The Story of the World Cup
Page 36
A tournament in which history threatened to repeat itself, when poor refereeing—oddly enough, by the Argentine, Esposito—had helped to lose them their first game against Mexico, had ended honourably. If that was the word for the resourceful Belgian right-back, Eric Gerets, suspended and cast out by Milan in 1984, when found guilty of match-fixing with Standard Liège. Guy Thys, anyway, had confirmed himself as a resourceful international team manager. But what could even he do against a Maradona?
In Guadalajara, Battiston renewed acquaintance, less painfully, with Toni Schumacher; and West Germany again won a semi-final against France. This time without recourse to penalties. Grindingly efficient as ever, West Germany confounded their detractors to reach yet another World Cup Final, against the odds. If Berthold, after his expulsion against Mexico, was suspended, France lacked Dominique Rocheteau, who had an injured hamstring. Bellone took his place—in so far as anybody could.
This would not be as dazzling and dramatic a match as Seville’s. Franz Beckenbauer used Rolff to shadow Platini; Michel employed Fernandez to keep an eye on Rummenigge, who this time lasted just 56 minutes. Schumacher and Battiston shook hands before the kick-off. The German keeper would have a happier game than Joel Bats.
Wearied by the extra time against Brazil—the Germans, though down to 10 for so long against Mexico, had at least prevailed in 90 minutes—the last thing France wanted was to concede a bad early goal. But after a mere 10 minutes, they did. Bossis fouled Rummenigge just outside the box. Magath touched the free kick aside, and Brehme, scorer of decisive World Cup goals, roared in to hit it round the wall. Bats, probably seeing it late, dived for the ball, but it squirmed off his chest and rolled under him, into the net.
France were not down and done for. Neither Platini nor Giresse, now 34, would excel in this game, but three minutes after the goal Platini headed a ball to Giresse which he volleyed only a little wide. Later, Tigana and Platini again put Giresse through a German defence which was plainly negotiable, but Giresse muffed his shot.
Next minute, the fifteenth, France threw away their best chance of all. Michel Platini, still capable of doing damage even on an off day, struck a volley from the right-hand side of the box. It was too hot even for Schumacher to hold. The ball rebounded to the big central defender, Bossis, just 6 yards from goal. An empty goal. He shot over the top.
Bats, twice using his feet, did something to atone for his mistake. He kept out thus a shot by Rummenigge—still plainly not quite fit—and another from Rolff. Forsaking his role as Platini’s marker, Rolff ran on to a touch by Klaus Allofs, shot from 8 yards out, and was frustrated. When Magath shot again, Bats got to that too. It was Rolff once more who brought another fine save from Bats with a 30-yard bullet early in the second half; the goalkeeper turned it over the bar.
Yet Rolff almost emerged as the villain of the piece. A dreadful pass back was snapped up by Bellone, but his shot from the edge of the 6-yard box was charged down and, after some tense seconds, West Germany escaped.
Stopyra, nastily fouled early in the half by the blond German stopper, Foerster, had recovered sufficiently to carve a way through the German defence, after 63 minutes, only for Schumacher to save splendidly at just 8 yards’ range.
It remained for Rudi Völler, who’d come on seven minutes earlier in place of a struggling Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, to rub salt into French wounds. In the very last minute, he moved on to a left-wing cross from Allofs, expertly lobbed over Bats, ran by him, and found the empty net. Another World Cup Final for West Germany. Another disappointment for France.
Winning the third-place match, in Puebla, where the Belgians were beaten 4–2, was scant consolation. They did it without Platini, and despite a rash of missed chances by Jean-Pierre Papin, still some way from becoming the famous opportunist who’d cost Milan a fortune when they signed him. Jan Ceulemans was again one of the best players afield, cutting in from the right to beat Rust, Bats’s deputy, for the first Belgian goal, after 11 minutes.
Thereafter, each team missed an abundance of chances, the score at 90 minutes being 2–2. In extra time, a goal by Genghini, a midfield star of 1982, and a penalty by Amoros won the game for France. At home, Platini became a scapegoat.
For the Final, Maradona was clearly the favourite. Yet, in the event, Argentina won without his ever reaching the heights he had in previous games. Won with surprising difficulty, not to say strange carelessness, almost contriving to throw away a game they seemed to have in their pockets. The West Germans, resilient as ever, made up with sheer morale what they lacked in tactics and technique.
