Reasons to be cheerful

Post coitum omnes animal triste est, and what a glorious white-knuckle ride that was. But now it's gone. I've used Reasons to be cheerful as a title a few times over the years, and it usually means I'm trying very hard to find some.

Rout

I once saw City lose six nil against Cardiff, our local rivals. Our forward players actually did quite well, particularly a strikingly short winger called Jamal Campbell-Ryce who was making his debut, but it seemed like every time Cardiff attacked they scored. Our keeper, the unfortunately named Gerken, gave a bravura display of coming when he should have stayed and staying when he should have come, and the defence were so unnerved by his ability to be everywhere and yet simultaneously nowhere that they didn't know what the hell to do, so in the end didn't do much.

I left at halftime, so technically I only saw them lose four nil. I've never walked out on a game early before or since, but it was an evening game, I had an 8:30 start across town in the morning, and I wanted time to have a beer and find some kind of emotional equilibrium before bedtime. It was one of the worst displays I've seen from any City side, and I've seen a few. I think they could have given Brazil a game last night though.

Memories: round and round we go

I once saw a TV play about a series of family Christmases in the same parental home, spread across a couple of decades. I know it was real because I was too young to be tripping when I saw it, but I can't remember its name and it's too vague a memory to be easily googled. The narrative device itself stuck in my mind as an example of the whole time's-arrow-time's-cycle thing, with the family Christmas remaining the same, even as their individual lives moved on.

It's the same way that I recall my life, except that the backdrop to my monologues and plot twists comes from football. Not that football is really the be-all and end-all, whatever I may say in here, but it does give my life a rhythm, as the weekend domestic programme chimes with the midweek Champions League counterpoint. Every April and May there's a crescendo, and every fourth year it carries on building to the grand World Cup happy finish. Truly World Cups are the real Christmas, as previously discussed.

So seeing David Platt's winner against Belgium in 1990 on my widescreen TV a few weeks ago instantly took me back to the tiny telly in the Midlands pub we used to drink in back then. I can almost taste the purple nasties - a snakebite with a dash of blackcurrant, if you're wondering. I think all the cells in my body that thought that was a good idea have since been replaced. Tiny tellies are also a thing of the past, in fact the widescreen itself was bought specifically for the last World Cup.

A week after the Belgium game we were back in the same pub on my birthday, watching England lose to Germany on penalties. By Euro 1996 I'd moved to Bristol, and I remember seeing Croatia v Germany in a pub in the Mendips with a friend, the last time we ever did acid. Germany won despite Davor Suker's trickery and the way the grass kept changing colour and moving around. Gives purple nasty a whole new meaning.

If regular readers think this all sounds a bit familiar, that's because it's a rehash of a similar post from Euro 2012. But then eternal recurrence is kind of the theme here, which makes this recycling a legitimate device with a real philosophical purpose. What purpose? I'm trying to push you into a short but intense existential crisis in a remote mountain hideout, after which you will emerge crying out to the crags and glaciers that you still choose life, even if it means reading my old posts over and over again until the end of time.

Ironically, I think this is the first time I've done that spiel. The first, but probably not the last.

Hot

If you're wondering why I use such short titles, it's to save characters when I post the link in Twitter.

Anyone with any lingering doubts about the impact of the heat on the tournament must have found the events of the last two days hard to explain. The earlier Friday game, France v Germany, kicked off at 1:00 pm local time. It was played between two European teams, and occasionally rose to the level of languid before rapidly reverting to sluggish and dull. The later game, Brazil v Colombia, kicked off at 5:00. It was played between two South American (and therefore comparatively heat-resistant) teams, and was one of the most entertaining games of the tournament.

So what exactly do they expect us to do?

There haven't been any games for a couple of days, and it feels like a dummy run for the endless weeks without football which are coming up all too soon. The final is next Sunday, July 13th, and the new season doesn't kick off until Friday August 8th. That's 26 days with no football, or nearly 4 endless weeks.

Back to work, you slacker

I have to go back to work this afternoon. I remember when that kind of thing used to happen all the time. May, it was. It was generally mild, but sometimes I had to wear a jumper. Now it's starting again.

Which means I don't have time to write a proper thing for you. Here's another one from 2006 - why the World Cup is better than Christmas. Amazing that something so clearly the case should need to be explained.

