I’d
promised myself I wasn’t going to watch this World Cup. Ireland hadn’t
qualified, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea hadn’t qualified, and
Russia is a squalid, corrupt, testosterone dictatorship, so I wasn’t going to
be suckered in by the quadrennial carnival of the demotic. As a music lover and
aestheticist, I despise that bloody Lightning Seeds song with those malignant
frauds Baddield and Skinner, especially when some clown on Facebook renders the lyrics in the way that gives this piece its
title. While as a Socialist, I try to adopt an internationalist perspective
that allows me to rise above petty chauvinistic nationalism, though I do side
with oppressed nations in their struggles against imperialism.
Also,
terrestrial television coverage is teeth-grindingly terrible. Martin Keown and
Danny Murphy are two of the most ponderous, portentous, doom-laden trash
talkers imaginable, while Lawrenson is a pompous, whinging bullshit artist and
the patently unhinged historical revisionist Glenn Hoddle should be under lock
and key in a secure unit with 24-hour supervision. However, I am a weak person
and the opportunity to take on the role of disputatious, sniping cultural
contrarian was just too tempting. One modification I intended to make to the
usual sofa and pub tournament experience was to look at each individual game
from a political and moral angle, trying to support the least evil country in
each instance, rather than selecting a country to cheer for from the outset.
The only way to do this efficiently was to rank the countries in order of moral
rectitude and get stuck into the TV listings, unless there was something better
to do with my time of course. Anyway, this is how I classified the 32 countries
in terms of moral rectitude or otherwise -:
1.
Costa
Rica; stable parliamentary democracy
2.
Sweden;
socially progressive, though a nominal monarchy
3.
Iceland;
inclusive and progressive, undermined by seedy bankers
4.
Denmark;
the philosophy of hygge permeates the
whole country
5.
Nigeria;
secular democracy and a strong economy, despite Boko Haram’s presence
6.
Morocco;
a monarchy, but a tolerant one
7.
Portugal;
left wing military coup brought down dictatorship on the day Dennis Law’s
backheel relegated Man United. Nice beer
8.
Senegal;
quasi democratic, but John the Postman named a song about it
9.
Peru;
Nobby Solano and Paddington Bear call it home. Ace strip
10. Croatia; not Serbia, which
is a good thing. Lovely place for a holiday
11. Australia; beastly to
their indigenous population, but pretty sound on the whole
12. Panama; steamy banana
republic
13. Mexico; extensive banana
republic
14. Spain; would be higher but
for the continuing treatment of those striving for self-determination in
Catalunya and Euskal Herria
15. France; pretty bad before
1789, pretty bad after 1794, right downhill after 1870, downright rotten after
1940, but not bad since 1968
16. Poland; homophobic happy
clappers
17. Tunisia; dodgy military
intervention on a regular basis
18. Uruguay; safe haven for
Nazi war criminals
19. Switzerland; safe haven
for ill-gotten Nazi gold
20. Colombia; gang warfare as
domestic economic policy
21. Egypt; dangerously close
to fundamentalism
22. Argentina; the era of the
Generals is a stain on their history
23. Belgium; vile imperialist
bloodshed in late C19 Africa
24. Brazil; genocidal attitude
to Amazonian indigenous population
25. Germany; nobody should
ever deny the Holocaust
26. South Korea; running dog
lackeys of US imperialism from below the 38th Parallel
27. Iran; hysterical
fundamentalists
28. Serbia; murderous butchers
29. Japan; strange and
terrible torture integral to their history
30. England; 850 years of
oppression in Ireland
31. Russia; gangsterism as bad
as Leninism
32. Saudi Arabia; medieval
despots
Day 1: Russia 5 Saudi
Arabia 0
So,
the Tournament began with a clash of two of the world’s great democracies. In
the battle between the worst human rights abusers on the planet, ideologically
Russia just shaded things, having adopted the kind of despotic moral code that
went out of fashion with the Age of Enlightenment as opposed to the draconian
pre-Medieval penal system so beloved in Riyadh. On the pitch, Russia absolutely
battered the Saudis and I saw the first half before heading off to play cricket
for Tynemouth Bad Boys against Bates Cottages. Had them 12/5, bowled them out
for 87, progressed to 40 without loss in reply, collapsed to 84 all out.
Personally, I sent down 2 overs for 28 and was caught and bowled for a single.
Poor.
