I have always been fond of the game of soccer. In spite of its plebeian origins and popularity, which, in a studious family like mine, was an activity associated with loud and rowdy crowds – essentially a Roman circus where the plebe eats and screams its frustrations out of its lungs – I must confess that the unpredictable movement of a ball and the intricacies of teamwork exerted a strong pull in my teenager’s imagination. I don’t mean to be a classist, but soccer was not a subject of conversation in my household. My passion for it grew over time. However, it remained attached to Olympic style games, at the national level.
Back to my teenage years, because of my volleyball practice, I was a natural goalie. Contrary to most soccer players, who want to kick the ball, I had an aerial sense of the ball, its trajectory, its spin, its velocity. I could jump high and grab it. Goalies are in demand. One day I was recruited on the school yard; then, on my first game, I blocked a penalty kick. I was an instant hit. But, even in the least sweaty and strenuous role of the game, in order to play ball, I had to sneak out of my house and lie, for if my father saw me engaging in a Philistine game, he would consign me to a Benedictine convent. I could not afford a smoking gun either. Consequently, I may be the only Italian boy who never owned a soccer ball. True!
There was an exception to this strict household regime: whenever Italy played at an international level. Then, my father, an Emeritus Professor, who drowned himself under piles of books and dusty libraries, would undergo an amazing physical and character metamorphosis, turning into the most consummate and verbally colorful soccer fan: a patriot without foul language. Substitutions on our side were speech replacement: derelict, calamity, pig, dog, turtle, spastic, butcher, crass, asinine, brainless, inept, incompetent, egotist, primadonna, ballerina (reserved to players like our current Toni, who offer a fancily choreographed ballet performance), or signorina, the latter reserved to those who would ruinously fall and roll in amazing spasms when barely tackled (now almost everyone). My father had a way to deliver mild words with dense weight. Oddly, this colorful and passionate edge was my favorite side of my father.
Regarding the game of soccer itself, neither one of us was taken abash by the single digits of its minimalist outcome. Goals are fun and sometime spectacular, but even in a scoreless game, there is plenty of struggle and action to observe, and the intrinsic difficulty of scoring is actually one of the most attractive features of this game. Strategy and resolve, art and skills, technique and creativity, profiting of the opponent’s smallest mistake, even luck, all play an important role in this game. Of course, the low score aspect of the game is not generally appreciated by American fans and it may be the direct consequence of its lack of popularity in the U.S. Although Americans appreciate games of doom and extreme odds like golf and baseball, Americans love high scoring games. But only baseball is so basic: one point per man coming to home base; whereas American football, a game on steroids, assigns several points per touch down. Struggles without outcome are utter nonsense to a civilization used to entertainment, results and prompt deliveries. Soccer has neither of them. Waiting seems foreign to the world of pragmatism. Yet, thousands of Red Sox fans waited decades to see their team win the series, and are well acquainted with the subtle pleasures of rooting for a home team who struggles. Isn’t the win so much sweeter?
Much like baseball, soccer is a game of endurance, patience, tactic and finesse. It just happens to require a pair of legs and lungs a baseball player can only dream of. Rules are fairly strict. You play too forward, you lose; too weak, you lose; too rough, you lose; play solo, you lose too…
All games of extreme odds have something attractive. But in order to be a soccer fan and root for Italy one must be adept to agony, capable of utter sufferance. How else can one stand watching one of the best soccer teams the world has ever seen, playing worse than a minor league team. But soccer is ubiquitous in Italy, like chaos, delays, taxes and spaghetti. You cannot avoid it. Soccer is like breathing for most Italians. It is in the air, you play it in the school yard, on the street, even in your living room, only later on you get on a real court. You take a bus or go to any bar and half of the customers are talking about it. So you kick the ball. If you become good enough, you get drafted by a team, then begin a well paid career.
As in Brazil, our soccer team is capable of wonders, like a tiger ready to leap and tear you with its powerful claws. So where was the problem on this Cup? Why didn’t we make it to the finals? The problem is that tigers are often asleep, especially during day hours. In addition, the zoo ones are too well fed. And tigers won’t do anything until you seriously bug the hell out of them. Even then, they may say: hey buzz off, I got a salary here, why would I move a paw? Just kiss my hind and look at my fur!
Italy sucked! But the highlights of this tournament did not come from the big teams. They came from the underdogs, particularly from Turkey, who has given us the pleasure soccer is meant to deliver. History was made on the quarterfinals of round A, on the game that was meant to determined the second place in the round. It was made with the greatest come back I ever witnessed from any team, including the legendary win of Italy against Germany, at the 1970 Mexico World Cup. Favorite on paper, the Czechs dominated the game during the entire first half, leading to a 2-0 advantage, on the second half, continuing to pound on the Turks, even missing two easy goals. At 70 minutes, Turkey looks done with, spent, finished. Well, as it turns out, not even close. All of the sudden, eighteen minutes before the end of the game, Turkey’s outstanding left wing Sabri wakes up, and as in a seeming spell, galvanizes his entire team, besieging its opponent and taking complete possession of the game; scoring not two, but three consecutive goals, eliminating their opponent at the very last minute. This match dwarfed the entire tournament – the underdog fighting tooth and nail, coming back to bite you in a place I am not going to disclose.