Europe versus Africa

It's remarkable the way the first three days of the round of 16 have fallen. Day one was all South America, day two was Europe against central America. Yesterday Europe had another continental battle, this time against Africa.

It's never quite happened for the Africans at the World Cup. Despite Pele predicting they'd win it before the year 2000, they've still never got beyond the quarter finals, and this year they haven't even got that far. As is now traditional they gave a good account of themselves, they impressed with their skills and effort, they made new friends and admirers etc etc, but it was Europe that got the actual results. And so it goes, most of the time. There's the occasional Isandhlwana but it's nearly always Rorke's Drift, and guess who ends up with all the silver.

Europe versus Central America

Warning: no jokes in this one. Sorry, but sometimes that's how they come out.

We all know the South Americans have had a good World Cup, but the rest of the Americas have also done better than usual. Having started with four teams, all of them except Honduras made it out of the groups.

South America Day

That's just my title, not an official event. There's no such thing as South America Day, although there is a Europe Day. In fact there are three different Europe Days depending on where in Europe you are, a fact that sums up the progress of European federalism rather neatly.

Blinking

The Kogi people of Colombia, a spiritually and ecologically minded people, select a few baby boys from their newborn to be the next generation's priests. To avoid unwanted influences on their infant minds they keep them in a deep cave for the first nine years of their lives, with only artificial light and no human company except the adult priests.

On their ninth birthday they leave the cave and emerge blinking into the world, which is of course vastly more complex and beautiful than anything they might have imagined. The idea is that having seen the wonders of nature with fresh, unjaded eyes, they will then dedicate their lives to its defence. Every now and again they send us messages politely suggesting that the ecosystem might not be entirely well, which we studiously ignore. On the other hand we don't shut children in caves, so who's to say who's right?

However you view the data control approach to pedagogy, it's interesting to learn that you can partially recreate it as an adult by spending two and a half weeks on your sofa watching the World Cup, then going into town. It isn't that you haven't experienced town before, it just seems brighter and smellier than normal.

There's something else going on as well. You know when you first see your house after a few weeks away, and you breathe an inward sigh of relief that it's still there, and nothing disastrous has happened to it? Today was like that in reverse.

It wasn't the whole world that worried me. The newsagent's, for instance, I knew that was still there, and the Lidl at the bottom of the hill. Brazil also looks perfectly fine, as far as you can tell from the rectangular green parts.

As for the rest of it, though, some part of my mind needed to be reassured. Not that it's possible to check it all in person, but if the bit between here and central Bristol was intact, it seemed reasonable to extrapolate. Of course from a rational point of view there was nothing to worry about. Any significant act of global annihilation would have been mentioned on Twitter, plus the electro-magnetic pulse it generated would have interfered with my TV signal, so the senior parts of my brain were quite relaxed. The other bits, though, the lower lobes that still aren't quite convinced pterodactyls are really extinct, they need to see, hear and touch. And smell. Town was like a madeleine for me yesterday, it kept taking me back to other days, other times when I'd also been to town. Not quite Proustian, I know, but then I'm not quite Proust.

Of course, having confirmed that the world still exists, you're then left having to actually deal with it while your brain is carrying on like it's tripping. Is the music in the Galleries toilet really that loud? It's like a disco in there. And why is that guy singing loos are suffragettes? Because if they are it seems a bit reactionary to respond to their struggle for emancipation by shitting in their open mouths.

Mainly, though, it's the people. Town is full of them. Virtually no-one for weeks, and suddenly they're bubbling up all over the place. If you've got used to the deep sea isolation of your sofa, town is like the humanity bends.

So I'm not going back for a while. I've done the things I needed to do, in particular I've had a haircut, and now I can see the TV much better. And this afternoon the round of 16 starts with South America day. Colombia v Uruguay, nearly all of whom are allowed in, but before that Brazil v Chile. Bring it.

No football today

And nothing from me either, I'm afraid. I'm in the middle of a thing, but it's not quite ready and I want to drink that beer over there on the counter. Early tomorrow, promise.

Suarez update

Just a quick one this, for readers who don't follow the football news, or Twitter, or unreality in general.

Luis Suarez has been suspended from international football for 9 games, and from all forms of football for 4 months. Imagine being such a moral vacuum you aren't allowed to be involved in professional football.