The $64,000 question was, inevitably, who would mark Maradona? Beckenbauer decided it should be Lothar Matthaus, thus taking a double gamble. First, because for all his versatility, Matthaus was essentially a midfielder, rather than a marker, a defender. Secondly, because his creative gifts were thus denied a team which badly needed them.
Worst still, it was Matthaus’s unpleasant foul on Maradona, a direct consequence of the marking role he’d been given, which led straight to the first Argentine goal. Twenty-two minutes had gone when Maradona’s neat backheel left Matthaus in limbo. He retorted by chopping Maradona down from behind. Burruchaga took a long, high free kick from the right. It was a goalkeeper’s ball, one which, at almost any time, you would have backed Schumacher to take. This time, he didn’t. Mistiming his exit, he allowed the ball to float above his outstretched hands. Unmarked on the far post, left by defenders who’d perhaps placed excessive trust in their keeper, lurked José-Luis Brown. A free header, and the ball was home.
To go a goal behind was the last thing such a cautiously deployed German team wanted. So packed with defenders were they, you had the impression that even the man with the bucket and sponge must be a centre-back in drag. Michel Platini, asked the day before the Final whether he’d be going to see it, had replied that he wouldn’t; there’d be nothing to learn. He was probably right. However much Bilardo would boast, subsequently, of the tactical innovations which circumstances had forced on him, the game had gone backwards since the exhilarating days of Total Football. Moreover, the goals scored in this Final were curiously sloppy, in defensive terms.
Dull stuff it was, for a long time. After 33 minutes, the Germans had a nasty moment when Maradona broke through, Schumacher kicked out at the ball, it rebounded from Maradona’s chest, and flew not far wide of the goal. West Germany clearly had to do something drastic, and when they came out again for the second half, it was with Rudi Völler replacing not one of the posse of defenders but the left-winger, Klaus Allofs. Hardly a daring stroke.
Four minutes into the half, a West German team now forced to go for goals found itself in numerical inferiority to Argentina, two defenders against four attackers. Foerster’s desperate tackle on Burruchaga, within spitting distance of the goal, saved his side.
Now José-Luis Brown went down with an injured shoulder, left the field for treatment, came back again and, characteristically, loyally, played on in pain for the rest of the match. With Passarella indisposed, who else could play sweeper?
Briegel, the huge, blond Siegfried figure, was bullocking his way down the left from time to time, but this apart, the West Germans had sadly little to offer. Ten minutes into the second half, hoist with their own petard, West Germany succumbed to a counter-attack.
Enrique, in ebullient form, found Valdano, quite unmarked, on the left. Valdano ran on to beat Schumacher with ease. Those who accused the keeper of hesitation on this and Argentina’s winning goal were being somewhat harsh. On each occasion, Schumacher was left exposed. Valdano’s goal was just reward. Best player on the field, he also closed down the incursions of the massive Briegel.
Six minutes later, Beckenbauer made another change. Again, he did not take off a defender. It was Magath, the midfielder, who gave way to Dieter Hoeness, a tall centre-forward, powerful in the air, brother of Uli, star right-winger of the Total Football team of the 1970s.
Obsessed with Maradona, the Germ
ans were giving far too much room to other Argentines, notably Enrique, who revelled in the extra space. But after 28 minutes of the half, the Germans were suddenly and unexpectedly back in contention.
Brehme took a corner, Rudi Völler flicked on with his head, and in came Rummenigge, the old Rummenigge, to do final execution.
West Germany had risen from the ashes. Now, at long last, Matthaus deserted his ungrateful task against Maradona to move into midfield, and direct the play. Eight minutes from the end, another corner, another German goal; the scores were squared after 82 minutes.
Again, the flag kick, was Brehme’s, though this time the headed flick on was from Berthold. Völler, who had set up the first goal, now, with another header, scored the second. The unthinkable had happened. Argentina had let the game slip out of their grasp. It if went to extra time, what hope of holding out, with Brown a virtual cripple?
