Two things were impressively evident about Argentina: first that Cesar Menotti, undaunted by the looming shadow of Juan Carlos Lorenzo, his ruthless predecessor, really had persuaded his team to attack, second, that they now had the pace which in previous years Argentinian teams so plainly lacked. Lorenzo, manager now of Boca Juniors, was reduced to a mere benign commentator. The strength of the Argentine attack, meanwhile, was the electric combination of the two big strikers, Luque, a right-footed player, and the left-footed Kempes. These two made space for one another, played off each other and in general showed a pace and power which was often splendidly exciting. Once Gujdar had to dive perilously at Luque’s feet, but in the end he was beaten by Bertoni after he had brought Luque down in a fulminating Argentine attack, seven minutes from the end.
Toroscik, performing small miracles of skill against defenders who fouled him almost every time he tried to beat them, had had his name taken by Garrido in the first half merely for hurling the ball away in petulance when denied a throw-in. Given what had gone before, and would come after, it was rather like indicting and jailing a mafioso for income-tax evasion. When Gallego, however, yet again fouled Toroscik, something snapped. Toroscik kicked him to the ground, and off he went. A few minutes later he was followed by Nyilasi, guilty of a spiteful foul on the largely innocent left-back, Tarantini.
Italy v. France
What brought the Italians to life, ironically, was the goal headed against them in thirty-eight seconds at Mar del Plata by the French centre-forward Lacombe. It forced them out of their customary defensive crouch and made them attack. There was also the question of piqued pride. ‘We wanted to show them we weren’t the imbeciles they took us for,’ said Dino Zoff, the veteran goalkeeper. ‘We came here with no hope,’ admitted Roberto Bettega, who had a splendid game. ‘Some of the Press had written us off as tourists.’
Paolo Rossi played and scored a pin-table goal in Italy’s 2–1 success. His excellent form in training games against local sides had moved Bearzot finally to include him in preference to the bigger Torino striker, Francesco Graziani, who had had a lean season. Marco Tardelli, marking Platini—sometimes too aggressively—seemed a regenerated player. He owed this, he would later say, above all to the ‘tranquillity’ of the Hindu Club, where Italy (like France) had set up training camp. Wisely Bearzot banned all Italian newspapers from the camp and the players were gradually able to disperse the miasma of pessimism and criticism surrounding them on their arrival.
There was a new sweeper in the young Juventus player Gaetano Scirea, the 35-year-old Giacinto Facchetti having finally been forced out of the team by a bang in the ribs from the notorious Romeo Benetti during a League game between Inter and Juventus. This, too, would be a help for Scirea, uneasy in his previous appearances, would now take wing and make a much more adventurous contribution to the team than the static Facchetti could even have done.
Platini left the churned-up field of Mar del Plata complaining that he had had no decent support in midfield, where he missed the powerful, combative Bathanay. Things in the French camp had been tense, with the players painting out the Adidas stripes on their boots because they wanted more money. This distressed their idealistic manager Michel Hidalgo, already unnerved by an attempt to kidnap him shortly before the team left France.
France v. Argentina
In their next match, however, the French surpassed themselves. Their opponents were Argentina, again in the River Plate Stadium, and now they restored both Dominique Bathenay and Dominique Rocheteau, the Saint-Etienne men. Bathenay had been suffering from injury; Rocheteau, an elegant sinuous outside-right, had only lately recovered from it. Marius Trésor, the splendid black sweeper from Guadaloupe, had been injured too and was estimated by French critics to be at no more than seventy per cent of full efficiency. For all that he was one of the most impressive, dominant defenders of the World Cup.