In fact he's been banned from all "football-related activity" for that time, which in his case presumably includes biting people.

Groups G and H possible outcomes

Group G
This group was nearly quite straightforward, then Portugal equalised in the last minute against USA and made it complicated again.

If Ghana and Portugal draw they are both eliminated. Germany top the group unless the USA beat them.

If one of Ghana and Portugal win, they are still eliminated if Germany and the USA draw. If both games end in wins, the winner of the Germany USA game tops the group, and second place goes to the loser of that game or the winner of the other game, depending on goal difference.

Germany v USA will probably be the best watch.

Group H
If Belgium win or draw they're top, and second place goes to Algeria unless Russia beat them.

If Belgium lose and Algeria beat Russia, Algeria win the group and Belgium are second.

If Belgium lose and Russia beat Algeria, Belgium are top and Russia are second.

If Belgium lose and Russia and Algeria draw, Belgium are top and Algeria are second.

Channel hop, but do it in the awareness that the next football isn't for 42 hours. They know what's coming, and they're starting to wean us off already. We're now 48 games in, and only have 16 left. Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.

First

It's an unusual feeling for me. As I was editing last night's post about Ian Wright, Suarez bit Chiellini, and I used the incident for an ending. It occurred to me afterwards that most of you will have been watching the England game if you were watching at all, so I checked my visit stats, and for the first time in my life, a potential 71 of you HEARD IT HERE FIRST. I felt like Jon Simpson riding a tank into Baghdad. Or whatever it was he did. Frankly if they're going to fight wars during the last six weeks of the season they've no business being disappointed if our attention wanders a little. 2003 was an odd numbered year, for Christ's sake, they only had to wait a few weeks and we'd have followed the whole thing quite diligently.

The Suarez incident itself raises many questions, not the least of which relates to probability theory. For instance: if you're a professional footballer, are you more likely to be bitten by Luis Suarez or by a shark?

Groups E and F possible outcomes

Group E
This is one of those 6-3-3-0 groups where all 4 teams are still in it. Group D was the other 6-3-3-0, where the bottom team are eliminated, which was unfortunate for us.

Group E is the same configuration as the Holland-Germany-Portugal-Denmark group was at this point in Euro 2012, if that rings any bells, or come to that if it doesn't.

Let's start with the extremes. If Honduras beat Switzerland and France beat Ecuador, France win with 9 points and all the other teams have 3. In that instance, second place is decided on goal difference, with Ecuador as favourites.

If Ecuador beat France and Switzerland beat Honduras, Honduras are eliminated with 0 points and all the other three teams end with 6 points each. France almost certainly top the group, and Ecuador are favourites for second place.

Otherwise, France top the group, and Ecuador are second unless Switzerland do better than they do in points, or by 2 goals. Clear?

Channel hopping seems in order for this one.

National service

Ian Wright. Aah, bless him. He said this, in the Sun.

The next young player who says he does not want to play for England should be ordered to ring the parents of a soldier who has died serving his country in Afghanistan, and tell them his reasons.

I took the quote from 101 Great Goals, as the Sun is behind a Murdoch paywall. Which means people pay real spendable money to read the Sun online. Can you imagine? Wright was responding to a Harry Redknapp BBC radio interview, in which he claimed that while he was manager at Spurs English players had asked him to get them out of international games.

It's hard to know where to begin with this. Firstly, at the most literal level, can you imagine that phone call? Especially if you consider that most of us don't exactly warm to the Afghan war anyway. Not that most players are that political, but unless a player happens to combine an aversion to footballing national service with a strong patriotic desire to defend America's Uzbekhi oil lines it may not be best for them to go phoning bereaved parents.

But it's also worth looking at the two reasons Redknapp gives for players' reluctance to play for England.

Firstly, he mentions a player who didn't want to leave the country because his girlfriend was going to be having a baby in four weeks. Surely this is entirely reasonable? It isn't the fifties any more, men are generally encouraged to regard the pregnancies they cause as events deserving of their attention. I don't suppose many men with partners eight months gone would be taking themselves off to Minsk or Bratislava unless they had to.