Re-enter Maradona. With six minutes to play, his exquisite pass sent Jorge Burruchaga through. Burrachaga kept his nerve, and Schumacher was beaten again. The Cup, very properly, was Argentina’s.
Overall, it had been a good World Cup, rising above the oppressive conditions in Mexico, and the dubious way it had been allotted there. The Mexicans themselves had risen above the shocking disaster which had devastated the centre of Mexico City, an earthquake to recall that which had devastated Chile before the 1962 World Cup. The Mexican people had shown warmth, enthusiasm, generosity. The English ‘hooligans’ had been little or no problem. Diego Maradona had been as great a hero as Pelé in 1970.
The great, yellow Camel cigarette balloon floating ominously outside the Azteca stadium had, meanwhile, been the very symbol of commercialism. It was defended by Havelange on the bizarre grounds that he’d never smoked, and FIFA needed the money for a 24-team World Cup. The tournament had risen above that misbegotten formula too. In 1990, it would not be so lucky.
RESULTS: Mexico 1986
First round
Group A
Mexico City, Puebla
Italy 1, Bulgaria 1
Argentina 3, South Korea 1
Italy 1, Argentina 1
Bulgaria 1, South Korea 1
Italy 3, South Korea 2
Argentina 2, Bulgaria 0
GOALS
P W D L F A Pts
Argentina 3 2 1 0 6 2 5
Italy 3 1 2 0 5 4 4
Bulgaria 3 0 2 1 2 4 2
South Korea 3 0 1 2 4 7 1
Group B
Mexico City, Toluca
Mexico 2, Belgium 1
Paraguay 1, Iraq 0
Mexico 1, Paraguay 1
Belgium 2, Iraq 1
Mexico 1, Iraq 0
Belgium 2, Paraguay 2
GOALS
P W D L F A Pts
Mexico 3 2 1 0 4 2 5
Paraguay 3 1 2 0 4 3 4
Belgium 3 1 1 1 5 5 3
Iraq 3 0 0 3 1 4 0
Group C
Leon, Irapuato
France 1, Canada 0
Soviet Union 6, Hungary 0
France 1, Soviet Union 1
Hungary 2, Canada 0
France 3, Hungary 0
Soviet Union 2, Canada 0
GOALS
P W D L F A Pts
USSR 3 2 1 0 9 1 5
France 3 2 1 0 5 1 5
Hungary 3 1 0 2 2 9 2
Canada 3 0 0 3 0 5 0
Group D
Guadalajara, Monterrey
Spain 0, Brazil 1
Algeria 1, Northern Ireland 1
Northern Ireland 1, Spain 2
Brazil 1, Algeria 0
Algeria 0, Spain 3
Northern Ireland 0, Brazil 3
GOALS
P W D L F A Pts
Brazil 3 3 0 0 5 0 6
Spain 3 2 0 1 5 2 4
N. Ireland 3 0 1 2 2 6 1
Algeria 3 0 1 2 1 5 1
Group E
Neza, Queretaro
Denmark 1, Scotland 0
West Germany 1, Uruguay 1
West Germany 2, Scotland 1
Denmark 6, Uruguay 1
Scotland 0, Uruguay 0
Denmark 2, West Germany 0
GOALS
P W D L F A Pts
Denmark 3 3 0 0 9 1 6
West Germany 3 1 1 1 3 4 3
Uruguay 3 0 2 1 2 7 2
Scotland 3 0 1 2 1 3 1
Group F
Monterrey, Guadalajara
Portugal 1, England 0
Morocco 0, Poland 0
Poland 1, Portugal 0
Morocco 0, England 0
Morocco 3, Portugal 1
England 3, Poland 0
GOALS
P W D L F A Pts
Morocco 3 1 2 0 3 1 4
England 3 1 1 1 3 1 3
Poland 3 1 1 1 1 3 3
Portugal 3 1 0 2 2 4 2
Second round
Leon
Belgium 4, Soviet Union 3
Azteca, Mexico City
Mexico 2, Bulgaria 0
Guadalajara
Brazil 4, Poland 0
Puebla
Argentina 1, Uruguay 0
Olympic Stadium, Mexico City
France 2, Italy 0
Monterrey
West Germany 1, Morocco 0
Azteca, Mexico City
England 3, Paraguay 0
Queretaro
Denmark 1, Spain 5
Quarter-finals
Guadalajara
France 1, Brazil 1
France win 4–3 on penalties
Monterrey
Mexico 0, West Germany 0
West Germany win 4–1 on penalties
Azteca, Mexico City
Argentina 2, England 1
Puebla
Belgium 1, Spain 1
Belgium win 5–4 on penalties
Semi-finals
Azteca, Mexico City
Argentina 2, Belgium 0
Guadalajara
West Germany 2, France 0
Third-place match
Puebla
France 4 Belgium 2
(after extra time)
Rust, Ayache, Battiston, Pfaff; Gerets, Renquin
Le Roux (Bossis), (F. Van der Elst). De
Amoros; Bibard, Mol, Vervoort; Scifo
Ferreri, Tigana (L. Van der Elst),
