Day -774. WorldCup2018
After tomorrow, "doing a Leicester" might become a commonly used
saying. Will any team at Russia 2018 "do a Leicester". South Korea and
Turkey were the last countries that probably qualified as underdogs that
came closest, reaching the semifinals in 2002. Didn't Pele once say
that an African team would win the World Cup by (when did he say) 2000?
Still waiting? And the Americans? They said they were going to win it
soon. China, as you may remember,are being a bit more realistic. Their
target is 2050. Who will be the Leicester of 2018? Colombia? Czech
Republic? Ghana? England? Don't laugh because you know England doing
well at a World Cup is always a surprise.
Saturday, 30 April 2016
Friday, 29 April 2016
They never went away
Day -775. WorldCup2018.
When the day doesn't get in the way I'll be back.....just like Roger Milla. We thought he was old at Italia '90 (but nobody really knew how old) and then he was back at USA '94 when he four years older than how old he was the last time. And Carlos Valderrama who seemed to be a veteran in 1990 and in 1994 we thought, "he's back again?", and in 1998, "what? How old is he now?" Milla and Valderrama, they never seemed to go away. And I won't, for the next 774 days.
When the day doesn't get in the way I'll be back.....just like Roger Milla. We thought he was old at Italia '90 (but nobody really knew how old) and then he was back at USA '94 when he four years older than how old he was the last time. And Carlos Valderrama who seemed to be a veteran in 1990 and in 1994 we thought, "he's back again?", and in 1998, "what? How old is he now?" Milla and Valderrama, they never seemed to go away. And I won't, for the next 774 days.
Thursday, 28 April 2016
Long day...short post
Day -776. WorldCup2018
Goodnight day -776. It was a long one. I didn't have much time for you but there will be more.
Goodnight day -776. It was a long one. I didn't have much time for you but there will be more.
Wednesday, 27 April 2016
All in the number
Day -777. WorldCup2018
I had a feeling that the number 777 had some sort of significance. I also, I admit, was low on inspiration so I hoped looking up the significance of the number 777 on Day -777 would help me out. And the believed meaning of it was indeed proved correct.
According to chi-nse.com, your "Daily Dose of Inspiration", it is a number associated with good luck: "It’s like a white feather, which suddenly fell from the sky right under your nose in the middle of the crowded street." So just when I needed inspiration, Day -777 happened. and like a feather Google appeared on my computer screen.
The deeper spiritual meaning of "Angel Number 777" is that it is a positive number, and "things are about to really start working out in your favour. Seeing 777 is a sign that you’re on your authentic life path and making progress towards accomplishing your purpose. The angels, the Divine, and the entire Universe are supporting you. Stay positive, balanced and focused upon what you’re moving towards, because the stars are aligned in your favour." (ask-angles.com)
So what does all give me for my Day -777 post? Am I feeling inspired and positive? Have I found what I was looking for, to write like I've never written before. Er......no. I'm feeling amused, because all I can think of are footballers who wear, or wore, the number 7. With teams now not sticking to the traditional numbers 1-11 on their team shirts, just imagine if a player chose to wear the number 777. I'm surprised David Luiz, with all his searching for divine intervention at the last World Cup, didn't try to wear that number.
But back to the famous no. 7's. Cristiano Ronaldo. He's made a fortune out of the CR7 brand. And he can play, but hasn't quite lit up any World Cup. He was part of the Portugal team that reached the semi-finals in 2006 and was best remembered for his wink at the Portuguese bench when England's Wayne Rooney get sent off in the quarter-final. And talking about England players getting sent off at World Cups, there's another footballer turned brand name; David Beckham, England's number 7 who was sent off in the 2002 second round against Argentina. And a Number 7 predecessor of Beckham and Ronaldo at Manchester United was one of the greatest players to never play at a World Cup, George Best. As good as he was, he unfortunately (in football terms) was born Northern Irish. Bryan Robson was another Manchester United and England number 7. He was what commentators regularly referred to as a "hard working" player. That means he was no Beckham or Ronaldo. My memory of Robson was the goal after 27 seconds against France in 1982 and his dodgy shoulder that kept popping out in 1986.