Except of course that there are plenty of fans who'd do exactly that, and don't their friends think they're hilarious. Did you hear about Biggsy? Only went to Prague for the Champions League game! What? But isn't Carol about to drop? I know, what a lad, eh?

No. Biggsy is not a lad. Biggsy is a twat, you are both also twats, and Carol deserves better. I'm glad you aren't real, it saves me having to avoid you.

So a resounding fuck off to anyone demanding fathers-to-be hurl themselves across Europe for our entertainment, then. But Redknapp also offers another reason.

You see the stick the England players get and they come home, they’re earning fantastic money at their clubs, they’re all playing in the Champions League. They think, ‘Do we need the aggro?'

Now this might seem more like a legitimate complaint. It feeds into our sense of top level players as a pampered upper class, the oligarchs of sport. Until you remember an England fan shouting insults at the team as they left the pitch after losing to Romania at Euro 2000. I hope you get cancer. I hope you get cancer and die. I hope your kids get cancer and die.

I haven't put it in quotes, as I can't find a reference online, but that was the gist of it. It's an extreme example, but we all know there's a culture of that kind of thing among some of those who follow the game. When you think about it, I can't think of any reason why anyone should feel obliged to put themselves through that.

Take Rooney. He scored more goals than anyone in the qualifiers, and scored one and made one of the two goals we managed in Brazil. And look at the grief he's had. If I was him, I would think fuck this, you go out there and see how many slide rule passes you can thread through the Italian defence, you fat middle-aged fucks.

Yes, all right, that was two made up quotes and one I couldn't exactly remember. Here's some real ones from Twitter right now.

Hopefully thats the last time I will see #Rooney in an #England shirt

England look better without #rooney no shocks there

Here comes captain fantastic to slow the game down even more #gerrardsfault 

Gerrard Sucked Cock #GerrardsFault #FuckingScouser

Someone's got to trash his gaf if you scousers are really English! #germangerrard #undercovergerman #gerrardsfault 

Can't believe Roy Hodgson isn't resigning. Worst EVER performance in the World Cup??? Come on mate, do the right thing. #England

Admittedly the last one was Piers Morgan, but all the others seem to be real fans. I haven't added their Twitter names, because I don't want to encourage them, but I'm sure you could find them if you looked. Don't be unpleasant to them, though (wink wink).

I'm really not sure why anyone doing a professional job to a very high standard should feel obliged to subject themselves to such a torrent of bile when they don't have to. It would be offputting even if it was correctly spelt and capitalised.

So I'd have to take issue with Wright and his footballing white feathers, but the same knuckle draggers that excuse the draft dodgers remind us that there are worse things in football than his honest overcommitment to the cause. And as if on cue Suarez demonstrates this on our TVs. Just what we needed, a little biting satyr.

Groups C and D possible outcomes

Group C
This group is complicated. Colombia are definitely through, but fairly much everything else is up for grabs.

If Colombia beat Japan and Cote d'Ivoire beat Greece, Colombia win the group and Cote d'Ivoire finish second.

If Colombia beat Japan and Greece beat Cote d'Ivoire, Colombia win the group and Greece finish second.

If Japan beat Colombia and Cote d'Ivoire beat Greece, Colombia and Cote d'Ivoire go through, with the order determined by goal difference.

If Japan beat Colombia and Greece beat Cote d'Ivoire, Colombia top the group and either Greece or Cote d'Ivoire come second, depending on goal difference.

If both games are drawn, Colombia win the group and Cote d'Ivoire finish second.

If Colombia and Japan draw and Cote d'Ivoire beat Greece, Colombia win the group and Cote d'Ivoire finish second.

If Colombia and Japan draw and Greece beat Cote d'Ivoire, Colombia win the group and Greece finish second.

If Greece and Cote d'Ivoire draw and Colombia beat Japan, Colombia win the group and Cote d'Ivoire finish second.

If Greece and Cote d'Ivoire draw and Japan beat Colombia, Colombia win the group and Cote d'Ivoire finish second.

Both games should be worth a watch, and you might end up swapping between them a lot.

Group D
Two things can be relied upon in this group. We can rely on Costa Rica going through, and we can rely on England finally going home and putting us out of our misery.

Having those things resolved makes analysis simpler. If Costa Rica draw or win against England, they top the group.  If they lose, they can still top the group if Uruguay or Italy draw. If that game is won, it depends on goal difference.