That Argentina eventually beat France 2–1 was largely the fruit of two abominable decisions by the referee, M. Jean Dubach of Switzerland; a penalty given (and that is the right word) to Argentina, a penalty refused to France. The French, with Bathenay now giving Platini the muscular support he needed, played much delicate, delightful football in the first half. Argentina, whose rhythm would be destroyed when Luque dislocated his elbow, relied heavily on Kempes, who hit the post with a tremendous left-footed drive after beating Trésor in the forty-second minute. The game was in injury time when another majestic burst by Kempes, always wonderfully ready to run at and commit a defence, ended with Luque dashing through, Tresor falling as he challenged him and landing on the ball with his hand. M. Dubach, well behind the play, blew his whistle, then astonishingly ran to consult his Canadian linesman, who had been even farther from the incident. This done he pointed for a penalty which Daniel Passarella, the Argentine centre-back and captain, drove left-footed into goal.
It was a monstrous decision, which looks no better in retrospect now that Winsemann, the Canadian linesman, has revealed what Dubach asked. ‘Inside or outside?’ he enquired in German. If he needed to ask that, then his eyesight was scarcely sufficient for a football referee. The only point at issue was whether or not the handling was intentional.
Though the goal had come so cruelly, and at so delicate a moment, the French fought back well. They equalised seventeen minutes into the second half after a splendid run and cross from the right by Battiston found the Argentine defence adrift. When Lacombe’s attempt came back from the bar, Platini scored easily. Didier Six, who had a mixed game indeed, should have put France in the lead after twenty-seven minutes after a glorious run and pass by Platini, but he shot wide with Fillol alone to beat. Thus Argentina were allowed to win the game with a goal quite out of the blue by Luque, a tremendous right-footed shot from outside the box as the defence momentarily stood off. Eleven minutes from time, Platini put Six through again, but when he was manifestly pulled down, M. Dubach did nothing. France were out, but with honour.
Argentina v. Italy
Now Argentina met Italy, again by night. Both teams had already qualified. It was a question of which would win the group and thus stay in Buenos Aires, a consummation devoutly to be wished, it seemed, by Argentina. The second-placed team would have to play in Rosario.
Bearzot at first decided to use several reserves, but Paolo Rossi and others who would have been left out protested. Rossi said that he felt perfectly fit; if there was any reason for excluding him, he would like to be told. So it was the full Italian team which met an Argentine side now without Luque.
It was in this game that Menotti made his one tactical error. He decided to play Kempes as an orthodox centre-forward between two wingers. Before the tournament began, there had been sustained discussion in the Argentine Press about how Kempes should be used: should he play as a striker or just behind the front three of Bertoni, Luque and Houseman? This was the role he had often filled in Spain for Valencia, the one in which he would eventually play here. Now he was a fish out of water, denied the invaluable support of the injured Luque in the middle, denied the room and space he would find by dropping farther back.
This time there would be no nonsense about the referreeing. The choice had fallen on the little Israeli, Abraham Klein, who made it clear from the first that he would not be influenced or frightened.
Though their pattern of play had been disjointed, Argentina still might have scored twice in the first half, were it not for glorious saves by Zoff from Kempes and Passarella—always ready to go up into attack. Gradually the Argentine fire was extinguished by Italy’s tight, man-to-man defence and after sixty-seven minutes Bettega scored the only goal of the game. Rossi, with a fine determined burst on the left, began the move, winning the ball and crossing it. He then moved on into the middle to play an elegant one-two with Bettega, who ran on easily to shoot past Fillol. Italy would play in Buenos Aires, Argentina in Rosario. Later, disappointed Italian players said it was a pity it had not worked out the other way.
G
roup II
In Group II, the West Germans and Poles qualified, as everyone expected, but they were given a surprisingly hard time of it by an admirable Tunisian side. Opening the new stadium at Rosario, Tunisia, their midfield cleverly organised by Dhiab, seemed inferior to Mexico at first, fell behind to a penalty kick, but dominated the second half with their superior speed and stamina to win 3–1.
Poland were next, again at Rosario, and Tunisia gave them a hectic run for their money. They set Khaled Dasmi, rude but efficacious, to dog the steps of Deyna and were helped by the fact that the Poles again did not bring Boniek on till the closing stages. It was an unfortunate mistake by Amar Jebali which enabled Lato to score the game’s only goal three minutes from half-time. Thereafter Tunisia were on top and surprised the critics by their technical superiority—to all but Lubanski. They deserved to equalise.
