The Story of the World Cup

by Brian Glanville

  Beckham, alas, long since rehabilitated, even glorified, would have to make extraordinary efforts to play at all. A brutal double-footed tackle by an Argentine (oh, would it not be!) in a European Cup match against Deportivo La Coruna at Old Trafford had broken a metatarsal bone in his left foot, leaving pitifully little time for it to heal. In the previous game against Deportivo, Beckham had been the victim of an almost equally shocking foul by Diego Tristan, the Spanish international striker. That it was so inadequately punished by the referee may well have led to Aldo Pedro Duscher’s appalling challenge.

  Beckham’s metamorphosis from pariah to hero had been remarkable. After the 98 World Cup, he was sometimes viciously abused by young thugs at matches. By the time it came to the 2002 Finals, he was a role model, a cynosure even of the Japanese. He and his wife Victoria, ‘Relatively’ Posh Spice, an utterly ordinary singer in the factitious Spice Girls, led lives of monumental vulgarity, whether it be their wedding in Ireland, during which they sat on thrones, or the flamboyant ‘charity’ party they put on soon after the 2002 tournament. It was common, almost customary, to sneer at Beckham for his alleged stupidity, but this merely cheapened those who did so. What Beckham clearly possessed was what he needed: football intelligence. Paul Gascoigne, far and away the most gifted and creative English footballer of his generation, could behave like an idiot when off the field. One doubted whether Beckham’s critics could score from the halfway line with that extraordinary right foot, deliver crosses of absolute precision on to the heads of his colleagues, or conjure goals from insidious free kicks as he did.

  Not least when, in the final seconds, his free-kick goal gave England the luckiest of home draws against Greece in their last qualifying match, thus escaping the necessity of a play-off. And this from a free kick which should never have been awarded, the veteran striker Teddy Sheringham having cunningly obtained it.

  England’s manager by then was the enigmatic Swede, Sven-Göran Eriksson, enlisted on a salary of £2 million a year after the failures of Kevin Keegan and Howard Wilkinson. The emotional Keegan had instantly resigned after his absurd tactics and a goalkeeping error by David Seaman at Wembley—far too slow to react to Dietmar Hamann’s free kick—had condemned England to a 1–0 defeat by Germany. Keegan’s fatuous decision to use the one-paced defender Gareth Southgate in central midfield had been a disaster. Wilkinson’s choices were no better when he took England to Helsinki and a laborious 0–0 draw with Finland, though England should have been awarded a goal when Ray Parlour’s drive clipped the underside of the bar and bounced over the line. Wilkinson added insult to injury by proclaiming that England had no chance of qualifying and should think instead about the 2006 tournament.

  Eriksson had coached successfully in Italy—Roma, Fiorentina, Lazio—and in Portugal at Benfica. A calm, quiet man, much respected by his players, he made a spectacular beginning when he took England to Munich and their 5–1 win over a German team which became increasingly demoralised, unable to deal with the electric pace of Michael Owen. This suddenly resurrected England’s hopes of qualification, and confirmed the exuberant promise Owen had shown in 1998. In the interim, he had suffered greatly from hamstring problems, which at times had seemed intractable, and had forced him to go to an unorthodox German specialist in search of a cure. Whatever the merits of Beckham—who might be said to have made the very best of essentially limited talents, a lack of pace, elusive skills and heading prowess—Owen seemed the outstanding member of the team. This, though Beckham, with his constantly changing hairstyle, was the salient public figure.

  In the run-up to the Finals, however, the England team fell disconcertingly away, an uninspired 2–0 win against Albania, being followed by a home draw with Greece—who themselves came close to winning. Eriksson himself meanwhile became surprisingly embroiled in a relationship with a Swedish television presenter, Ulrika Jonsson, a woman scarcely known for her reticence, who during the 98 Finals had been brutally knocked down and kicked in a Paris bar by her boyfriend, former England centre-forward Stan Collymore. As the 2002 Finals approached, it seemed that Eriksson’s luck had run out.