The other place goes to Uruguay if they beat Italy, but Italy if they win or if it's a draw.

It's a difficult choice what to watch here. The main tension is in the Uruguay Italy game, but obviously it might feel weird not watching England.

Debalkanise!

Again. We've been seen off again. And there seems to be a consensus that it's the galacticos what dun it. Pirlo for Italy and Suarez for Uruguay, that's why we're going home. Why don't we have any of our own?

Really, this is why people have been whining on about Rooney. He's actually done perfectly well in the two years since Euro 2012, scoring crucial goals in qualifying then making or scoring both goals here. Only an idiot would drop him. But he's supposed to be more than just someone you wouldn't drop, he's supposed to be a superstar, like Kevin Keegan or Jesus Christ. You remember, Christ saves, but Keegan scores on the rebound. Rooney's supposed to provide the assist.

Groups A and B possible outcomes

At this point in tournaments, I always do a summary of what the teams in each group need to do to progress. It's more complicated than you might think, even though there are only two games left in each group.

As the last games in each group are played at the same time, coverage will be split between BBC1, BBC3, ITV and ITV4. Strangely, for Group G only one channel is listed. I have no idea why. It isn't Wimbledon doing it, as that's on BBC2, which isn't being used. Maybe it's a glitch in the listings. The BBC website is silent on the subject.

Group A
Cameroon are out. Otherwise, it's one of the more complicated groups.

If Brazil lose and Croatia win, Croatia top the group with Brazil or Mexico second depending on goal difference.

If Brazil lose and Mexico win, Mexico top the group and Brazil are second.

If Brazil win and Mexico win, they both go through and the order is decided on goal difference.

If Brazil win and Croatia win, Brazil top the group and Croatia are second.

If both games are drawn, Brazil are top and Mexico are second.

If Brazil draw but the other game is won, the winner is top and Brazil are second.

Mexico v Croatia is likely to be the game to watch.

Group B
This group is simple. Spain and Australia go home, and Holland and Chile go through. Holland top the group unless Chile beat them.

Holland v Chile is the game to watch.

The day of two days

In 2006, after we lost to Portugal on penalties in the quarter final, I wrote this.

It’s just vicious, really. Like free range calves, they get to run around the field for a few weeks, but then out come the chainsaws. Discounting the third place playoff, a poor apology for a wooden spoon game which is now beyond our wildest dreams, all the last fifteen games exist entirely for the purpose of inflicting the dreary ennui of defeat on one nation after another.

Children cry themselves to sleep, grown men hide under blankets all day, flags droop sadly on the bonnets of cars. Everywhere around the world. Including qualification, every country in the entire world except one goes through this every four years, every two years if you count the continental cups.

At least England - finally - managed to give us some halfway decent football. With their backs to the wall, they played with the fighting spirit of Douglas Bader and the soaring leap of a gazelle, as opposed to the other way round like they had been doing.

This time it's easier. Firstly, elimination was spread over two days, the day when we lost to Suarez, then the next day when Costa Rica's victory over Italy finally removed the last mathematical chance. This might sound worse, in the same way that extended nuclear halflives sound worse, but experts will tell you that actually short sharp bursts are the very worst, in sports grief as in radioactive decay.

Also, it's happened so much earlier than usual. This time we're the fourth team to be eliminated. In order, it's been Cameroon, Australia, Spain, England, making the four of us into a very sad CASE. In 2006 we lost to Portugal (again), in the quarter final (again), in a penalty shoot out (yet again), and it felt like we'd blown another real chance to achieve something. This year we didn't have time to start building false hopes, which is a lot kinder in the long run. It's an insight into what it must be like being Welsh.

The third difference is that normally when we get knocked out, the disappointment combines with an awareness that it's nearly the end of the World Cup. This year there's still loads of it left, and Messi has just scored his injury time winner against Iran as I edit this. So really, not a bad year at all.

Looking ahead, these are my predictions for the quarter finals

France to beat Germany

Italy to beat Brazil

Belgium to beat Argentina

Holland to beat Costa Rica

So do feel free to take the piss when Greece face up against the Ivory Coast in the final.

One little word

A tweet was RT'd into my timeline last night. It was from Ben Smith, BBC football correspondent (@BenSmithBBC). It said this.