Day 2: Uruguay 1 Egypt 0,
Iran 1 Morocco 0, Portugal 3 Spain 3
Rather
appropriately, Eid fell on a day when 1 former and 3 current Muslim countries
took their bow. I missed the first game entirely, as it was the early kick-off
and I was doing some work at Whitley Bay High. Perhaps the most socially
progressive teenage conversation I’ve ever heard took place in front of me in
the coffee bar on Monkseaton station, post-game, post-graft. Having just
completed an arduous Physics exam, a gang of about 6 lads were queuing for
muffins and cookies ahead of me. One of the lads was Muslim and, religiously
compelled to break his fast, was chowing down on sweet and chewy goodies. His
mates, with genuine interest and warmth, were inquiring whether Eid was like
Christmas for him; “sort of, but without the shit telly” was the young fella’s
reply. The friendship and humour between the boys-to-blokes really shows that
ignorance and fear is easily broken down by a simple act of conversation. I
almost blubbered into my latte. Mind if Iran v Morocoo was Eid, then I’m
agitating for the return of Ramadan. A truly atrocious game that had nothing to
recommend it. On the flip side, Portugal v Spain was surely, on paper and in
reality, the most compelling of all the group stage games. Shame I only got to
see it from 88.34 onwards, having been required to officiate at the Tyneside
Amateur League AGM. When duty calls you have to answer.
Day 3: France 2 Australia
1, Peru 0 Denmark 1, Argentina 1 Iceland 1, Croatia 2 Nigeria 0
After
an hour’s punishing boxercise (the kind of workout that a lifelong pacifist and
soft shite like me has little aptitude for), I flopped down on the sofa and
caught sight of Australia gamely trying to keep it together in the shape of
endless body blows from the true masters of the noble art. I’m talking about 50
overs cricket here, where the Aussies were suffering the second of the 5
successive hammerings from England. The baggy green sandpaper set may be
loathsome cheats, but at least they don’t have the deplorable Tim Cahill in the
side, which was good enough reason for me to opt for cricket. Meanwhile, France
were completing a squeaky win over the Socceroos, courtesy of some VAR machine
machinations. When a spot of rain took the players off in Cardiff, with England
168/2, I got on the bike and headed for Tynemouth, where the seconds were
hosting Gateshead Fell. Strange to say during this baked Saharan summer, but
lots of rain was forecast, so I’d opted not to watch the firsts at Stockton.
Good choice in the end as that was washed out, while the seconds won, helped in
no small way by 15-year-old Evan Hull Denholm getting among the wickets.
Typically enough, I got roped into working behind the bar and missed all of
Peru v Denmark (though to be fair the South Africa v England rugby
international was being shown instead), most of Argentina v Iceland and parts
of the cricket. Luckily, the evening shift arrived to relieve me, and I sat on
a warm and remarkably sunny evening, enjoying Davo and Sam steering the seconds
to a 3-wicket win, before cycling home and catching the second half of
Croatia’s less than compelling stroll over a game but limited Nigeria.
Day 4: Serbia 1 Costa Rica
0, Mexico 1 Germany 0, Brazil 1 Switzerland 1
Back
on bartending duties at the cricket club, I took in Serbia against Costa Rica,
which reminded me I’d not been paying enough attention to the moral side of the
World Cup. Clearly any state that produced Slobodan Milošević and Aleksandar
Mitrović as two of its most famous sons isn’t deserving of any support. In
contrast, Costa Rica is Central America’s most stable and harmonious democratic
republic; unfortunately, they had a shit World Cup, despite the presence of
NUFC legend Brian Ruiz, and the Serbs beat them easily enough. Full time saw
the arrival of a pre-arranged a christening party at the club and I had to work
for my money, so the silent images of the landmark Mexico against Germany
fixture largely passed me by. Despite the fact that Germany are no longer the
pantomime villains of international football, any defeat endured by Die Mannschaft is a cause of great
amusement. Indeed, I’d rather have seen that game than watching Brazil, all
silky skills, dazzling footwork and theatrical cryarsing, stumble to a draw
with a Swiss side so anonymous that they’d fail a personality test.