I dared comparing this game to what in my experience was the best soccer game I ever witnessed. Back in the 70’s, my father and I broke at once the four legs of our couch, when we landed from a five-foot simultaneous leap in the air, prompted by a fourth winning goal of Italy against Germany. At the time, it was an unexpected win against all odds, a win of Italian artistry against German perfection, of creativity versus machine, of inventiveness opposed to military organization. Old political resentments helped fueling the duel, making it a more significant win than it ever was. But so is sport, a container to channel deep and unreported emotions, a way to steam off and give way to sentiments that could bottle up and lead to true conflicts between nations. In this sense, sports bear the sign of the highest civilization, a modern ambassador. Imagine a soccer match of Team USA against North Korea or Iran. This is what Italy played on that day.
For the record, on that legendary game, Germany was favorite and had outstanding, mature players on its team; rocks like Maier, Mueller, Schnellinger and Beckenbauer. An awesome team. Italy had an equally spectacular team, with stars of the caliber of Albertosi, Burgnich, Facchetti, Cera, Rosato, Bertini, Domenghini, Mazzola, De Sisti, Boninsegna, Riva and legends like Zoff, Rivera (a midfield genius), Prati and Poletti on the bench, all artists capable of inventing a goal out of nowhere. Even then, the way Italy played, reminded me of what Italy stands for: infinite artistry, elegance, finesse, all types of talent you cannot buy or learn, not in a lifetime; all skills and manners that are refined by hundreds of generations. In all this laude, take into account that only Rivera and Albertosi spoke Italian at the time. The rest of our players were rather uneducated, inarticulate men; very unlikely speakers. Yet, they had absorbed the Italian way, the way in which Italy distinguishes itself from all nations on earth, both on serious and trivial matters. They had learned the art. You may want to rent that legendary game. You will not regret it!
Coppa UEFA 2008
Back to the 2008 UEFA, speaking of resentment, I must confess that I enjoyed seeing the French team steamrolled and mortified by the Netherlands. I think that such resentment comes with the memory of having nearly lost a world title by their rude and pedantic soccer of 2006. Italy prevailed in 2006, but only at the penalty kicks, with a bit of luck and divine intervention. This time, the score of Netherlands against France is unequivocal. Although the goal of Henry was a goal of finesse, this win, in general terms, represents the return of intelligence and strategy, over a game of muscle and brutality practiced by the French, infecting European soccer. Hopefully, it is the end of the time of bullies. French would have to start using their brains. A clear 3-1 score seals the faith of the French team and witnesses a new Netherlands, in my view, a memento of their spectacular 1974 team, which defeated 2-0 on the final the titanic Brazil, at the German World Cup. It happened during the golden generation of Dutch football, all shaggy hair, sideburns and intelligence. It was called “the team of total football”, where defenders attacked and attackers defended. At the centre of it all was captain Johan Cruyff, leading by example. Unstoppable, he seemed to turn up wherever there might be space and that always meant danger when he had the ball at his feet. The key to the team though was that the other players filled in around Cruyff and combined to form a coherent whole even when they seemed destined to drift into chaos. The probing acumen of Johan Neeskens was also vital to the team, as were Rob Rensenbrink’s guile, Johnny Rep’s quickness and Ruud Krol’s timing and forays forward. Regardless of the memorable names, however, it was teamwork and understanding which made this side arguably the best to have never won a World Cup.
ITALY-NETHERLANDS
Rather static game, a sluggish, hardly existing Italian team, lacking energy and initiative. Talking about laziness. It makes you wonder: are our players too well paid? Easy win for Nehterlands.
ITALY-RUMANIA
A much suffered game, though rich of action and goal close calls. Herd not to notice the spastic inability of Toni to convert great assist balls. Best player, our goalie Buffon who, with an impossible fending of a penalty kick, saves at the 81st minute the Italian team from sinking to the bottom of group C. Amazing! But one still wonders, what happened to world champion Italy.
