Mammoth Book of the World Cup

by Nick Holt

  Belgium had Eric Gerets, their veteran right-back, sent off after only thirty-six minutes against Uruguay. Fortunately they were already two-nil ahead and had a good enough defence to hold on with some ease; Ceulemans put them three-up before Uruguay found a solitary response.

  Spain edged the final game against Belgium, but, if Scifo’s penalty had gone under the bar instead of rebounding from it, Belgium, not Spain, would have headed the group. Not that either of them had an easy second-round tie, but both would fancy their chances. Spain finally looked as if some of their club success was rubbing off, and they had goals in them with Butragueño leading the line and Michel coming off the right wing to such effect. Belgium were very experienced, and had a knack of maximising their resources under canny Guy Thys. Uruguay were decidedly ordinary and looked ideal opponents for the hosts in the next phase. Francescoli looked a weary and demotivated player, not a great one.

  GROUP F

  Seven goals in six games, no wonder the Italian press were so rude about the football coming out of the group. The authorities didn’t help. They were worried about the hooligan element in the support from the three European sides and carted the entire group off to Sardinia, where the local carabinieri (riot police) treated the fans with markedly less respect than they afforded the local gangsters. And bracketing the Irish supporters with the English yobs and the Dutch extremists was an insult, as was chartering a plane and randomly arresting exactly the same number of England fans as seats in Rimini before the second-round match in nearby Bologna and forcibly repatriating them. This was a cretinous response to the trouble, and typical of the reaction of the police in southern Europe at the time; instead of enlisting the help of the English police, who enjoyed great success in combating hooliganism, they reacted to violence and indiscretion with violence and indiscretion and exacerbated the problem, turning bystanders into participants. I’m not excusing the hooligans who poisoned the game for a decade (I didn’t attend a league match between 1982 and 1990), I’m simply suggesting that providing other hooligans in uniforms for them to clash with was not the answer.

  Back to the football, what there was of it. England versus Ireland was unspeakable, but at least England avoided defeat, unlike in the parallel fixture at the 1988 European Championships. Sheedy’s equaliser was just about deserved and came from a bad mistake by Steve McMahon. A predicted Dutch landslide against Egypt never materialised; Holland looked a pale imitation of the team that won the Euros, and Egypt were most certainly not flattered by a draw. They got another in their next match against Ireland, a stultifying game.

  England adopted a sweeper system against Holland, which seemed unnecessary as Holland were awful again and couldn’t worry a defence in which Mark Wright was excellent as the deep-lying defender. Peter Beardsley, who had a rotten game against Ireland, made way. Van Basten destroyed England in 1988 but here he was easily restrained by Des Walker and appeared fed up long before the end.

  Van Basten got no more change from McCarthy and McGrath, never mind that both lacked outright pace; Niall Quinn’s route one equaliser got the Irish their third draw and a place in the last sixteen. England needed a win to top the group. They reverted to a back four, leaving Butcher out, with McMahon replacing the injured (again) Robson and Steve Bull, who played in the second division with Wolverhampton Wanderers, coming in alongside Lineker. England got the win courtesy of Mark Wright’s only goal in forty-five internationals, but watching Paul Gascoigne trying to get into the game while his colleagues failed to string three passes together was painful stuff.

  The best players in the group were Walker, McGrath, Frank Rijkaard and the twenty-one-year-old Egyptian sweeper Hani Ramzy. All centre-backs. ’Nuff said.

  SECOND ROUND

  Colombia’s goalkeeper was bound to play a part at some stage. René Higuita fancied himself as a character; he liked to take penalties, and he liked to stroll out of his goal and play the ball around like a seasoned libero. In later years he developed his scorpion kick, delighting the Wembley crowd during a friendly by launching himself forward parallel to the ground and clearing a crossfield ball with his heels. Higuita missed the next World Cup – he was in prison after playing a part – that of an unwitting dupe, it appears – in a kidnapping saga.

  Here he was just silly. Posing on the ball miles out of his goal (with no cause) he stumbled over a return pass from a team-mate and gave the ball away to Roger Milla, who was in the sort of form that made a mockery of his age. Milla had already scored once, cruising past a poor challenge from the Colombian sweeper and crashing a shot in at Higuita’s near post; the second goal settled the match and Colombia’s response was no consolation. The Milla wiggle was competing with Schillaci’s impassioned run-around as the celebration of the tournament.