Suarez said: "I dreamt this. I'm enjoying this moment, because of all I suffered, the criticism I received. So, there you go."

I thought what you're probably all thinking as well. Fuck you, you cheeky bastard, I thought. All you suffered? The criticisms you received? Evra and Ivanovic might feel they'd suffered a little bit as well.

70% of me was outraged. The rest of me was secretly pleased, because I knew there was enough here for the kind of snarky blogpost that would make me feel a little better about events in general. An ignoble response perhaps, but it was enough to let me get some sleep last night.

So I'm up this morning all ready to bitch and snipe, and I go hunting for the original quote. And this is what I find (Luis Suarez cries during post-match interview)

Reporter: Is it true that you dreamt of scoring multiple goals?

Suarez: Yes… yes.. I dreamt it and I am enjoying this moment together with my team. For all the moments I’ve lived and the criticisms we’ve received... well, there you have it.

Well that seems a little different, doesn't it? In particular, unless Suarez has started to use the Royal We, he's talking about criticisms of the Uruguayan national team rather than of himself in England. Also, there's no reference to suffering as such.

Having said that, some of his interview comments didn't exactly cover him in glory (Luis Suarez says Uruguay win was for the critics).

Before the game, too many people in England laughed about my attitude over the last few years, he said. This is a very good time for me. I want to see what they think now. There's a distinct air of the poor winner about that one. I'm also not quite clear how scoring two goals redeems past human failings, rather than leaving him a failed human who happens to have scored some goals. And Ben Smith may well feel his tweet (limited to 140 characters, remember) captured the spirit if not the letter of Suarez's remarks.

Still, it's important to get these things right, I think, if only because Suarez himself seems to have so little grasp of the concept of a fact as a description of an event existing independently of his personal needs.

For that slice of my audience that doesn't follow these matters as closely as I do, here's some background on this. You may remember the first time he came to the attention of an international audience beyond Uruguay and Holland, where he was playing for Ajax. The team, not the Homeric warrior. Sorry, but like I said, I have a diverse audience.

It's a peculiar thing, an English private school education. You know the singer Dido? You remember the first time you heard her name, and thought that sounds a lot like dildo? Well, the original Dido was a character in Virgil's Aeneid, a queen of Carthage who fell in love with Aeneas and killed herself when he sailed away. The first time I heard about dildoes, I thought that sounds a lot like Dido. The same thing happened with the Homeric and footballing Ajax. Despite my continued love of the classics, I can't help but feel that that's the wrong way round in both cases.

Back to Suarez. It was the 2010 World Cup, and Uruguay had a quarter final against Ghana. Although the World Cup was in Africa, Ghana were the only African team to progress beyond the group stage, so a large part of the world, and certainly the pub I was in, were right behind them to go as far as possible for Africa.

It was the last minute of extra time. Ghana had a shot which was going in and would have won the match, but Suarez blocked it with his hand and was sent off. It was cheating, but in football that's hardly unusual in itself. Ghana had a penalty, and Uruguay had lost a player, so it seemed fair enough.

What rather grated, though, in my mind and I think the mind of most observers, was that when Gyan missed Ghana's penalty Suarez jumped up and down in celebration as he headed up the tunnel, as if he'd done a really clever thing for which he was receiving his just reward.

Uruguay won the following penalty shootout, and went through. Gyan distinguished himself by taking the first penalty for Ghana and scoring, a show of character that Suarez would surely be unable to appreciate, but it availed them nothing. It's noticeable how often the Biff Tannens of football seem to win out over the Marty McFlys. Of course, Suarez was suspended for the semis and Holland saw them off, but the damage had been done.

The next thing we knew, Suarez was at Liverpool. During that time he was suspended for using racial abuse against Patrick Evra of Man Utd, and for biting Branislav Ivanisovich on the shoulder. To be honest I'm a bit bored listing his shortcomings, but here's a fair summary of the racial abuse incident. Let's hope today brings us a more pleasant subject.

Mainly on the plane

The day after the Euro 2012 final, I wrote this.

Let's use the Spanish second goal to illustrate the gap between [England] and [Spain]. Imagine if you will a small rectangular savannah filled with mutually hostile gangs of primitive creatures, half ape half footballer. They call to each other in grunts and glottal stops, and one gang has crudely daubed three lions on their chests in charcoal.