Others? Luis Suarez, who can't stop scoring goals but can't resist the occasional nibble of his opponents' ears or arms. Best World Cup moment? His "save" in 2010 for Uruguay against Ghana which denied Ghana a definite last minute winner. Ghana missed the penalty and Uruguay won after a penalty shoot out.
Kenny Daglish followed Kevin Keegan as the number 7 at Liverpool. Keegan was supposed to be the English star of the 1982 World Cup, I was told at the time. Because of injury all I saw of him was a desperate appearance as a substitute against Spain when England needed a goal to to stay in the World Cup, but he couldn't oblige. As for Daglish he was part of a pretty good Scottish team in 1978 and 1982 but, alas, Scotland could not get beyond the first round.
One of my favourites was Luis Figo. He was part of Portugal's "Golden Generation", semi-fianlists at the 2004 European Championships, but who failed miserably at the 2002 World Cup.
And I could go on: Ukraine's Shevchenko, that country's most famous player; France's Ribery and Cantona, a competition in arrogance.
Thank you number 777. Not exactly earth shattering inspiration but that white feather gave me a little something.
I had a feeling that the number 777 had some sort of significance. I also, I admit, was low on inspiration so I hoped looking up the significance of the number 777 on Day -777 would help me out. And the believed meaning of it was indeed proved correct.
According to chi-nse.com, your "Daily Dose of Inspiration", it is a number associated with good luck: "It’s like a white feather, which suddenly fell from the sky right under your nose in the middle of the crowded street." So just when I needed inspiration, Day -777 happened. and like a feather Google appeared on my computer screen.
The deeper spiritual meaning of "Angel Number 777" is that it is a positive number, and "things are about to really start working out in your favour. Seeing 777 is a sign that you’re on your authentic life path and making progress towards accomplishing your purpose. The angels, the Divine, and the entire Universe are supporting you. Stay positive, balanced and focused upon what you’re moving towards, because the stars are aligned in your favour." (ask-angles.com)
So what does all give me for my Day -777 post? Am I feeling inspired and positive? Have I found what I was looking for, to write like I've never written before. Er......no. I'm feeling amused, because all I can think of are footballers who wear, or wore, the number 7. With teams now not sticking to the traditional numbers 1-11 on their team shirts, just imagine if a player chose to wear the number 777. I'm surprised David Luiz, with all his searching for divine intervention at the last World Cup, didn't try to wear that number.
But back to the famous no. 7's. Cristiano Ronaldo. He's made a fortune out of the CR7 brand. And he can play, but hasn't quite lit up any World Cup. He was part of the Portugal team that reached the semi-finals in 2006 and was best remembered for his wink at the Portuguese bench when England's Wayne Rooney get sent off in the quarter-final. And talking about England players getting sent off at World Cups, there's another footballer turned brand name; David Beckham, England's number 7 who was sent off in the 2002 second round against Argentina. And a Number 7 predecessor of Beckham and Ronaldo at Manchester United was one of the greatest players to never play at a World Cup, George Best. As good as he was, he unfortunately (in football terms) was born Northern Irish. Bryan Robson was another Manchester United and England number 7. He was what commentators regularly referred to as a "hard working" player. That means he was no Beckham or Ronaldo. My memory of Robson was the goal after 27 seconds against France in 1982 and his dodgy shoulder that kept popping out in 1986.
Others? Luis Suarez, who can't stop scoring goals but can't resist the occasional nibble of his opponents' ears or arms. Best World Cup moment? His "save" in 2010 for Uruguay against Ghana which denied Ghana a definite last minute winner. Ghana missed the penalty and Uruguay won after a penalty shoot out.
Kenny Daglish followed Kevin Keegan as the number 7 at Liverpool. Keegan was supposed to be the English star of the 1982 World Cup, I was told at the time. Because of injury all I saw of him was a desperate appearance as a substitute against Spain when England needed a goal to to stay in the World Cup, but he couldn't oblige. As for Daglish he was part of a pretty good Scottish team in 1978 and 1982 but, alas, Scotland could not get beyond the first round.
One of my favourites was Luis Figo. He was part of Portugal's "Golden Generation", semi-fianlists at the 2004 European Championships, but who failed miserably at the 2002 World Cup.