  Cameroon were the first African team to reach the quarter-finals, and they deserved it. The first ninety minutes of the match were dull, but they defended resolutely and showed the greater purpose in extra-time. And they had a good goalkeeper, not a circus clown.

  Colombia were a big disappointment. Their captain, Carlos Valderrama, arrived with a reputation as big as his blonde afro hair, but left having made negligible impact; his fellow midfielder Freddy Rincon was more impressive – he was unlucky against Cameroon when an explosive shot cannoned off the bar to safety in normal time.

  It didn’t take a genius to work out that Costa Rica were weak against crosses, so the Czech coach, with his Doctorate in PE and Sports Psychology, was unlikely to miss it. Dr Venglos resigned after the tournament and took up an offer to coach Aston Villa, some time before overseas coaches became fashionable in England. He didn’t understand the manic English game, and his players didn’t understand his halting English – it would be down to others to cement the reputation of European managers in the English league.

  Czechoslovakia hurled cross after cross into the penalty area, where Skuhravy was just the man to feed off such service. South and Central American goalkeepers tended to stay on their line and at a muscular six foot four Skuhravy was too much for the centre-backs. Costa Rica were as enterprising as ever going forward and equalised in the second half when González produced a terrific header from a free-kick, but Skuhravy put Czechoslovakia back in front a few minutes later, stooping low to cleverly turn a mishit shot into the corner. Kubik’s free-kick curled into the corner with the goalkeeper (Barrantes – Conejo was injured) motionless, and Skuhravy finished his hat-trick of headers to make it four. Costa Rica had done themselves proud getting this far. It remained to be seen if Skuhravy could cause the same problems for Augenthaler, Kohler and Co.

  The match between Argentina and Brazil was billed as the heavyweight clash of the round, but the reality was a poor game between two deeply ordinary teams. Brazil should have run away with the game as they dominated possession and created half a dozen good chances in the first half-hour. The score remained nil-nil through a combination of sloppy finishing and good goalkeeping – plus a smidge of ill luck when Dunga’s fine header rebounded off the post. The injury to Nery Pumpido appeared serendipitous for Argentina by the end of this game (though probably not to Pumpido). His replacement Goycochea made a series of excellent saves; one second-half effort from Alemão was right out of the top drawer.

  Argentina, starved of possession, created next to nothing, but they always had Maradona, who was a threat even carrying injuries. A late run at the narrow Brazilian defence found the Brazilian right-back Jorginho awol and Caniggia running free. Maradona slipped the ball through and the blond striker rounded Taffarel and scored. Robbery, but Brazil’s wounds were partly self-inflicted, the five-man defence overly cautious against a team with one forward. And surely Bebeto might have done better than Müller, whose tricks and flicks in this World Cup were an indulgence not an asset. Brazil’s best attacking player was their left-back Branco, which says plenty.

  WORLD CUP CLASSIC No.17

  24 June, 1990, Giuseppe Meazza (San Siro), Milan; 74,559

  Refer
ee: Juan Carlos Loustau (Argentina)

  Coaches: Franz Beckenbauer (West Germany) & Leo Beenhakker (Holland)

  West Germany (4–4–2): Bodo Illgner (Cologne); Thomas Berthold (Roma), Jürgen Kohler (Bayern Munich), Klaus Augenthaler (Batern), Andreas Brehme (Internazionale); Guido Buchwald (Stuttgart), Lothar Matthäus (Cpt, Internazionale), Stefan Reuter (Bayern), Pierre Littbarski (Cologne); Rudi Völler (Roma), Jürgen Klinsmann (Internazionale). Sub: Karl-Heinz Riedle (Werder Bremen) 78m for Klinsmann

  Holland (4–3–2–1): Hans van Breukelen (PSV Eindhoven); Berry van Aerle (PSV Eindhoven), Ronald Koeman (Barcelona), Frank Rijkaard (AC Milan), Adri van Tiggelen (Anderlecht); Jan Wouters (Ajax), Aron Winter (Ajax), Robert Witschge (Ajax); Ruud Gullit (Cpt, AC Milan), Johnny van’t Schip (Ajax); Marco van Basten (AC Milan). Subs: Wim Kieft (PSV Eindhoven) 67m for van Aerle; Hans Gillhaus (Aberdeen) 78m for Witschge

