched by a different me to the 2002 person. By 2006 I was married, had one 2 year old daughter, had number 2 daughter on the way, owned a house and had a new job. Within that four year period I, or better we, had attempted a new life in Malta and come back to Canada. That's a lot of stuff that happened in 4 years. All for the good, and maybe that's why Germany '06 doesn't stand out as much as many others. It's possible that my subconscious self was feeding many other memories into my head that were limiting the available space for the modern day emotions of the Zicos and Falcaos. Or, quite simply, those stand out World Cup moments just didn't exist anymore.
What did strike me about 2006? Zinedine Zidane and Thierry Henry. It had nothing to do with the most famous headbutt ever. As with Ronaldo in 2002, the return to dominant form of the two geniuses was beautiful to watch. France went from the ridicule of 4 years earlier to the tentative start in Germany, to a final appearance which was quite the surprise. Argentina seemed to be back with a vengeance. After the way they demolished Serbia and Montenegro with some quite sublime football, there seemed to be hope for go it all the way run. Sadly, but maybe predictably, the Germans saw them off after a shoot out in the quarters.
Another first was 2006 was a trip to Victoria, BC, for a wedding. There was nothing too remarkable about the trip, apart from a wonderful wedding, the otters close to shore in the harbour, the massive, hundreds of years old trees in Port Alberni and our daughter imitating the crows that caw caw-ed all over the place. Luckily the wedding started just after England played Ecuador. Sitting on a hotel room floor by a large window overlooking the Pacific ocean, in between getting dressed was a weird atmosphere for a World Cup match of such importance in England's obvious march to the cup. All I can tell you is that David Beckham scored the one goal, England were through and I had to get my tie on. Later that day when we came back to the room for a required nap I caught a bit of the Nastiness in Nuremburg. I don't know what the Dutch and Portuguese had done to annoy each other so much, but it was mayhem. There were fights going on all over the pitch. The referee seemed to have given up, and maybe that was the problem, and his only objective was to show every player a card. After 16 yellow cards and 4 reds there was the small matter of Portugal winning 1-0.
The day before that nonsense we stopped in a Japanese restaurant for lunch. It was a huge place, one of those hip, happening joints. Seeing as we fit in perfectly, and were desperate to eat we took a table ready to eat quickly, only to notice that on a television in a far corner Argentina were playing Mexico and it was into extra time. There was no sound from the TV, I was too far away to really watch and nobody else seemed at all interested. So it all seemed a bit surreal when Maxi Rodriguez swung his foot at the ball catching it in the air and scored one of the all-time best world cup goals. No-one in the restaurant reacted. I thought that it hadn't actually happened. Sometimes I need affirmation of the fact from a commentator. Silence was not how a goal like this was supposed to be greeted.
Back home for the rest of the tournament was not all actually at home. Second quarter final day was at my wife's family's cottage on the lake, three hours from the comfort of TV that I knew would deliver England's next great step to victory. On arrival the evening before, we scouted out the best place to watch. With a plan, we headed to the pub in town where I thought nobody would be watching football to be welcomed by many, many eyes glued to the match preview. Take that hip restaurant in Victoria, BC. Of course, England had drama, a red card and a loss on penalties. The most frustrating part of it, as part of my hope that I one day see England win a World Cup, was that this was probably their best chance at winning a quarter final that they might have for a long time. It was a very beatable Portugal team. What to do, but be dropped off at another pub while the girls went shopping, to drown my sorrows in a bit of Brazil-France. Not a bad second match of the day, one that I could enjoy without any emotional hindrance. It wasn't exactly Mexico '86, but it did have Henry's winning goal which brought a smile to my face.
The semi-finals were lost in a blur of working hours that I couldn't get out of. What was spat out was a final between Italy and France, hardly the most predicted final. The French had gone from defending World Champions four years earlier to also-rans, middle of the road team. To reach the final, I'm sure, was an amazing dose of self-redemption for Henry, Zidane and any other remaining players.
The final is remembered, even by non-football fans and sadly so, for Zidane's final act on a football pitch being his headbutt of Materazzi and his subsequent sending off. Zidane had scored a cool as you like penalty and Henry had a couple of moments which made me think this was going to be his day and a victory for individual skill. But then Italy equalized, not much more happened, Zidane got sent off in extra time and Italy won on penalties.
Soon after the final ended I had to go to work. I was on the road while the streets were pretty quiet. I came home that night to scenes which brought me back to Malta in 1982. As we lived on the edge of one of the Little Italy's in Toronto everybody and his uncle and brother, and sister and aunt, and friend who was Italian because he hung out with children of Italian immigrants, were out in their cars driving up and own the strip, and around the block, flags flying and horns honking. Sure, I just wanted to get home and I felt frustration that the police were happy to let the party direct traffic but I also thought this is why the World Cup is so much fun in Toronto. Not the carcading, or flagging as I heard a Torontonian call it, but the fact that if it had been another country that won then another part of the city would be alive. I doubt anybody who hasn't been here would believe that Canada, the country that does such a good job of being terrible at football, and celebrates men polishing ice with brooms, could have such enthusiasm for football. So the next day I bought the newspaper and sent the special World Cup celebration section home.
I'm almost there. South Arica 2010 will bring me nicely up to the start of Brazil 2014. Memories are fun. There has been a lot here, since 1982, that has made me very happy. There was a lot since 2002 that has made me extremely happy. My three wonderful ladies will put up with me for the next month and even take part in the fun. I'm almost done with looking back now. Let's just get the Tika-tika World Cup out of the way tomorrow.
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