Day 5: Sweden 1 South
Korea 0, Belgium 3 Panama 0, England 2 Tunisia 1
Being
objective, Sweden are almost certainly challenging for top spot in the
democratic pops among the 32 competing nations, despite being some form of
titular monarchy. Unfortunately, a trip to the gym and a need to get the
messages in at Sainsbury’s meant I was unable to see their victory over the
running dog lackeys of Yankee imperialism from below the 38th
parallel. Similarly, Belgium v Panama clashed with my weekly 6-a-side up the
West Road. We’ve been playing there on a Monday tea time for a decade and a
half and the small matter of a World Cup wasn’t going to throw us off our
stride. Admittedly 6-a-side became 5-a-side and we kicked off a good bit
earlier than usual, but the game still took place. On the way back, I passed by
the aftermath of a crash between a 4 x 4, no doubt piloted by someone anxious
to see kick off in the England game, a 38 bus and a traffic island. The bus was
in rude health anyway. I hope the dodgy driver learned the error of his ways;
less haste, more speed. A similarly calm approach did the business for England;
a humble side, refreshingly free of the avarice and arrogance of the
discredited “golden generation,” their collective ethos and sense of both perspective
and common purpose saw them win it at
the death. It was no more than they deserved for a great first half and to
repay the faith in Gareth Southgate; alright so he still looks like a careers
master at a minor public school, but this quiet, sincere grafter deserves a lot
of slack and praise. Incidentally, the pudgy Tunisia manager’s Sports Direct gilet and red trainer
combo made him look like a takeaway delivery driver.
Day 6: Japan 2 Colombia 1,
Senegal 2 Poland 1, Russia 3 Egypt 1
A
sunny Tuesday and the first day I was aware this World Cup had truly hooked me
in. Rather than going out on the bike or taking a walk, I flopped like a slob
on the sofa and tried to fake interest in a dull game. I failed, preferring
instead to engage on an internal debate regarding the depths of evil and human
depravity plumbed by the Japanese in World War 2, in contrast to the venal
criminality of Colombian drug lords. If this first game was dull, then I’m
unable to find an appropriate epithet for the sterile banality of the fare
served up by the final two teams to compete in this tournament. Other than the
Senegal manager’s immaculate dress sense, there was little to commend a game I
left behind in order to play cricket. While England were racking up 481 versus
the Aussies, we compiled 190 against Whitley Bay, restricting them to 105 in
reply. I didn’t bat, but I bowled 2 overs for 15, having a catch dropped at
mid-wicket. Not a bad effort for a supposed leggy with a bar of soap to contend
with as an unexpected torrential shower failed to dampen our sporting ardour.
Mind, it put us off going to the pub and I got home, drenched, in injury time
as the hosts qualified for the next round and Egypt became the first team to
bow out of the competition.
Day 7: Portugal 1 Morocco
0, Uruguay 1 Saudi Arabia 0, Spain 1 Iran 0
After
the first round of games had been completed, what seemed most noteworthy to me
about the opening week of the World Cup was the transformation of Ally McLeod
from rapidly expanding, tragicomic fall guy for the Sevco fiasco into a
rounded, articulate amateur historian, whose thirst for culture and desire for
knowledge was worn lightly as all good scholarship should be. Full marks to ITV
for pulling this unlikely rabbit out of a hat. Meanwhile over on BBC, Phil
Neville exemplified how the brains in that family had not been divided equally;
while Tracy is thoughtful and engaging and Gary is deep and pugnacious, Phil is
the Ralph Wiggum of football pundits. His utter inability to grasp the role,
purpose and terms of reference of VAR in the France v Australia game was car
crash punditry of the worst kind. He serves as the ideal rebuttal for those
Neanderthal gammons who bemoaned the presence of women, such as the excellent
Vicki Sparkes, in the commentary box or on the panel. Presumably they would
rather have the asinine bore Lawrenson, or the equally shallow and pompous
Keown and Murphy, accompanied by Stephen Yaxley-Lennon or Nigel Farage instead.
The main problem with that is, unlike football, there was no chance of the former
coming home this summer. However, three more nations did have their bags packed
after Day 7’s games; Morocco, Saudi Arabia and Iran were all headed for the
departure lounge after a trio of pedestrian games. When football is as bland as
this, it seems almost facile to try and put an intellectual sheen on the
competition, by assessing the moral and social legitimacy of the participating
nations, especially in the absence of the Great Satan. Then again, to even
think about football in such exalted philosophical terms on the day America
quit the United Nations Commission on Human Rights in a fit of pique at global
condemnation of their treatment of refugees, is shameful. However, the Portugal
game beguiled me. Cristiano Ronaldo, a person I should hate, is capable of
sublime skill and abhorrent shithousery, often simultaneously; much to the
chagrin of the tousled lounge lizard in charge of Morocco, who looked like a
seedy, louche, priapic pisspot, touring the tables in search of discarded
prosecco and vulnerable women at the end of a wedding reception.
Day 8: Australia 1 Denmark
1, France 1 Peru 0, Croatia 3 Argentina 0
Missed
the first two games entirely as I was engaged in the purchase of Laura’s house.
What a nice person I am; buying her property and giving a secure home for the
cats. Shame I’ve made her homeless, but that’s how it goes when you embrace
landlordism. In all seriousness, spending the day shuttling between bank and
solicitors was preferable to a pair of fairly dull games. I was glad to be back
in position to see Croatia absolutely pummel Argentina. Their collapse was as
amusing as their manager’s bizarre attire of expensive suit and crew neck t
shirt.