  Cautioned: Völler (WGer) 21m, Rijkaard (Hol) 21m, Wouters (Hol) 32m, van Basten (Hol) 72m, Matthäus (WGer) 77m

  Dismissed: Völler (WGer) 22m (fighting); Rijkaard (Hol) 22m (fighting)

  West Germany versus Holland in the second round revisited an old enmity, a rivalry more poisonous than England and Germany ever shared. The Dutch had left themselves this tricky tie by being lazy and complacent in their group, and they came into the game with a sour attitude. They still looked a good side on paper but on the field they were disjointed and out of sorts. West Germany added muscle to the midfield by pushing Buchwald further forward and bringing in Jürgen Kohler to mark Marco van Basten.

  Holland had marginally the better chances in the opening twenty minutes – Winter should have done better with an header from six yards out – but the game’s talking point was an incident between Frank Rijkaard and Rudi Völler. Rijkaard fouled Völler as he broke through from a deep position and was booked – he seemed to think Völler “bought” the booking and decided the best response was to spit at his opponent. Völler, bizarrely, was booked for protesting and trying to show the referee the spit in his poodle coiffure. From Brehme’s free-kick for the original foul, the ball bounced through to goalkeeper van Breukelen. Völler, following up as good strikers do, had to take evasive action to avoid a collision. Van Breukelen took exception – he received the merest clip – and Rijkaard joined in, pushing and prodding Völler as he tried to get up, even grabbing his ear. Rijkaard – rightly – was dismissed for being an arse, but the referee pusillanimously evened things out by also dismissing Völler. As they started to leave the field Rijkaard spat again, voluminously, at a flabber-gasted Völler.

  It was that Dutch thing again. Why did Rijkaard behave that way? He was an articulate, intelligent footballer who became an articulate, intelligent coach. A spat with the arrogant, boastful Matthäus would maybe have been understandable, but Völler was the least Teutonic and most likeable of the German squad. Rijkaard did later accept responsibility and apologise to the German, and they made an advert in later years which riffed on the incident, but it was a wildly aberrant moment from a fine player and remains a blot on his otherwise hot CV. FIFA – no surprise here – chose not to act and Rijkaard escaped without the significant ban he deserved.

  West Germany, and Klinsmann especially, made light of Völler’s absence, while the Dutch never found any rhythm. In the second half Germany found another gear; a purposeful break from Matthäus sent Klinsmann racing down the right but his cross was fractionally over-hit and Matthäus’ header was easily saved. Moments later an impressive driving run and cross from Buchwald found Klinsmann sprinting ahead of his marker to the near post; the finish, angling the ball across the goalkeeper while still at full tilt, was sumptuous. A beautifully struck long pass from Brehme found Klinsmann clear again, and the striker’s instantaneous shot belted back off van Breukelen’s post. At the other end Gullit, of all people, failed to get over an awkward bouncing volley. With twelve minutes to go Klinsmann left to a deserved ovation from the Germans and the neutrals – the Dutch hatred of the Germans forbade them the courtesy of acknowledging a truly epic performance. Karl-Heinz Riedle was no mean replacement, and West Germany kept looking for a second goal. They got it when Brehme turned inside and curled a peach inside the far post with his right foot – he was granted absurd amounts of space to do so, space that Rijkaard would surely have filled.

  Van Basten, subdued easily by Kohler, decided a balletic dive was the order of the day and Mr Lostau completed a bad day at the office by giving an eighty-eighth-minute penalty. Ronald Koeman was as reliable as ever from the spot, but it made little difference as the Dutch lacked the urgency to mount a rousing finale.

  The English press was more sympathetic to Holland than they deserved. They were the most talented team in the tournament but went home early without winning a game, a far cry from the majesty and surety of the European Championships.

  Romania sorely missed Lăcătus (suspended) in their match against the massed green ranks of Ireland. McGrath played at the front rather than behind a back four – almost a modern holding position – and neutralised Hagi. On the one occasion Hagi got a shot away Bonner made a splendid save. Ireland showed little intent but plenty of resolve, and they took five excellent penalties, while Bonner’s save from Timofte made the difference. Much was made of the “heroic resistance” but the Irish were in the quarter-finals without actually winning a game, a poor reflection on the six-group system. David O’Leary dined out for years on his nerveless winning spot-kick; the veteran centre-half did seem an unusual choice for such a mission.