And I could go on: Ukraine's Shevchenko, that country's most famous player; France's Ribery and Cantona, a competition in arrogance.
Thank you number 777. Not exactly earth shattering inspiration but that white feather gave me a little something.
Tuesday, 26 April 2016
Justice for the 96
Day -778 WorldCup2018.
April 15th 1989 was a horrible day for football fans, especially those of Liverpool. The families of the 96 victims of the tragic events at Hillsborough who never saw their loved ones come home from watching a football match had to deal with that incredible, sudden loss. On top of that they endured years of suffering, of being told that fellow Liverpool supporters, through their unruly violent behaviour, were to blame for their deaths. For 27 years the families fought for justice for the 96. Today they got it. The verdict of the inquests into the disaster ruled the fans were unlawfully killed as a result of police errors and that Chief Superintendent David Duckenfield, the match commander that day, was "responsible for manslaughter by gross negligence".
I remember that day well. It was early days of live coverage of English football in Malta, on a new Italian channel. Not being fans of Italian commentary, and the reception wasn't the best, my Dad and I had decided to watch the recorded version later, with the "proper" English commentary. While we were watching something else, I had the urge to switch it over to the football. My Dad was none too pleased as "now you're going to spoil it for us", but it was at the moment that fans were beginning to spill onto the pitch. Our initial thoughts were, "hooligans again". But it quickly became apparent that this was something else. The fans on the pitch were the lucky ones, escaping the carnage unfolding up against the fences in the stands. BBC World Service told us that 10 had died, then 20, 30. And up and up it went. It was a Saturday afternoon unlike no other listening for news and results from the English football.
Over the years after 1989 I watched news and documentaries about the disaster. I was moved by memorials and the tragic stories. It was emotional watching Liverpool fans singing for justice for the 96 at matches around the anniversary, and the powerful renditions of "You'll Never Walk Alone". This year when Liverpool played Borussia Dortmund, close to the anniversary, both fans joined together in singing the Liverpool anthem.
But there was one moment that stood out for me. At the 20th memorial ceremony, Andy Burnham, the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, was interrupted by an impromptu chant of "Justice for the 96". It started with one voice but grew to an impassioned plea by all those present. Something about the rawness of it, it being so unscripted and passionate, made it really hit home how affected these Liverpool supporters were by not only what had happened at Hillsborough but by what they had had to endure afterwards. It was bigger than fans supporting their team. The cry for justice would not stop until they got it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-z3mBIi084Q
April 15th 1989 was a horrible day for football fans, especially those of Liverpool. The families of the 96 victims of the tragic events at Hillsborough who never saw their loved ones come home from watching a football match had to deal with that incredible, sudden loss. On top of that they endured years of suffering, of being told that fellow Liverpool supporters, through their unruly violent behaviour, were to blame for their deaths. For 27 years the families fought for justice for the 96. Today they got it. The verdict of the inquests into the disaster ruled the fans were unlawfully killed as a result of police errors and that Chief Superintendent David Duckenfield, the match commander that day, was "responsible for manslaughter by gross negligence".
I remember that day well. It was early days of live coverage of English football in Malta, on a new Italian channel. Not being fans of Italian commentary, and the reception wasn't the best, my Dad and I had decided to watch the recorded version later, with the "proper" English commentary. While we were watching something else, I had the urge to switch it over to the football. My Dad was none too pleased as "now you're going to spoil it for us", but it was at the moment that fans were beginning to spill onto the pitch. Our initial thoughts were, "hooligans again". But it quickly became apparent that this was something else. The fans on the pitch were the lucky ones, escaping the carnage unfolding up against the fences in the stands. BBC World Service told us that 10 had died, then 20, 30. And up and up it went. It was a Saturday afternoon unlike no other listening for news and results from the English football.
Over the years after 1989 I watched news and documentaries about the disaster. I was moved by memorials and the tragic stories. It was emotional watching Liverpool fans singing for justice for the 96 at matches around the anniversary, and the powerful renditions of "You'll Never Walk Alone". This year when Liverpool played Borussia Dortmund, close to the anniversary, both fans joined together in singing the Liverpool anthem.