Day 9: Brazil 2 Costa Rica
0, Nigeria 2 Iceland 0, Switzerland 2 Serbia 1
The
first inkling that the Brazilians perhaps weren’t as emotionally intelligent as
they thought they were came in the first game. Despite dazzling footwork and
incredible technique, too often they sought to hit the deck after zero to
minimal contact, rather than score the amount of goals they were capable of.
Alright, two dazzling breakaways and unerring finishes saw them through and
sent Costa Rica home, but to me it showed a collective weakness to their
psyche. It was the kind of manufactured play acting that irritated strong-willed
officials. Incidentally, how come FIFA managed to staff this tournament
entirely with male officials? Opting to watch Sunderland v South Northumberland
in the NEPL 20/20 quarter final, I missed the whole of Nigeria against Iceland
and most of Switzerland versus Serbia. The highlights I saw cheered me
considerably; not only did the Serbs lose, but Mitrovic was denied the most
blatant penalty of the whole tournament.
Day 10: Belgium 5 Tunisia
2, Mexico 2 South Korea 1, Germany 2 Sweden 1
Apparently,
I missed a treat with the Belgium game; it showed their class and put England’s
result against Tunisia in context. Fair point, but seeing Ben Debnam and Nick
Armstrong compiling a staggering 265/0 was a reasonable alternative. Similarly,
seeing Eppleton skittled for 130, with Wesley Bedja getting 6/35, knocked spots
off Mexico’s win over South Korea. However, the loudest cheer of the day at
Tynemouth Cricket Club was for Germany’s late and undeserved winner, as the
resident betting syndicate had placed a more than modest wager on such an
outcome.
Day 11: England 6 Panama
1, Japan 2 Senegal 2, Colombia 3 Poland 0
You
know I often think I should just take a sleeping bag with me to the cricket
club as I was back in position less than 12 hours after draining my last pint.
A sizeable squad turned out for the simply surreal England game. Obviously they
played well, dismissing the opposition with the minimum of fuss, but what the
hell were Panama about? I’ve seen bottom division Alliance teams show more
guile and resilience in defence than the Canalistas. The two penalties for
wrestling were possibly the most amateur thing I’ve ever seen in a major
tournament. Fair’s fair though, their goal was a decent finish and I couldn’t
get why so many commentators were furious about it. You’ve got to be
vindictively cruel to begrudge a side in their first ever finals a late goal
when they’ve been obliterated for the previous 85 minutes. That said, I think
Poland were arguably worse against Colombia than Panama’s efforts versus
England. The Japan v Senegal game didn’t even cross my consciousness as the
cricket club telly flicked straight on to the final one dayer between England
and Australia after the Panama game. Indeed, I don’t think I could imagine a
game I could have less interest in that Japan against Senegal. Sorry lads; I’m
sure the 2-2 draw was a decent watch, but it just didn’t appeal to me.
Day 12: Uruguay 3 Russia
0, Saudi Arabia 2 Egypt 1, Iran 1 Portugal 1, Spain 2 Morocco 2
The
final round of group games meant the tournament was at the half way point. One
interesting statistic was than the first 32 games had produced 85 goals, which
was exactly the same amount as the final 32 would include, interestingly
enough. The other thing to bear in mind was the simultaneous timings of final
group games, to avoid the risk of contrived results. I still recall the universal
sense of revulsion at the 1982 Anschluss
between Germany and Austria that ensured both sides progressed. No chance of
that here. The simultaneous kick offs did mean a choice of viewing; in this
instance, I went with Uruguay v Russia, eschewing the chance of seeing Egypt’s 45-year-old
keeper in action. Uruguay, in becoming the first side to complete the group
stage with a 100% success record, absolutely humped a bedraggled and
disorganised home nation in a game so one sided I actually fell asleep in the
baking afternoon heat and missed the final goal. I was awake again in time to
see the tournament’s biggest ego against the tournament’s biggest nose. Honestly,
the Iran keeper’s bugle was like a vacuum cleaner adaptor. It was even more
intriguing than the latest VAR influenced chicanery that eventually saw
Portugal and Spain advance to the next phase, as everyone had expected them to,
though not perhaps in such tense circumstances.