  Not only was Beckham seriously injured, but one of his best young midfielders, Steven Gerrard of Liverpool, a powerful player, adept in launching his team-mate Owen with long passes, was forced to drop out with an injury. All of which made it the more surprising that Eriksson obstinately turned his back on a former Liverpool man, Steve McManaman, even though he had played exceptionally well for Real Madrid in the semi-final and Final of the European Cup. Though never at his best when played on the left flank, McManaman, on the right, where he might have relieved Beckham during games, still looked an impressive player and his experience was large. Yet Eriksson chose to take to the Far East the Newcastle United midfielder Kieron Dyer, though his own injuries had put him out of the game for months.

  In the event, Dyer would make only substitute appearances in the Finals, and one, controversially, was as a substitute on the left flank of midfield in what proved to be England’s last game, against Brazil.

  Brazil, so often champions, arrived under the controversial aegis of Luiz Filipe ‘Big Phil’ Scolari, brought in after the failures of Wanderley Luxemburgo—accused after his dismissal of various finagles and tax offences—and the former World Cup goalkeeper, Leao. Scolari’s credentials were somewhat dubious. As manager of Gremio, he had openly encouraged his players to commit fouls so long as they were outside the penalty area. The Brazilian concept of The Beautiful Game was deeply alien to him, and he had no time for the talismanic veteran striker Romario, who had been Brazil’s saviour in the past and was still scoring goals for Flamengo. But having qualified, Brazil’s World Cup group didn’t look too taxing. It included Costa Rica, Turkey and China, who had qualified under the managership of Bora Milutinovic, the latest of no fewer than five countries he had coached in the World Cup finals, though hardly the strongest.

  Italy’s chances seemed good though, not untypically, their pre-World Cup friendlies had seen them in diminuendo. This, said their critics, was of no import; it merely followed the perennial pattern. Inspired by the thrust and invention of Francesco Totti, playing just behind the front line, still strong in the powerful presence up front of Bobo Vieri, the Italians had come so close to winning Euro 2000.

  They were now under the new management of the veteran Giovanni Trapattoni, winner of championships with Juventus and Inter and successor to Dino Zoff, who’d resigned soon after Euro 2000, incensed by the coarse criticism of the Milan owner and by 2002 President of the Council, Silvio Berlusconi. ‘Trap’, brought up as player and coach on the negativity and caution of the Italian catenaccio (‘door-bolt’) system, had never been the most adventurous of coaches, but he seemed ready to be tactically more flexible.

  It was said during and after the finals, not least by Franz Beckenbauer, a World Cup winner as both player and manager, that the European teams were tired, that they had played too much football, much of it in the European Champions Cup. Indeed, soon after the Finals, UEFA decided to abolish the second league stage of the European tournament, no doubt to the relief of the players but not to the directors of several major European clubs which would lose a great deal of money as a result.

  No doubt many of the leading Europeans were indeed tired but then, when in past World Cups have they not been? When Enzo Bearzot was in charge of Italy, he would concentrate on what he called the ‘disintoxication’ of his team, purging them, that is to say, of what he regarded as the poisons of the Italian Championship, with its pressures on his players.

  The Republic of Ireland would excel themselves again, both in their path to the finals—for once successfully negotiating a play-off—and in the Finals, too. Had it not been for the banishment of their finest player, Roy Keane, on the eve of the tournament, they might have done better still.

  That they were forced to play off at all was something of a scandal. They had performed gallantly in their group, twice holding Portugal to a draw
, drawing in Holland, then beating the Dutch 1–0 in Dublin, despite being reduced to ten men, when the right back Gary Kelly was sent off. Thus they finished second to Portugal, and that should have been that, but FIFA’S craven capitulation to threats from the Asian Confederation, who’d demanded an extra place, meant that the Irish, of all teams, were the victims of the compromise, condemned to a decider against Iran.

  The victory over the Dutch, who admittedly missed a host of chances, was extraordinary, procured when the substitute Steve Finnan crossed from the left and the outstanding Jason McAteer scored. Holland’s experienced manager, Louis Van Gaal, profligately threw on striker after striker but succeeded only in upsetting the balance of his team.

  With McAteer again exuberant, Ireland then in Dublin beat an Iran team managed by that old fox of a coach, Miroslav Blazevic, and, without the injured Roy Keane, qualified after going down narrowly in Teheran. But when the team arrived for World Cup preparations on the Japanese island of Saipan, more noted for its red-light district than for its football facilities, the balloon alas went up.