But there was one moment that stood out for me. At the 20th memorial ceremony, Andy Burnham, the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, was interrupted by an impromptu chant of "Justice for the 96". It started with one voice but grew to an impassioned plea by all those present. Something about the rawness of it, it being so unscripted and passionate, made it really hit home how affected these Liverpool supporters were by not only what had happened at Hillsborough but by what they had had to endure afterwards. It was bigger than fans supporting their team. The cry for justice would not stop until they got it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-z3mBIi084Q
Monday, 25 April 2016
That night in Spain
Day -779. WorldCup2018.
Do you remember when Spain had to beat Malta by 11 goals to qualify for the 1984 European Championship Finals? It's not a World Cup story, I know, but it is necessary to have one more Malta story, as a continuation of yesterday's post and in defiance of Tony Soprano. The Spain-Malta story also has a comical sequel, pointed out to my by one of those friends with whom humour in football was found many times over the years.
In December 1983 Spain had to beat Malta by a difference of 11 goals to qualify for France '84 and eliminate Holland on goal difference. This, I believe, was the last time that the final round of qualifying matches were not played at the same time, thus eliminating the possibility of teams knowing what result they needed. In the match played in Malta earlier in qualifying, Spain had come back from 2-1 down in the second half to win 3-2. Unfortunately, I wasn't at that match. When I looked it up, I found that it was played a day before my birthday and maybe I was busy eating chocolate cake somewhere, as a warm up to the even better chocolate cake I was going to eat the next day. But there was still something quite unforgettable about that match. The local TV station (the only one) would show recordings of Malta's matches in the evening. The commentator was the wonderful Fr. Hilary Tagliaferro. He presented a sports programme on TV every weekend, he was the football commentator, he worked for many years for the Malta FA. And he was a priest, admired by many. Now there's a story.
Fr. Hilary's excitable commentary when Malta scored their second goal is quiet legendary. I cannot find any footage of it, but in my head I can hear: goal...goal...goal...GOAL!!!!! Apart from the exuberant commentary it was a great result: "we only lost 3-2".
Even though we didn't expect a similar result in the return match, nobody, including the Dutch, really feared that Spain would get their required 11 goals. The 11 became 12, when Malta had the audacity to score. At 3-1 at half-time, there didn't seem much hope that Spain would redeem themselves in the Euros after a disappointing performance as the host country of the 1982 World Cup. But the goals kept coming and coming. And the final result, 12-1, was as much a triumph of a massive proportions for Spain as it was the ultimate embarrassment for Malta.
Inevitably, conspiracy theories abounded and still do. There really only was one theory, and it would take no genius to guess what it was. I stress, it was just a theory. No evidence of any wrongdoing was ever uncovered. The following year the Malta FA hired a non-Maltese coach, Guentcho Dobrev to take over the task of rebuilding some pride in Maltese football.
The Maltese goalkeeper on that fateful night was John Bonello. One would imagine that he became the punch line of many jokes in Spain. Indeed, Spanish friends, told me years later that he was quite the legend in Spain for his non-heroics that night. At the end of his career you would think that he would not want to be reminded of his unwanted status in Spain. But not our John. He embraced the humour and faced it head on. He featured in a beer commercial that had him as the prominent hero, as "Spain's Perfect Friend". The joke is taken further when you see that it is a commercial for a Dutch beer on Spanish TV. Whether Bonello realised that he was being used as source of amusement is unknown to me. Maybe he agreed to it as a way to be rid of the demons. Or he thought he could use his misfortune to his monetary benefit. He could have just wanted his 15 minutes of fame all over again. Whatever it was, it brought the conspiracy theorists out again. A couple of comments under this video infer that Bonello might have been happy to make money out of this match twice over. Again, I stress, that's a very bold accusation. The perception, unfortunately, will always remain but there was no evidence.
Whatever may have happened, it remains one of those moments that we, Maltese football supporters, can only laugh at.
Do you remember when Spain had to beat Malta by 11 goals to qualify for the 1984 European Championship Finals? It's not a World Cup story, I know, but it is necessary to have one more Malta story, as a continuation of yesterday's post and in defiance of Tony Soprano. The Spain-Malta story also has a comical sequel, pointed out to my by one of those friends with whom humour in football was found many times over the years.