Day 13: Denmark 0 France
0, Peru 2 Australia 0, Argentina 2 Nigeria 1, Croatia 2 Iceland 1
Having
spent a fraught day with Laura in the Freeman Hospital, which ultimately ended
in a highly positive fashion, it was a relief to sit down in front of the
France against Denmark game. Until kick off that is, as this was a bland,
sterile, uncontested non-event; on account of a blank score line being mutually
beneficial. I watched with a growing sense of contempt, eschewing the pleasures
of the dead rubber between Peru and Australia on the other side, as I wished to
stoke my contemptuous ire. Nice to see Peru win, even if meant little in the
scheme of things. A game of cricket
(dropped a catch; had two dropped off me in successive balls, but we won by 80
runs) in the evening meant I only returned for the last 15 minutes of the
astonishing Argentina v Nigeria game. While Croatia effortlessly cruised past a
desperately disappointing Iceland who had nothing to commend them in comparison
to their Euro 2016 heroics, Diego Maradona managed, as ever, to make it all
about him. His emotional histrionics on the touchline, like an ageing club
singer aspiring to be a synthesis of James Brown and GG Allin, provided some of
the iconic images of this tournament. He remains the antithesis to Messi; a
pantomime villain with a messiah complex who at least can show he stamped his
genius all over World Cup finals, rather than being a pale imitation of his
club form, apparently only there to make up the numbers.
Day 14: South Korea 2
Germany 0, Sweden 3 Mexico 0, Brazil 2 Serbia 0, Switzerland 2 Costa Rica 2
In
retrospect, anyone who chose Sweden v Mexico as their first game of choice must
be kicking themselves still. Don’t worry; I am, though in my defence, I chose
that game to avoid the supercharged, deafening meteorite shower of asinine
waffle that Jonathan Pearce brings to every game he reports on. Sweden were
reliable, honest and humble; like the Mega City 4 or Super Furry Animals in the
late 80s, they are nearly always on the bill, totally inoffensive and utterly
unmemorable. Mexico were bloody terrible like. Once their game was over, I
flicked across to see the disintegration of Die
Mannschaft; not so much the death of a thousand-year Reich, more like a run
on the Weimar Republic’s savings bank. It is strange to see Low’s side, so
magisterial at the last tournament, turn to ineffective shite, but it’s somehow
reassuring to know that, despite these tribulations, he’s been awarded an
extended contract by the DFB. In the later game, I learned with satisfaction
that NUFC legend Bryan Ruiz had scored a late equaliser to earn Costa Rica a
point, though I’d opted for the other side. It wasn’t Brazil I was interested
in, more the chance to laugh at the loathsome Shitrovic. He didn’t disappoint;
missed a sitter, made the error than caused the second goal, got booked and was
then subbed off in tears. Don’t let the exit door at SJP bang your arse pal.
Day 15: Colombia 1 Senegal
0, Poland 1 Japan 0, Belgium 1 England 0, Tunisia 2 Panama 1
Senegal’s
tame loss meant that every African qualifier went out in the first round. This
was a statistic that startled me and I’ll not pretend I have any knowledge or
insight into the root causes of just why African football appears to be in such
a rut, but I’d be delighted in anyone can point me towards a cogent, erudite
explanation of this state of affairs; providing it’s not in The Blizzard of course. Incidentally
Poland v Japan was an utter non-event and I don’t know anything about Tunisia
against Panama. I think they played it in the departure lounge at the airport.
England against Belgium looked like neither side wanted to win it. Looking at
the broader picture, thankfully Belgium did when Jared O’Mara’s body double,
Jordan Pickford, arms like a Jeremy Beadle tribute act, was beaten by a shot by
Adnan Januzaj. The latter never did that for the Mackems, while the former
always did. Elsewhere, we learned that Jamie Vardy is as much of an
international striker as I am a concert pianist.
Day 16: Bohemian 1 St
Patrick’s Athletic 0
In
deference to the Greatest League in the World, FIFA avoided scheduling any
games on a Friday night to give the League of Ireland its usual spot in the
sporting pantheon. Da Boez did everyone proud with a hard fought win over the
Pride of Inchicore.
Day 17: France 4 Argentina
3, Uruguay 2 Portugal 1
With
the original 32 competitors now whittled down to 16, the knock out phase began
with one of the solid gold World Cup classics of all time. The relentless waves
of attacking play, the endless ebb and flow of fortunes and the nail-biting
drama were all lost on me as Durham Academy skittled Tynemouth for 131. At
least they knocked off the runs, for the loss of 2 wickets, in quick time,
allowing me to see the superb goals in the following game. Edison Cavani’s
winner was as sweet a strike as you’ll ever see and made all the more important
as it broke Ronaldo’s heart.
