Yesterday, I wrote about the incomprehensible moments of success amidst the drudgery of failure that make up a game of soccer (or baseball, it’s very difficult for me to separate the two games, which is its own incomprehensible moment). And, indeed, those moments make for transcendent moments, when strangers will leap from their chairs and embrace a stranger, simply because they happen to also be standing.
Case in point: In October 2007, Spurs and Aston Villa played a match in which Spurs went down 4-1. It was a Wednesday afternoon match in Boston, so I was at a pub with about 7 other people. As Spurs faded further and further back, the silence blanketed everyone in the bar. There was only one other person in a Spurs kit, and everyone else appeared neutral but stayed quiet for our benefit. It was dour in the Phoenix Landing that afternoon. Then Spurs struck. 4-2 and with a bit of time. A penalty converted made it 4-3, but the clock conspired against them. In stoppage, a defender named Younes Kaboul* put one past the Villa keeper. I leapt from my chair, bounded one step forward, and came face-to-face with a man I’d never met before. I hugged him like he was the prodigal son and he hugged me like I was the welcoming father. He wore no shirt to display his allegiance. In the end, he had none. But the moment had carried him to stand, to embrace, to cheer. It was, he said, “pretty impossible.”
Indeed it was. But in order for a 4-4 draw to be “pretty impossible” and for a draw to be magical, for that matter, the possible, probable and likely must occur as well. Brilliance and imagination power the moment, but they rarely last the day. Beauty can triumph, art can transcend, but it is not inevitable, nor particularly likely. My father-in-law, an Italian from Basilicata — the rough hewn patch of mountains at the instep of the famous boot — finds technique, shape and guile just as beautiful as a one-touch passing. The game is an art, and the Dutch Masters have no moral high ground over the Italian Renaissance, and any aesthetic advantage exists, like all beauty, in the eye of its beholder.
In Group B, we have proponents of both all-beauty, all-glamour and no-guts, no-glory. While I find one exercising and the other an exercise in drudgery, they will contain excitement. Whether when beauty beguiles or technique confounds, there will be something to take note of, something to point to, something to leap for, perhaps into the arms of a stranger.
Group B –
Argentina – Like, whoa. On paper, even leaving two of their best players behind, the Argies should have a ticket booked for the semis. The only reason they might not, beside the weak defensive midfield with those absent player, is the manager who didn’t bring them along. Diego Maradona is more than a hero in Argentina. He’s like if Ted Williams was one of the best players in baseball history and then flew fighter planes in two wars, only instead of flying fighter planes, he won a World Cup and snorted a lot of coke. They will win this group in a walk and there will be a ton on them in the next round.
Republic of Korea – These are the good guys. They have a lot of guys named Park on their team. They are all fast and never run out of breath. They are disciplined. And because I don’t want to descend into any more racial stereotypes I’m done.
Nigeria – Super Eagles! Name a player from Nigeria. … Seriously, that’s what I asked myself, and then it turned out I knew 14 of the 23. I think that means they’re all fairly middle-of-the-road talents. In this group, my guess is that’ll be enough, just enough, over Good Korea.
Greece – The dullest, most awfulest, most suck-the-air-out-of-the-ball-and-the-stadiumest team ever. I don’t think they’ve ever attacked. They just wait until the keeper has wandered off for tea or ouzo (laid near the corner by a swarthy character) and then boot it into an empty net. That said, the strategy worked when the won the European Championships in 2004. Pray it doesn’t this year.
Argentina should be a lock to take all the points in this group, winning every game without breaking a sweat. The only reason it might be difficult is Maradona’s scatterbrained squad and in-game tactics. Nigeria are probably the favorites, based on the pseudo home-field of playing in Africa, just as Good Korea kicked ass when they hosted in 2002. And don’t tell me that Nigeria and South Africa are distant; there has been a continental home-field throughout the history of the tournament. I’m not (that) racist. Greece. Is a country. That owes a lot of people money. And can’t play soccer worth watching for shit.
GROUP C AND BOOZE TOMORROW! BUCKLE UP, AMERICA!
*Just for Estes, Kaboul also helped put Spurs into the Champions League over his precious Man City on 5 May.
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