ITALY-FRANCE
Game of great expectations on both sides, with no team liking the other at all, because of old rivalry. Opaque game, with Italy asleep and France barely existing. Una partita in pantofole (in night sleepers). At the end of 90 boring minutes, Italy wins a qualification by a thin thread, a well executed penalty kick which, as far as the penalty itself, barely existed, and an auto-goal thanks to a deviation of Henry, from a free kick. After missing at the least five goal assists, our forward “ballerina” Toni, has demonstrated beyond doubt that he is a complete dufus, a useless pawn, a lazy whale, as fat as inconclusive, ineffective, disoriented, and what have you… He should be retired. So Italy makes it, like Italy makes most of its dealings, at the very last minute. Where is the tiger we used to know? Still asleep, a threatened species, behind bars, extinct?
NETHERLANDS-RUSSIA
Another real excitement of these games came all by surprise with Russia vs. Netherlands. Action like this has hardly been seen in any game. The players must have lost ten pound each. Both teams produced a volume of performance and initiative uncommon to soccer: how about a goal action every minute? Both teams played with passion, but Russia had an additional gear on its resolve and concentration. They tied a game at the last minute of the regular time, then crown their dominance with a terrific 3-1.
ITALY-SPAIN
As I mention before, the hope of every Italian is that behind this sleepy and lazy team, there is a tiger asleep. Italy manages to wake up always at the last minute. Instead, Italy managed to display another opaque performance, revealing that the tiger is dead. There is a kitty cat in her place, disconnected, disorganized, lacking initiative, scared of playing. Spain did not shine either, but played a better game and deserved to win at the penalty kicks. Italy is a dead team. Without support and dialogue, three or four outstanding players cannot make a difference. Yet, I cannot avert the thought that anyone of our club teams, Milan, Juventus, Inter, would have won this easy match hands down. After all, Spain is a mediocre team. To bring Italy down, there is the Toni issue, a useless and hopeless player that nullifies and vilifies every assist ball sent forward. Luca Toni missed 12 goals in two games, six in this match alone. Even a blind man could see it. Yet, no substitutions from the bench. This means that Roberto Donadoni is incompetent. I am walking out with this sense of disillusion in me.
GERMANY-TURKEY
Bar none, one of the best games of the entire tournament, with Turkey, the underdog, giving a hard time, even a great scare to Germany, scoring repeatedly, holding equal possession of the ball, defending well, attacking every two minutes, shooting projectiles at the German goal, almost scoring over twice. For a moment, Germany must have seen dark. Instead, on a 2-2 score and the teams likely heading to extra-time, Germany profits from a brief distraction of Turkey’s defense and punishes them with a goal at the 88th minute. No time to react for Turkey. You don’t mess with Germany. They are not there to please you, they are there to win. They are well trained and resolute sons of Saxony and Bavaria. You may want to notice that Turkey was missing five of its best players and one wonders whether Germany would bear a chance with those monsters on the court. We will see it next time around. Germany shall be honored of winning against such a mighty opponent. Thus, before I leave, I hail Turkey as the best, most pleasant surprise of the entire tournament. I do! Thank you Turkey for wanting to be part of Europe. Thank you for participating and giving us the pleasures this game has lacked for so long. We love your team and we look forward to see it shine at the next tournament!
SPAIN-RUSSIA
After a brilliant win against Netherlands much more than what we saw on this game was expected from Russia. Instead, Russia was circumspect, so shy it would miss to conclude all its actions. Spain defense was excellent, but this Russia was a mere shadow of what we saw before. The game was clearly dominated by the Spanish team, keeping possession of the ball, running incursions in the Russian goal area. Mild first half, so mild it would make you yawn, but goals are obtained by trial an error. Spain wakes up on the second half and punishes Russia with a 3-0 and two distinct missed goals, stunning fans and opponents alike.. Unequivocal result for a team not so expected to make it to the finals. This is actually a team that may beat Germany on Sunday.
GERMANY-SPAIN
With plenty of excitement in the air, the loud, colorful, passionate, sangrillla-drinking Spanish group is opposed to the introverted, beer-drinking fans of Germany. What a spectacle! The game opens mildly, with neither team making bold moves. Spain does not look intimidated, and twentytwo minutes into the game, hits the left pole with the Russian goalie beaten. The crowd roars in anticipation of what is to come. Ten minutes after Spain scores with an impossible goal of Torres, whom, with the acceleration of a gazelle, sneaks between a defender and the goalie and tosses the ball into the goal. It will be the only goal of the match, but Spain, galvanized by this feat, takes possession of the game and starts pounding the Russian defense. Germany has its moment at the 58th minute, when nearly scores three times in two minutes, making Spain realize that this score is not a safety net. Germany’s threat does not last long. At the 66 minute, Spain misses by an inch a fabulous free kick assist. Again, at the 80th minute, major missed goal. It downs on Germany that this is it. If Torres were not exhausted he could have scored at the least two additional goals. Everyone expects Germany to react, but the players are spent and the game dies out with the Spanish still in control of the game and the Iberian fans realizing that they have broken the spell and won the European title against mighty Deutschland. Too bad we are not in Barcellona.