Day 18: Russia 1 Spain 1
(4-3 pens), Croatia 1 Denmark 1 (3-2 pens)
Without
seeking to denigrate the host nation, this was almost as big a shock as South
Korea doing a number on Germany. Being honest, Spain really ought to have won
this at a canter, but the usual disinclination to shoot when well placed, the
endless search for the perfect pass and a refusal to deviate from their game
plan saw the spirited Russians win on penalties. It was certainly a better game
than the Croatia v Denmark contest that only truly came alive once it went to
penalties. Fair play to both keepers; they performed heroics, but the side with
a degree more flair and panache made it through in the end.
Day 19: Brazil 2 Mexico 0,
Belgium 3 Japan 2
Having
spent the morning working at Walker School, a quick check of my phone when
emerging into normal society told me I’d need to spend a good few hours chasing
my tail as regards financial issues. I’ll return to this in my blog for the
week commencing July 30th but suffice to say it was the second half
before I got sat down in front of the first game. Good choice as well, as
apparently it had been cautious and cagey until then. Brazil didn’t exactly
play expansively, but they did enough to show they’re still blessed with
exceptional talent, though Neymar’s theatrics seem to get worse by the second.
Has the bloke got Munchausen’s Syndrome I wonder? Anyway, it was Monday, so we
had the usual hour of 6-a-side, meaning I also didn’t get sat down until the
second half of the Belgium v Japan game.
It was a solid gold classic; up there with Spain v Portugal and France v
Argentina. There were several other games that went to penalties, but this had
the most drama associated with any contest that ended in regulation time. While
marvelling at Belgium’s breakaway winner, you had to feel sorry for a gallant
and adventurous Japan team who’d done their best to win it in 90 minutes, only
to lose it in 93.
Day 20: Sweden 1
Switzerland 0, England 1 Colombia 1 (4-3 pens)
Didn’t
see the first game as I was at the gym but watched the second with Ben. The
last time I’d watched an England knockout game with him was the defeat to
Iceland at Euro 2016 on his 21st birthday; a farcical evening that
we watched with mounting horror that transformed into incredulous hilarity.
Tonight was so much better than that. England deserved to be well ahead in the
first half, looked a bit ragged after conceding an equaliser, seemed vulnerable
to Colombian shithousery in extra time and we all seemed to know what was in
store after 120 minutes. However, the good guys prevailed, and I found myself
in the strange position of punching the air to celebrate an England win. I hope
The Lads don’t get to hear about that, if you know what I mean…
Day 21: Tynemouth Bad Boys
128/9 lost to North East Tamils 132/1
The
first rest day between the last 16 and quarter finals saw the Bad Boys go out
of the Midweek Plate at the quarter final stage. I didn’t get a bowl, but I was
required to bat. Somehow managed to squirt my second ball out to deep point for
a couple, then got a thin edge down the leg side next ball for a single to
finish 3 not out. My highest score of the season. We were well beaten in the end, but it was more
disappointing they didn’t pitch up until half an hour after the agreed starting
time.
Day 22: Tynemouth Bad Boys
205/4 beat Mitford Boars 125/8
An
away day in the wilds north of Morpeth. Lovely rural setting and a tiny ground.
Thankfully, I wasn’t required to bat, but I got a bowl and justified our
captain’s faith in me by taking a wicket, when their captain attempted to hit
me out the ground and failed to realise just how slow I bowled. By the time the
ball reached him he was halfway through his shot and he skied it, allowing Jack
to take a catch at long on. Almost certainly, you won’t believe me when I tell
you I had set the trap for him and he fell right into it. You may be more
likely to accept my word when I tell you taking wickets is the best feeling in
the world.
Day 23: France 2 Uruguay
0, Belgium 2 Brazil 1
Having
failed to see any of France’s win in the previous round over Argentina, I was
able to maintain this tradition of ignoring Les
Bleus as Ben and I went out for a few Ouseburn pints on a glorious Friday
afternoon. A couple in each of the Tyne Bank Brewery, Free Trade and Cumberland
were enjoyed in brilliant sunshine. When the beer’s this good and Cavani has
failed a fitness test, you don’t need to see the game. Sensibly, with the
accompaniment of a Champion Beer carry out of Loka Polly and Cloudwater, I was
back indoors for Belgium against Brazil. The chickens came home to roost for
Brazil, as Neymar’s rap sheet for excessive diving all tournament long, allowed
him to fit the role of the unconvincing fall guy who cried wolf. Throw yourself to ground with zero to minimal
contact every time someone breathes near you and you’ll put a referee’s back
up; when you do get fouled, he may not be so inclined as to give you the spot
kick you actually deserve according to the laws of the game. Tough. If that
means your team goes out of the World Cup after dominating a quarter final you
ought to have won, then you’ll need to learn from this. Well played Belgium.