  Keane doubtless had a point when he angrily complained about a farcical training ground and what he deemed a too casual approach. Always a loose cannon, subject to violent moments on the field, long at loggerheads with the team’s manager, Mick McCarthy, it was surely inevitable that when McCarthy summoned Keane to a reckoning before other members of the team, there’d be an explosion. So there was; Keane abused his manager furiously for a full eight minutes, making it inevitable he be sent home. Whether McCarthy had been wise to upbraid him in public, with its predictable consequences, is a moot point.

  Even the Irish Taioseach, Bertie Aherne, and the efforts of the Irish FA failed to extract an apology from Keane, and Ireland had to do without him.

  The opening match, on the last day of May in Seoul’s imposing new stadium—the city’s Olympic stadium would not be used—saw France, the holders, meet a Senegalese team every member of which was playing top-flight football in France and which, under the passionate managership of the long-haired Frenchman, Bruno Metsu, had swept into the Final of the recent African Nations Cup in Mali, losing to Cameroon only on penalties.

  There was an alarm for Senegal before the game when one of their key midfield players, the powerfully left-footed Khalilou Fadiga, was accused of stealing a gold necklace from a jewellery shop. In the event, the jeweller, getting the necklace back, decided not to bring charges and the authorities decided not to prosecute, on the charitable grounds that this might disturb Fadiga’s concentration! The case had still not been cleared up when Senegal met France but Fadiga seemed anything but disturbed, emerging as a tireless midfielder, now winning tackles, now reinforcing the speedily elusive El Hadji Diouf, the solitary striker, up front.

  Before the game, the 33-year-old France centre-back, Marcel Desailly, had reacted irritably when reminded that he and the whole of his back line were veterans now. But it would become all too clear, above all in the case of the now laborious central defender Frank Leboeuf, a strange choice by Roger Lemerre, given his indifferent international form and his far from convincing performances even in the French League for Marseille. Three times in the game, Diouf would surge past him with almost insulting ease, and on one of those occasions Senegal would score the game’s only goal.

  That came somewhat luckily on 29 minutes against a French team palpably missing two of its best players. Robert Pires, an all-round attacking midfielder, had broken down towards the end of a splendid season with Arsenal. Zinedine Zidane, perhaps the best player in the world, had been injured, would miss the next game, too, and would do little more than hobble through the traumatising third.

  When Diouf, out on the left, easily negotiated Leboeuf, he pulled back a ball which ricocheted off Desailly’s heel, couldn’t be cleared by Emmanuel Petit, bounced off the leg and arm of the keeper Fabien Barthez, and was forced over the line at full stretch by the muscular Papa Bouba Diop. David Trezeguet and Thierry Henry—unhappy to be used on the left—both hit the woodwork, but then, so did Fadiga for Senegal. The French made numerous chances but took none of them, bravely opposed by the third-choice Monaco keeper Tony Sylva, who began shakily but looked safer and safer as the game went on. It was indeed a bitter-sweet night for a weary looking Patrick Vieira, playing against the country he had left when seven years old.

  So Senegal led Group A. Next day, under the dome in Sapporo—not seen as ideal for soccer by various players—Group E favourites Germany thrashed a pitifully poor Saudi Arabian team 8–0, thus arguably gaining the confidence which would in due course surprisingly take them to the Final. The game was no contest. The Saudis were utterly vulnerable on their right flank where Germany’s Michael Ballack made hay, his centres eagerly exploited with scant opposition by Miroslav Klose, who headed three of the goals.

  In a game like that, the lack of a playmaker, such as the injured Mehmet Scholl, was irrelevant. Franz Beckenbauer had asserted that failing to top their qualifying group was the making of the German team since it had solidified in the two play-offs against Ukraine. Certainly the former star striker Rudi Völler seemed a more inspiring manager than the disillusioned Berti Vogts, whose team had crashed to Portugal in Euro 2000.

  Also in Group E, Ireland drew in Niigata with Cameroon, whose players had had their usual squabbles with officials over overdue wages and had arrived late in the Far East in consequence.