The tallest of the these, let's call him Andy Carroll, is bashing a defender's skull in with a thighbone. We see him throw it triumphantly but aimlessly into the sky, and suddenly Xavi is launching it precisely into Jordi Alba's orbit to the tune of the Blue Danube. Alba's turbocharged shot fires it under the keeper, it docks seamlessly with the net and Spain are two up. My god, they're full of stars.

First round summary

It's a poignant moment, the sixteenth game, as it's the last game where you get to see teams for the first time. It's a reminder that the clock is ticking, on the World Cup, on the summer, on our lives. If you're about twenty the hour hand is pointing towards the three on all of them.

For most of us, the days when those clocks could ever chime together are long gone. Where are the snows of yesteryear? Melted away, like our innocence and our Strawberry Mivvis. At least we know where the full backs of yesteryear are. They're in Brazil explaining goalline technology to Jonathan Pearce.

Inches

I wrote this following the Holland Spain game, but then I was too nervous about the England game the next day to finish it off properly. Inasmuch as it works here, it would work just as well with most games.

Well I don't think anyone was expecting that. Not when Silva's shot went just wide, anyway.

It was still the first half. Spain were a goal up from a dubious penalty, and Silva was through. Cilessen got a finger tip to his lob, and the ball went a foot or so wide of his right hand post.

If his right hand had been an inch or so to the left, the ball would have taken a different angle, dropping in off the post. Spain would have been 2-0 up, van Persie would never have given us the first truly memorable moment of the tournament, and Holland (probably) wouldn't have achieved such a striking demolition of the champions.

Renaissance

Sometimes two words are all you need. Here's Thierry Henry puttiing Robbie Savage in his place. I do admire that kind of economy of words, much as Oliver Reed might have admired a well made lemon cordial, but I'm only mentioning it here because Henry's relaxed demeanour speaks to a French confidence that contrasts dramatically with their embarrassed and petulant display in South Africa four years ago.

Again, again

It's usually about this time in a World Cup that I start to drift free of my moorings. It's the lack of human contact that does it. I've taken time off work, and retired to my sofa for three weeks. In the bad old days I used to have to go food shopping, but Asda have solved all that. My lodgers are away, and it's been a while since I last had to have a realtime human conversation.

So the England games are good for me, in that I usually watch them with people. We drink, we eat pizza, we share a space. It reminds me that language can also be delivered orally, and reconnects me to a world where a day might be known as Sunday rather than Day Four.

Fill in

It's just not happening today, I'm too tense to talk about Holland and Spain, so I'm afraid you'll have to wait. Here's something from 2006 instead. It's about the Trinidad game, which as you may recall started slowly, only to turn out well at the end. It's notable among other things for the way in which a player's reputation can change. It's hard to believe I ever wrote about Terry or Rooney in those terms.

Where the dice fall

The Germany of early 1918 was an unsettled place. Everyone knew someone who'd been killed in the last four years of war. Their enemies were blockading their ports, so food and other goods were in short supply. There were strikes, and mutinies.

But the military situation was actually quite good. Russia had fallen apart in revolution, and the German army of the eastern front was suddenly available for the west. Their army chiefs decided on one last roll of the dice - a huge offensive, to win the war before home disaffection and the intervention of the Americans lost it.

Opening salvo

Is Adrian Chiles the least Brazilian man in the world? There's something about his vowels that deflects sunlight. Or maybe he'd had a tip off, and already knew what the opening ceremony was going to be like.

Controversies

Today we embark on the first of a series of three "controversial" World Cups. This one is probably the least so, although you'll still have noticed a certain amount of fuss. Many people in Brazil (I'm not going to start calling it Brasil with an s, I'll just forget half the time anyway) have been protesting against it. Yes, that's Brazilians protesting against football.

Kick that soccer ball

This is the official FIFA World Cup song (We Are One Ole Ola). It's by someone called Pitbull, presumably because everyone is wondering why he hasn't been muzzled. If you can imagine the bucket of vomit that got the job as Official World Cup Bucket of Vomit because the panel thought the other buckets of vomit were a bit too edgy, clicking on the link will add nothing to your understanding. Really, the very phrase official FIFA World Cup song tells you everything you need to know. I don't know why they didn't just go with You've got to pick a pocket or two and have done with it.