Day 24: England 2 Sweden
0, Croatia 2 Russia 2 (4-3 pens)
As
every person from the civilised part of our society knows, this is the cricket
season. Accordingly, the NEPL were not in the mood for any fripperies or
concessions to the winter game. A strongly worded statement by league secretary
Gordon Halliday left none of us in any doubt where all of our sporting
priorities should lie on the first Saturday in July -:
The League Management
Committee has unanimously decided to keep to the scheduled programme and
timings of matches on Saturday. There are several reasons for this. It would be
necessary to plan for the worst-case scenario of the England v Sweden match lasting
3 hours as did the England v Colombia match, meaning that a 3-hour break might
be required from 3pm till 6pm. The length of this break, disrupting the flow of
the game is considered unacceptable. This season some Saturday League matches
have finished after 8pm. So even if we considered it acceptable for NEPL
matches to continue till 8.30pm this would mean that NEPL matches would need to
start at 10.00am. Such an early start is considered unacceptable. Whilst the
LMC does not denigrate the importance of the England v Sweden match, it gives
great weight to the fact that we are a cricket league, indeed the top cricket
league in the region, this is the cricket season, and also that the football
match is a quarter-final not the World Cup Final.
I
was in total agreement with Gordon, who is Scottish incidentally. Hence, having
forsworn Benfield’s opening friendly at 11.00 on 4G against Jesmond, I was
grateful for a lift from Di and Peter Brown to the idyllic Village Ground in
Whitburn, where Tynemouth made a less than stellar 164 all out and lost by 8
wickets to a highly impressive home side. England’s 2 goals were greeted by
ferocious cheering from the pavilion bar, replicated on the pitch by all bar
Leith’s solitary left-arm orthodox Jambo, Mark Watt and the historic Mr Polly,
whose dad chose to play cricket on July 30th, 1966. It was almost
surreal to lose so heavily in beautiful surroundings and for it not really to
matter in the context of the day. Afterwards, I got back to Tynemouth and met
Laura, as we were going to see the Band of Holy Joy in Tynemouth Club. I’ll
write about that next week and not to spoil things, they were great, but Front
Street was awash with drink sodden casual dadsuals; hors de combat from all day drinking in 35-degree heat during the football
and giddy at the thought of the pop music equivalent of a well-dressed Free
Tommy protest at the Priory, with the loathsome Paul Heaton headlining. I’m
glad we were watching Johny Brown and the gang in a place I’d last set foot
inside over 35 years ago and then only to play snooker. Croatia’s win on
penalties didn’t even cross my radar until I got home and saw the highlights on
the lap top.
Day 25: Buckinghamshire
440/9 (innings closed) v Northumberland 93/3
The
gap between quarter finals and semi finals coincided with Northumberland’s
latest Minor Counties game at Jesmond. Indeed, it marked 100 years of
participation in the Minor Counties Championship. To mark the occasion, all
members were invited to take tea in the pavilion, which was a lovely gesture
and one that I appreciated. Unfortunately, it was Buckinghamshire doing the
celebrating as they’d effectively won the game by the time we were tucking into
sandwiches and gateau mid-afternoon of the first day by racking up such a
massive score. Northumberland fought back gamely but losing 2 wickets in the
last over of the day wasn’t ideal.
Day 26: Northumberland 189
all and 185 all out lost by an innings and 76 runs
It
seems hard to credit that only 3 years ago Northumberland reached the Minor Counties
Unicorns Trophy final at Wormsley, losing to local rivals Cornwall (it’s a
joke, right?). Even more astonishingly, they were only denied the Minor
Counties East Championship on net run rate in 2016. Now, they’ve reimagined
themselves as a cricketing Barnstoneworth United. The inevitability of defeat
was handled stoically by the players, committee and supporters; I always enjoy
a good chat with those who regularly attend county games, as it almost makes up
for the dire struggles on the pitch. However, I couldn’t bring myself to accept
the role of a cricketing tricoteuse and
consequently stole sadly away before le
coup de grace was administered after tea.
Day 27: France 1 Belgium 0
Having
eschewed Benfield’s first friendly, I felt compelled to take in the second;
Wallsend Boys Club Seniors on the 4G at Coach Lane. It seemed an ironic choice
of venue on the day our closest Northern League rivals Team Northumbria
announced they were folding, but what can you do? In our case, grab our second
successive 7-0 win, though you’d expect nothing less with the quality of the
squad we’ve assembled. Without being arrogant, we could have scored 20. At full
time, I headed to Sainsbury’s for a bit shopping, taking the opportunity to
watch the dying seconds of France’s win on the screens of displays models in
the electrical goods department.