(Tusseau), Genghini, Mommens,
Vercruysse; Papin, Ceulemans; Veyt,
Bellone. Claesen
SCORERS
Ferreri, Papin, Genghini, Amoros (penalty) for France
Ceulemans, Claesen for Belgium
HT (2–1
Final
Azteca, Mexico City
Argentina 3 West Germany 2
Pumpido; Brown; Schumacher; Jakobs;
Ruggeri, Cuciuffo; Brehme, Foerster,
Giusti, Enrique, Batista, Berthold, Briegel;
Burruchaga Matthaus, Magath
(Trobbiani), (D. Hoeness), Eder;
Olarticoechea; Rummenigge, Allofs
Valdano, Maradona. (Völler).).
SCORERS
Brown, Valdano, Burruchaga for Argentina
Rummenigge, Völler for West Germany
HT (1–0)
ITALY
1990
Once again, West Germany met Argentina in the Final, but this time, the Germans had revenge of a sort. It was probably the worst, most tedious, bad-tempered Final in the history of the World Cup. Diego Maradona was half crippled; Claudio Caniggia, Argentina’s dashing blond striker, was suspended—the result of a mere handball. The Germans, utterly uninspired, won through a penalty which should probably never have been given, but most neutral spectators were just glad to be done with the game. This time, the tournament did not escape the consequences of its elephantiasis.
Afterwards, intent on disavowing the real cause, FIFA emitted a series of insensate suggestions for ‘improvement’, everything from larger goals to fewer players. A committee consisting of the great and the good was set up. The mountain eventually parturated a m
ouse, in the spring of 1992, in the shape of a half-baked rule forbidding goalkeepers to handle back passes. The British associations had enough votes on the International Board—four against FIFA’S four—to block the motion, but they sold the pass; or the back pass.
The tournament had its consolations, even if the greatest disappointment of all was the form of Holland. The Dutch had brilliantly won the European Championship in West Germany two years earlier, beating the Germans themselves in the semi-final, thrashing the Soviets in the final, inspired by the dazzling trio of Milan players, Marco Van Basten, Ruud Gullit and Frank Rijkaard, these last two coming from Surinam.
Van Basten, perversely omitted by the revered manager, Rinus Michels, from Holland’s first line-up in Germany, was a protean centre-forward: strong, fast, highly intelligent, a superb finisher with foot or head. The goal he’d volleyed in the final against the Soviets was surely among the finest ever seen in an international match.
Gullit was the complete footballer: tall, powerful, astonishingly nimble for so big a man, a powerful shot, devastating in the air. But since the 1988 Championship, he’d had a series of grave operations on his right knee, and was in doubt almost till the eve of the tournament.
Rijkaard had been bought by Milan at the insistence of its determined little manager, Arrigo Sacchi, despite the opposition of the club’s wealthy President, Silvio Berlusconi, owner of the television Channel 5. Berlusconi insisted the club prefer Claudio Borghi, the Argentine striker who’d played in the 1986 World Cup. Sacchi’s view prevailed, and Borghi, drifting from club to club across South America, gradually and sadly faded from view.
Michels, now, was not the manager. That role had gone to the blond Leo Beenhakker, who’d had much success in Spain, most recently with Real Madrid. But he never won the admiration of the highly critical Dutch journalists; nor did he seem able to get the best out of his players. It was whispered that Michels, still in office in the Dutch Federation, overshadowed him and made his function difficult.