With West Germany they drew 0–0, and might have won. The left-footed Dhiab, slight but adroit, looked better than any of the West German midfielders, Flohe and Bonhof included. Dieter Muller and Klaus Fischer were easily snuffed out up front. The German team, according to La Nacion of Buenos Aires, was fragile and without imagination. But it had qualified to play in Pool A, the Buenos Aires group.
Group IV
In the Cordoba-Mendoza group, Peru astonished, Scotland succumbed and the Dutch made few friends. Iran, who had already lost at home to Wales before the competition began, had done well to knock out the Australians, but looked an uninspired, untalented lot in Argentina where they failed to win a game. Holland beat them quite comfortably, all three goals going to Rob Rensenbrink, two from the penalty spot, though an Argentine critic said the Dutch team resembled a superb machine which lacked the man who invented it. That man, clearly enough, was Johan Cruyff.
Scotland, the players restless at their hotel in Alta Cracia, maligned by the local Press as fervent drinkers, came out to play Peru at Cordoba absurdly unprepared. Quite simply, Ally MacLeod had failed to do his homework; otherwise Scotland could scarcely have given Teofilo Cubillas the untramelled freedom of midfield.
Cubillas, a black player of great virtuosity, had been one of the revelations of 1970, a rapid striker. Now, at twenty-nine, after experience in Portugal, he was back in Lima and had dropped into midfield. Peru’s form in 1978 had been so poor that MacLeod had plainly decided they were not worth taking seriously; indeed, his whole approach by now seemed to be the old, hubristic British one of ‘let them worry about us’.
Scotland’s Departure
Surprisingly, he decided to persevere in midfield with Don Masson and Bruce Rioch, each a half-back rather than an inside-forward, despite the fact that both had been in such poor form, so disaffected, that Derby County had put them on the transfer list. True neither had played badly against England at Hampden, where Asa Hartford had been ebullient in midfield, but to leave out the tall, adroit Graeme Souness after he had run into such splendid form with Liverpool, playing such a large part in their conquest of the European Cup, seemed absurd. Not till the last game, against Holland, did he come into the side and then his impact was immediate. After the Peruvian débâcle, Martin Buchan, played out of position at left-back since Donachie was suspended, complained that he had not known Munante was so fast. It had long been an open secret throughout Latin America.
Ironically Scotland began quite well and scored a good goal after fourteen minutes. Dalglish and Hartford gave Rioch the chance of a shot, Quiroga, the eccentric Peruvian goalkeeper, who would cross the half-way line when the spirit moved him, couldn’t hold the ball; Joe Jordan put it in.
Gradually, however, the virtue began to ebb out of Scotland. Cubillas, pacing his game beautifully, showing great skill both on the ball and in his use of it, was growing more and more apparent. Two minutes before half-time—a traumatising moment—he was involved in a quick, clever exchange of passes which let Cueto through to equalise.
Scotland’s chance to win the game, and perhaps acquit themselves adequately in the tournament, arose and was thrown away after seventeen minutes of the second half. Diaz brought down Rioch and Masson took the penalty. He had scored coolly against Wales; surely he must do so now. But his shot was a poor one and Quiroga, who almost certainly moved before the ball was kicked, turned it round the left-hand post.
That was the end of Scotland, who had no answer to Cubillas. Two splendidly-struck right-footed goals in the seventy-second and seventy-ninth minutes cooked their goose. For the first, he was left unmarked. For the second, he thumped a swerving free kick high into the left-hand corner, after himself starting the move which led to it with a superb long crossfield pass—the kind which once was accounted a British speciality. Afterwards he remarked modestly that he didn’t know why everybody had been writing him off as too old; after all, he was only 29.