In December 1983 Spain had to beat Malta by a difference of 11 goals to qualify for France '84 and eliminate Holland on goal difference. This, I believe, was the last time that the final round of qualifying matches were not played at the same time, thus eliminating the possibility of teams knowing what result they needed. In the match played in Malta earlier in qualifying, Spain had come back from 2-1 down in the second half to win 3-2. Unfortunately, I wasn't at that match. When I looked it up, I found that it was played a day before my birthday and maybe I was busy eating chocolate cake somewhere, as a warm up to the even better chocolate cake I was going to eat the next day. But there was still something quite unforgettable about that match. The local TV station (the only one) would show recordings of Malta's matches in the evening. The commentator was the wonderful Fr. Hilary Tagliaferro. He presented a sports programme on TV every weekend, he was the football commentator, he worked for many years for the Malta FA. And he was a priest, admired by many. Now there's a story.
Fr. Hilary's excitable commentary when Malta scored their second goal is quiet legendary. I cannot find any footage of it, but in my head I can hear: goal...goal...goal...GOAL!!!!! Apart from the exuberant commentary it was a great result: "we only lost 3-2".
Even though we didn't expect a similar result in the return match, nobody, including the Dutch, really feared that Spain would get their required 11 goals. The 11 became 12, when Malta had the audacity to score. At 3-1 at half-time, there didn't seem much hope that Spain would redeem themselves in the Euros after a disappointing performance as the host country of the 1982 World Cup. But the goals kept coming and coming. And the final result, 12-1, was as much a triumph of a massive proportions for Spain as it was the ultimate embarrassment for Malta.
Inevitably, conspiracy theories abounded and still do. There really only was one theory, and it would take no genius to guess what it was. I stress, it was just a theory. No evidence of any wrongdoing was ever uncovered. The following year the Malta FA hired a non-Maltese coach, Guentcho Dobrev to take over the task of rebuilding some pride in Maltese football.
The Maltese goalkeeper on that fateful night was John Bonello. One would imagine that he became the punch line of many jokes in Spain. Indeed, Spanish friends, told me years later that he was quite the legend in Spain for his non-heroics that night. At the end of his career you would think that he would not want to be reminded of his unwanted status in Spain. But not our John. He embraced the humour and faced it head on. He featured in a beer commercial that had him as the prominent hero, as "Spain's Perfect Friend". The joke is taken further when you see that it is a commercial for a Dutch beer on Spanish TV. Whether Bonello realised that he was being used as source of amusement is unknown to me. Maybe he agreed to it as a way to be rid of the demons. Or he thought he could use his misfortune to his monetary benefit. He could have just wanted his 15 minutes of fame all over again. Whatever it was, it brought the conspiracy theorists out again. A couple of comments under this video infer that Bonello might have been happy to make money out of this match twice over. Again, I stress, that's a very bold accusation. The perception, unfortunately, will always remain but there was no evidence.
Whatever may have happened, it remains one of those moments that we, Maltese football supporters, can only laugh at.
Sunday, 24 April 2016
Memories make the present
Day -780. World Cup2018
Tony Soprano once said: "'Remember when' is the lowest form of conversation". I never agreed with the writer of that line, who did a good job of portraying Soprano as a man unhappy about his past and bitter about where life had taken him. This (my disagreement with the quote) came to mind a couple of weeks ago on a visit to Malta for a few days. There were lots of "remember when" moments with friends with whom some of the best moments where shared. And we laughed at our memories in way that Soprano probably couldn't. And those incidents shared many years ago have made our friendships strong.
Much of my 1000 day countdown is made up of memories, of World Cups past and other football incidents. With the same Malta friends we might have, maybe inappropriately, made fun of some of the un-pronoucable names. We laughed at commentators stating the obvious, or players doing a Rivaldo (the missile incident against Turkey, 2002). We supported, but were entertained by, Malta in their home qualifiers. We prayed for a win, maybe a draw, or even just a goal, yet very often we could do nothing other than laugh at our desperate hope that our goalkeeper would not drop a cross, or at our pleas that we be awarded a non-existent penalty out of pity.