  For most of the first half, however, they had Ireland under pressure, and went ahead on 39 minutes, Samuel Eto’o setting up his strike partner, Patrick Mboma. But the Irish recovered and with the excellent Matt Holland and Mark Kinsella making light of the absence of Roy Keane in central midfield, deservedly equalised in 80 degree heat on 52 minutes when Holland pounced on Raymond Kalla’s headed clearance to score. Robbie Keane subsequently hit the post.

  Back in Group A, Denmark’s win in Ulsan over Uruguay, who’d sneaked in by beating Australia in a play-off, was something of a vindication for Jon-Dahl Tomasson, the striker who failed at Newcastle, flourished at Feyenoord and was already booked for Milan. He scored both his team’s goals in the 2–1 win.

  In Saitama next day, England, in Group F, made a wretched start, lucky to draw with Sweden even though Sol Campbell, with a header from a corner, had given them the lead. But on 59 minutes, clumsy defending by Danny Mills enabled the Swedish right winger Niclas Alexandersson to drive a left-foot shot past David Seaman. The rest of the game saw England desperately hanging on. Magnus Hedman, Sweden’s keeper, surely had a point when he said, ‘You put up the long ball and hope for the knock on to Owen, but that way of playing is dependent on chance.’ Where indeed was the English playmaker, the new Paul Gascoigne? Young Joe Cole was still maturing.

  Though David Beckham gallantly did his best, and used the ball with greater effect than his colleagues, it was inevitable he should fade after half an hour. The choice of Emile Heskey on the left flank seemed bizarre, given his ineffectuality, not least as West Ham’s Trevor Sinclair—irrationally sent home but then recalled—had shown such lively form.

  Argentina’s 1–0 win against Nigeria was hardly scintillating, though nor was it encouraging for England. It was gained with a typically majestic header by Gabriel Batistuta, soaring above both friend and foe and well justifying his recall after, not for the first time, falling out of favour.

  Under the dome of Sapporo, Italy made a comfortable start in Group G, against Ecuador, two smartly taken goals by Bobo Vieri—that awful right-footed miss against South Korea lay in the future—guaranteeing success. In Group C, the first of what would be two games between Brazil and Turkey proved a contentious affair. Two Turks were sent off, the first of them Aston Villa’s centre back, Alpay, for pulling Luizao’s shirt as the substitute striker went by him. The Korean referee, Kim Young-Joo, gave a penalty as well, though the foul certainly took place outside the box. Ronaldo scored. Rivaldo was later deviously involved in the expulsion of Hakan Unsal, who petulantly kicked the ball at him
. It hit him on the knee but he fell, clutching his face, and Unsal was off; though technically he should have been, anyway.

  Turkey had in fact led with a delightful goal, clever little Yildiray Basturk’s floated pass setting Hasan Sas free to score, left footed. Ronaldo equalised with his first goal for Brazil for two years before his winning penalty.

  In Group G, at Niigata, the white-booted Cuauhtemoc Blanco’s penalty, after he himself had been fouled, gave Mexico deserved victory over Croatia, who had Boris Zivkovic expelled for the foul. Blanco was back after a prolonged absence caused by a brutal foul in a World Cup qualifier.

  In Group D, South Korea finally made their debut on 4 June at Busan, with its 65,000 capacity the largest stadium in the country. The enthusiasm and anticipation were colossal; red shirts among the passionate crowd were the order of the day. Never in their forty-eight years of trying had South Korea won a game at a World Cup Finals, and it still rankled that North Korea had been the sensation of the 1966 World Cup. True, there had been a long gap after the disastrous South Korean debut in the World Cup in 1954, when in their opening match the side had lost 9–0 to Hungary. True also, there had been several subsequent draws; yet never a win. Home advantage now would surely bring victory against Poland.

  Not least under the expert tutelage of Guus Hiddink, previously manager of the Dutch international side, Real Madrid and PSV. Appointed in January 2001, he had got the local Championship suspended to enable him to work for five months with those of his players, the majority, who played their football in the country. He was somewhat preoccupied that the few who didn’t were largely not regular first teamers for their clubs, but he need hardly have worried. Little Jung-Hwan Ahn may have been in and out of the Perugia team in Serie A, but those of us who’d seen him when he did play knew how incisive he could be; and indeed, would be.