  Italy versus Uruguay was a cautious affair between two teams who always put avoiding defeat before enterprise. Italy won because they were more purposeful in the second half and had Schillaci, who was on a hot streak and finished ruthlessly from the first clear chance the Uruguayans allowed him. Uruguay managed only one significant shot on target, and that after a howler from De Napoli; Zenga saved well from Aguilera, who seemed surprised to have a sight of goal. The Italian back four were immaculate. They still hadn’t conceded a goal and their next opponents were another safety-first team, Jack Charlton’s Ireland.

  Yugoslavia and Spain provided the most entertaining match of the round without delivering anything spectacular. Spain were the better team in the first half as the direct, aggressive running of Michel and Martin Vázquez put the Yugoslavs on their heels. Ivkovic looked shaky in goal – he made his best save with his face from a flicked header off Michel’s whipped cross. The second half started in similar manner and Martin Vázquez should have done better when a brilliant, weaving run took him through the defence – alas, he blasted his shot the wrong side of the post. Martin Vázquez looked like he should have joined the Spanish Armada not the football team with his neatly coiffured hair and beard, but the Real Madrid star had a superb game and didn’t deserve to end up on the losing side. He looked a good player here, but a move to Torino in Italy stalled his progress and he won his last cap in 1992, aged only twenty-six.

  Yugoslavia improved after Savicevic came on for Pancev – if only they could both have played well at the same time! – but Spain still created more. Villaroya’s searching cross found Butragueño unmarked in the middle but his header came back off the post straight to the grateful Ivkovic. Sounds unlucky, but in truth the Spanish captain should have buried the header. Ivkovic made a better save from Butragueño five minutes later; he was perfectly positioned to smother the striker’s shot from the edge of the area.

  Moments later Yugoslavia were in front. Vujovic was strong enough to hold off Sanchis down the left and his cross was flicked on by Katanec to Stojkovic, lurking beyond the far post. Stojkovic declined the risky volley, and instead he killed the ball dead while wrong-footing the covering defender before calmly stroking the ball into the goal. Dennis Bergkamp would perform almost exactly the same piece of sublime skill in a later World Cup. No wonder Marseille had just offered £5m for Stojkovic’s services.

  The last thirteen minutes were played at a frantic pace in the heat. Spain shouted for a p
enalty when Vulic tackled Salinas in the area; significantly the only player who didn’t protest was Salinas. Two minutes later the same player was well placed at the far post to tuck in the loose ball when Martin Vázquez’s shot was half blocked by a defender.

  Yugoslavia were back ahead three minutes into extra-time, and it was Stojkovic who scored, with another piece of brilliance, bending a twenty-five yard free-kick around the wall. Tony Gubba described the goal as “soft” and blamed the wall but he was talking nonsense – the ball swung in six or eight feet from well outside the post and gave Zubizarreta no chance. Spain were exhausted and beaten and the last half hour was full of elegant possession football from the skilful Yugoslavs, especially Savicevic, who showed some of the form that lit up Milan after a near-£10m transfer in 1992.

  England made the quarter-finals with a resilient rather than convincing performance. Robson reverted to a five-man defence, who twiddled their thumbs while the Belgians tested Shilton from distance; Scifo and Ceulemans both beat the big man but saw their efforts hit the post. At the other end Barnes had one of his best England games and he and Stuart Pearce down the left caused problems for the veteran Gerets. Barnes had the ball in the net, volleying in Lineker’s beautifully weighted cross but the linesman flagged offside. He was wrong; Barnes came from a yard behind the last defender.

  Robson replaced McMahon, a good player for Liverpool but out of his depth here, with David Platt, who the tabloids didn’t like but the proper football journalists rated. He also, mystifyingly, replaced Barnes with Steve Bull. Bull was an honest pro and a great one-club player but he was a million miles from being an international centre-forward. England had a dearth of quality forwards, but surely even an out-of-form Beardsley was a better bet. Even better would have been Alan Smith of Arsenal, only belatedly recognised as a player with the intelligence (like Sheringham) to make up for a perceived lack of pace. Smith wasn’t in the squad.