There were matches watched by myself, lucky that I lived within a half hour walking distance from the one stadium where all the football was played. Those lazy Sunday afternoons, sitting in a mostly empty stadium, enjoying (again, probably inappropriately) the smell of cigarette smoke were probably what led to my life being remembered in 4 year cycles starting with 1982. That stadium and Tele Santana.
Tele Santana made me happy, but at the time I didn't know it was because of him. I came across a story recently about the joy that Santana brought to the Brazilian team when he was their manager, and how the Brazilian people, starved of the Brazilian way of playing football in the 1970s, shared in that joy. And so did I, in that first World Cup I watched in 1982. I've eulogised that team many times in the past. A 'remember when' moment. I remember when Brazil played football and it was fun to watch. The tricks, the audacity to do things that other players on other teams wouldn't dare do in a competitive match. And because of that memory of Santana's team I enjoy the moments of brilliance that happen these days from a team like Barcelona. And I enjoy football because Brazil '82 existed in my lifetime.
As with my my friends, reconnected with recently, the happy memories of nine World Cups make for a happy present. It wouldn't have happened without the past, Mr. Soprano.
Do I have a point? Is there a reason for all this? Probably somewhere, if I looked for it. This all simply came from a chance reading of that Tele Santana story, a remembering of that Sopranos episode and the recent trip to Malta. I will not preach about a lesson to be learnt from this. Just a happy collection of memories that contribute to me doing this everyday.
Better than Tony Soprano, comedian Steven Wright: "When I think of the past it brings back so many memories."
Tony Soprano once said: "'Remember when' is the lowest form of conversation". I never agreed with the writer of that line, who did a good job of portraying Soprano as a man unhappy about his past and bitter about where life had taken him. This (my disagreement with the quote) came to mind a couple of weeks ago on a visit to Malta for a few days. There were lots of "remember when" moments with friends with whom some of the best moments where shared. And we laughed at our memories in way that Soprano probably couldn't. And those incidents shared many years ago have made our friendships strong.
Much of my 1000 day countdown is made up of memories, of World Cups past and other football incidents. With the same Malta friends we might have, maybe inappropriately, made fun of some of the un-pronoucable names. We laughed at commentators stating the obvious, or players doing a Rivaldo (the missile incident against Turkey, 2002). We supported, but were entertained by, Malta in their home qualifiers. We prayed for a win, maybe a draw, or even just a goal, yet very often we could do nothing other than laugh at our desperate hope that our goalkeeper would not drop a cross, or at our pleas that we be awarded a non-existent penalty out of pity.
There were matches watched by myself, lucky that I lived within a half hour walking distance from the one stadium where all the football was played. Those lazy Sunday afternoons, sitting in a mostly empty stadium, enjoying (again, probably inappropriately) the smell of cigarette smoke were probably what led to my life being remembered in 4 year cycles starting with 1982. That stadium and Tele Santana.
Tele Santana made me happy, but at the time I didn't know it was because of him. I came across a story recently about the joy that Santana brought to the Brazilian team when he was their manager, and how the Brazilian people, starved of the Brazilian way of playing football in the 1970s, shared in that joy. And so did I, in that first World Cup I watched in 1982. I've eulogised that team many times in the past. A 'remember when' moment. I remember when Brazil played football and it was fun to watch. The tricks, the audacity to do things that other players on other teams wouldn't dare do in a competitive match. And because of that memory of Santana's team I enjoy the moments of brilliance that happen these days from a team like Barcelona. And I enjoy football because Brazil '82 existed in my lifetime.
As with my my friends, reconnected with recently, the happy memories of nine World Cups make for a happy present. It wouldn't have happened without the past, Mr. Soprano.
Do I have a point? Is there a reason for all this? Probably somewhere, if I looked for it. This all simply came from a chance reading of that Tele Santana story, a remembering of that Sopranos episode and the recent trip to Malta. I will not preach about a lesson to be learnt from this. Just a happy collection of memories that contribute to me doing this everyday.
Better than Tony Soprano, comedian Steven Wright: "When I think of the past it brings back so many memories."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)