Still worse was to follow for Scotland. Willie Johnston, the little 31-year-old outside-left, in tremendous form against Peru, was one of two players singled out for a dope test; and the test proved positive. He had taken two Fencamfamin pills. Shades of poor Jean-Joseph of Haiti (by now in Chicago with Gadocha) in 1974. Johnston at first protested that he had taken them for his hay fever, but it soon transpired that it was something that he’d often done in club games. ‘Pep pills?’ said a sceptical Glaswegian fan. ‘I thought they were tranquillisers.’ Johnston was packed off home in disgrace, suspended from international football for a year, told by Scotland he would never play for them again and consoled only by the rustle of bank notes as a Sunday newspaper paid him a large sum for his ‘story’.
Scotland’s morale lay in ruins. There were complaints about the poor training facilities, complaints about the hotel, complaints about MacLeod. It was a demoralised team which laboured in its next match to an embarrassing draw against Iran. Scotland’s goal was farcical, scored by Eskandarian against his own team as he and his goalkeeper fell to the ground and he thrust out a desperate foot.
Holland, meanwhile, were proving as enigmatic as they had looked before battle began. There was, to begin with, a manifest conflict in approach and temperament between their managers, Ernst Happel, the dour Austrian, and Jan Zwartkruis, an Air Force Officer who had managed the team before Happel and who had known most of the players for years, having run the Army team. In a remarkable outburst at Holland’s training camp—where the Dutch players were restless, too—he criticised Happel for treating his men ‘as footballers, rather than as human beings’. He may have had a point in so far as Happel’s treatment of Jan Jongbloed, the 37-year-old goalkeeper, was concerned. Jongbloed, furious when Happel almost casually told him he’d been dropped after the game against Scotland, had to dissuade his wife from coming to beard Happel in his den.
Initially, it was supposed that Happel would experiment with a new system which placed five men in midfield, roughly in the shape of an X with the key player in the centre. This had been tried in May against Austria in Vienna with Wim Van Hanegem in the middle. Afterwards, however, the big, 34-year-old inside-left had been told by Happel that he could not guarantee him a place in Argentina and he had therefore become the last Dutch player to withdraw.
Held to a goalless draw by Peru, Happel dropped Aarie Haan, restored to midfield for this World Cup, from the team to play Scotland and chose Johan Neeskens though he was known not to be fit. Indeed, he did not last many minutes. The Scots at last brought Graeme Souness into the side. Asked whether he thought Scotland could score the three goals they needed against Holland Jongbloed replied, ‘Yes, but not in ninety minutes.’
Score them, however, they did, including what many considered the finest goal of the competition; it took a desperate rally by the Dutch to pull the score back to 2–3 and stay in the competition. Scotland at last, and too late, had cast off their complexes to play splendid football. The Dutch, by contrast, played a sour, negative game, with much harsh tackling and excessive emphasis on the offside trap.
They owed much to the splendid play at sweeper of Ruud Krol—their 1974 left-back—who
rescued them time and again. His former partner at full-back, Wim Suurbier, was surprisingly put at centre-back against Jordan, though he himself had never claimed to be strong in the air, where Jordan was at his strongest.
This, in any event, was a new Scotland, driven on from midfield by Souness and the exuberant little Archie Gemmill. Rioch, too, looked far more enterprising, hitting the angle of post and bar after only five minutes. The Dutch went into the lead when Johnny Rep was brought down by Kennedy and Alan Rough the goalkeeper, and Rob Rensenbrink scored from yet another penalty. But Johan Neeskens had already left the field, after a lunging tackle on Gemmill, and the Dutch team laboured. Just before half-time, Jordan headed down Souness’s clever lob and Dalglish equalised. When Souness was fouled, after half-time, Gemmill in turn scored a penalty to make it 2–1.
This, though, was as nothing to the goal with which he made it 3–1, an astonishing slalom which took him from just outside his penalty area round three bemused defenders to end with a slashing shot past Jongbloed. A twenty-five-yard shot by Johnny Rep finally beat the vulnerable Rough to give Holland their second goal and take them into Group A. In Glasgow the cruel word went round that ‘Micky Mouse is wearing an Ally MacLeod wrist watch’. A characteristically crass report by the Scottish Football Association, who confirmed MacLeod in office by a casting vote, seemed to put most of the blame on the Scottish journalists.
Group III
The Story of the World Cup Page 26