Day 28: Croatia 2 England
1
Ah,
what can you say? Croatia are no mugs and even if Kane had squared it to
Sterling to make it 2-0, I’m sure they’d have come back and won, in a more
heart-breaking fashion than you could imagine. Let’s try and be rational about
this; England did well to get that far. Par may well have been quarter finals,
but expectations were as low as last 16, bearing in mind recent tournament
disasters. Nerves, a lack of experience, natural limitations and the
unforgiving nature of a world class side with a relentless pressing game all
took their toll. The players gave everything, as did the manager, displaying
grace in victory and dignity in defeat, but the squad aren’t Brazil 70 and
Southgate isn’t Rinus Michels, Helenio Herrera or Vincente del Bosque. What is
most important is that the efforts of all in Russia managed to reconnect the
most disaffected, antagonistic and hostile former England fans with the
country. Being humble and decent goes a long way. That said, now they’ve got
back in the good books, it’s time for the players, managers and all associated
with the national side to step it up for Euro 2020. Expectations will increase
and simply doing your best won’t be good enough next time around.
Day 29: Tynemouth 2nds
(128/6) beat Chester le Street 2nds (126/7) by 4 wickets
This
NEPL 2nd XI 20/20 quarter final at Preston Avenue, on a quiet day
that had the air of national contemplation rather than mourning or oath-edged
recrimination, was possibly one of the most enjoyable games of cricket I’ve
seen all season. Andrew Davison’s seconds are top of the league and still going
in all the cups. However, a rash of unavailability meant 13-year-old Patrick
Hallam came in to make his debut. He didn’t just make up the numbers either,
taking a wicket with his first ball and returning figures of 3/15, which was
even more impressive as he bowled overs 18 and 20. They didn’t ask him to bat
though, which was probably fair after those efforts. Now the seconds are
through to Finals Day on August 12th. I’ll be there.
Day 30: Ryton &
Crawcrook Albion 0 Benfield 5
The
second game of 2018/2019, with 2 games of 2017/2018 still to come in Russia. A
beautiful night in the Tyne Valley at one of the most scenic grounds around saw
the Lions ease their way past my former student Tony Fawcett’s side. Mackenzie
Heaney and Dean Holmes are quality against any opponents, but at this level
they’re simply unplayable. Some lovely pints as well.
Day 31: Belgium 2 England
0
Shearer’s
right; it’s the game that nobody wants to be part of. Belgium met England for
the second time in the tournament, with the result irrelevant on either
occasion. The meaningless quasi bronze medal play-off took place to general
disinterest; half a dozen watching it in the cricket club, with nigh on a
hundred concerned with events outdoors. I’d sponsored the match ball, so I knew
where my interest lay. Tynemouth skittled Newcastle for 118, with Mark Watt
grabbing 6 wickets. In return, we stumbled to 90/6, with Oli McGee bowling
beautifully. Unfortunately for Newcastle, he ran out of overs and we squeezed
across the line by 4 wickets, courtesy of some brave late hitting by Barry
Stewart.
Day 32: France 4 Croatia 2
The
final was the best one I’ve seen. While it was an amazing atmosphere to watch
Spain beat Holland in Gasteiz; the only pro-Spanish city in Euskal Herria, that
game, along with every final since 1986 onwards, showed that cautious,
safety-first football is the keynote when stakes get so high at the business
end of tournaments. Teams are generally scared to lose, so I was thankful for a
pair of sides who were more concerned with winning the bloody thing. Frankly,
this final was nuts; Croatia were deeply unfortunate to turn around a goal
behind, after a fluke OG and a soft penalty to their superb strike. Then, after
an hour, France scored two absolute blinding strikes before Hugo Lloris debuted
his Lorus Karius tribute act and handed Croatia a comedy consolation. France
may have stuttered in the opening contest against Australia, served up the
worst 90 minutes of the whole competition against Denmark, but against
Argentina, Uruguay, Belgium and Croatia, they showed themselves to be a cut
above every other competing nation. In the final analysis, they had clearly
learned from their shock loss to Portugal at Euro 16 and were worthy winners of
a thoroughly enjoyable World Cup that somehow managed, despite the marvellous
Pussy Riot flashmob in the final, to keep politics out of sport.
Will
the dead bodies of migrants buried where they fell, in the foundations of white
elephant stadia in Qatar that reek of corruption and bribery, be so acquiescent
in 4 years? Or will the ghosts of those construction workers whose lives were
ended by greed’s triumph over poverty haunt Blatter’s loathsome legacy?
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