I'd recommend clicking on this one though. Courtesy of the excellent @usasoccerguy, here's the best World Cup song this year. It's called Kick that soccer ball 

Europe

Have you ever heard of the seven bridges of Konigsberg? It was a problem created by German mathematician Leonhard Euler in 1735. He drew a map of the city (modern day Kaliningrad) with all its bridges, and tried to find a way to cross all the bridges just once. It turned out you couldn't.

You can walk in order through Belgium, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, France, Spain and Portugal, though. You can pass through each one just the once, without stepping into any other country, and without stepping out of a country that's qualified for the World Cup. You could include England if you counted the Channel tunnel, although you'd have to double back afterwards.

What I expect from you

Because it is, after all, the World Cup.

Now don't get me wrong. I know you all have your own lives, and I'm sure you want to get on with them as usual. For instance, many of you haven't even booked time off work. Those of you that have may even have done so for non-footballing reasons. I even know people who are going camping. Camping! In the middle of the World Cup! The mind boggles.

But I forgive you. What you can't do, though, is go having life events that demand my attention. Be extra careful when operating heavy machinery. Is it your birthday? No it isn't. Pregnant? How dare you. Exams? Don't be absurd. Actually, no, exams are fine, because all the time you're cooped up in an airless gym calculating root mean squares you can't be possibly be wanting anything from me.

You get the general idea. What you can do, what I'd actively like you to do, is come round and watch some games with me. We could have pizzas and beer. You know where I live. Unless you don't, in which case stop getting above yourself. This is a professional relationship, and I'm not having any truck with stalkers until mid-July at the earliest.

And just because you don't know me, don't think that gives you carte blanche to be having interesting times. Last World Cup BP stole all the headlines by haemorrhaging crude oil right across the Gulf of Mexico. They finally staunched the flow on July 15. Four days after the final. What good is that?

Right, well I'm glad we've cleared that up. Do come again.

One weird old trick: predicting the World Cup

Who goes to the World Club? The best players. What do the best players have in common? They play for the best clubs. How can you tell the best clubs? They're the ones that have most players at the World Cup. It's sort of like natural selection. Tautological, but true.

So which countries are likely to do well at the World Cup? The ones whose players play for the clubs with most players there.

Analysis: needs a little salt

In which the author goes on a series of digressions

So we're all looking ahead at games coming up, and we're talking about lines of four and getting it down the channels, especially if we learnt all we know about football from men in kipper ties. What we really want to know, though, is which are the games with a bit extra on them?

By which I mean, where's the back story? Who's got a grudge match against those cheating bastards from Italia 90? Which quarter finalists' grandparents fought grinding wars of attrition with the weapons Khruschev and Eisenhower didn't need any more? Where are the bars that stand fifty yards and two tense checkpoints from the opposition's bars? Let's have a look.

Analysis: club and country

Last time we talked about youth and experience, expecting to find they were inversely related, then to be honest rather skipping over it when we didn't. Ah, the scientific method. It gives us so much, and then I just shit in its face. Today, we're talking about the rather muddy interface between club and country, and in particular about which countries players mainly play in.

The country with most club representation is of course England, due to the spending power of the Premier League. 119 players play in England, with 97 from established top flight clubs. Promoted Leicester and QPR send 3, and relegated Fulham and Norwich send 5. Cardiff send 2, and let's just hope they can work out what colour shirt to play in. Bitter? Not any more.

Analysis: young and old

I'm splitting my pre-tournament analysis into topics this time. This first one is about youth and experience. Incidentally, the word analysis was constructed from the ancient Greek for unloosening. For fuck's sake, why? Some Enlightenment intellectual made that up. What were they thinking?

Welcome

First things first. Kevin Bacon. I picked the name for this blog months before that stupid advert came out. I'm not changing it for him, I don't see why I should. Also, I kind of feel connected to him now.

So it's another June, another even numbered year, and another one of these. If it was a leap year it would be the Euros, but as it is it's the World Cup, which is twice as long and therefore twice as good. I'm afraid I still struggle with the whole design thing. The text looks a bit large, but when I reduce it it looks a bit small, so I just don't know what to do.