Mammoth Book of the World Cup

by Nick Holt

  Wanting to beat Colombia rather than settle for a draw, Hoddle got it right. (See, not all criticism . . .) David Beckham, who should have played from the first game, replaced David Batty, and Owen came in from the start. Contrary to what some pundits claim, Owen and Shearer were not an ideal partnership, they both wanted to head the line, but at least England had an extra dimension with Owen’s searing pace, and it meant the midfield had more space as defenders were reluctant to press high and leave space in behind them.

  Anderton and Beckham interchanged cleverly at wing-back and right side of a midfield three, and when Bermúdez failed to clear Owen’s cross, Anderton thumped a volley past Mondragon. The goalkeeper was equally helpless to stop Beckham’s awesome dipping free-kick at the end of what had become a comfortable night for England. So it was goodbye to Valderrama and Valencia, and the last we would see of Rincón in the big time. Asprilla had already gone, sent home for insulting the coach; he would play a few more games but Colombia haven’t been seen in the Finals since, although they look good to make 2014.

  Romania played out a draw with Tunisia, proceedings enlivened by the appearance of ten of the Romanian team with dyed yellow hair. The exception was the shaven-headed goalkeeper, Stelea, so coach Iordanescu joined in by joining him in hairlessness. All very silly. They nearly paid for it by losing control of the group, although the choice of a quarter-final against Argentina or Croatia was a bit devil-and-the-deep-blue-sea.

  WORLD CUP CLASSIC No.20

  14 June 1998, Félix Bollaert, Lens; 38,058

  Referee: Vitor de Melo Pereira (Portugal)

  Coaches: Miroslac Blazevic (Croatia) & René Simôes (Jamaica)

  Croatia (4–3–2–1): Drazen Ladic (Croatia Zagreb); Dario Simic (Croatia Zagreb), Igor Stimac (Derby County), Slaven Bilic (Everton), Robert Jarni (Real Betis); Zvonimir Soldo (Stuttgart), Robert Prosinecki (Croatia Zagreb), Aljosa Asanovic (Napoli); Zvonimir Boban (Cpt, AC Milan), Mario Stanic (Parma); Davor Suker (Real Madrid). Subs: Goran Vlaovic (Valencia) 72m for Simic

  Jamaica (4–4–2): Warren Barrett (Cpt, Violet Kickers); Frank Sinclair (Chelsea), Ian Goodison (Olympic Gardens), Onandi Lowe (Harbour View), Ricardo Gardner (Harbour View); Peter Cargill (Harbour View), Robbie Earle (Wimbledon), Theodore Whitmore (Seba United), Fitzroy Simpson (Portsmouth); Deon Burton (Derby County), Paul Hall (Portsmouth). Subs: Andrew Williams (Columbus Crew) 72m for Earle; Walter Boyd (Arnett Gardens) 81m for Hall

  Cautioned: Soldo (Cro) 5m, Simic (Cro) 59m, Burton (Jam) 62m

  This wasn’t about the match it was about the crowd. Jamaica, with their pot-pourri of English league journeymen and eager locals, were never likely to match a seasoned side like Croatia, who had top-class defenders in Jarni, Stimac and Bilic, and guys who could hurt at the other end.

  The stadium was a picture. Small enough that it looked full, even with two of the less well supported sides playing, the contrast between the pink and white flags of the Croatians and their face-painted fans, with the bustling Jamaican crowd, all yellow and gold and tea cosy hats, was a fantastic spectacle. The Jamaicans had their own reggae band, and there was none of the nasty racist stuff that has marred some Croatian games since, the pink and white army just joined in the party. The neutrals just watched, amazed, eyes glued to the stands as much as to the pitch.

  Croatia controlled the first half, although Jamaica harried and hounded, and Earle threatened at set plays. After sustained pressure Jamaica didn’t clear properly, and Igor Stimac cannoned a shot against the bar; Mario Stanic was on hand to poke in the loose ball. On forty-five minutes came the moment everyone except the Croatians wanted. The nineteen-year-old Jamaican wing-back Ricardo Gardner, whose pace was Jamaica’s biggest threat, lost Soldo down the left and whipped in a terrific cross. Robbie Earle rose above the central defenders and powered home his first goal for his adopted country.

  The Jamaican crowd went potty. The reggae drums doubled in volume, horns blew and the ladies started dancing. During the entire half-time break the entire stadium was bouncing and cheering and pointing and laughing and dancing. You didn’t dare go to the loo in case you missed a trumpet solo or a new explosion of conga rhythms. At the end of the half-time break, after a brief moment to acknowledge the return of the teams, the fans in the rest of the ground, including most of the Croatians, gave the Jamaican support a huge round of applause. Maybe I’m being overly sentimental, but it was a lovely reminder of just how much fun sport played in the right spirit can be.

  Back on the field, Croatia re-assumed control in the second half and scored when Prosinecki fired in from a seemingly impossible angle. Suker added a third with a typically calm finish, although a deflection took his shot over the goalkeeper. Burton must have left his shooting boots in the Caribbean; here we saw the shaky finishing that blighted his league career when he missed a very good headed chance.

  GROUP H

  The most fun group, even if the pecking order was as predictable as most of the others.

  Batistuta’s header gave Argentina a win over Japan, who were neat and tidy and had lots of possession but no goal threat. Argentina improved markedly in their second game, and Ariel Ortega started to throw off the next Maradona millstone and look a proper player in his own right. He scored twice, both after startling bursts of acceleration worthy of the master, and laid on another for Batistuta. By then Jamaica were down to ten men and struggling, and Batistuta was able to add two more. For the second Finals tournament running Argentina’s glamour puss had scored three against defensively weak opposition; would he do better than last time when the real defenders were in the way?

  Suker’s movement and finishing were too much for Japan, who again played well without ever looking like getting a result. The Real Madrid striker hit the bar before he scored with an economical far post finish.

  In two fairly meaningless matches – there wasn’t much between England and Romania, the next round opponents for the qualifiers from this group – Argentina narrowly beat Croatia in a listless game and Jamaica got the win they wanted against Japan with two goals from Theodore Whitmore. They had a blast, except against Argentina, and Whitmore earned a few years with Hull City, while Bolton snapped up the lively Gardner and turned him into one of the best attacking backs in the Premier League.

  SECOND ROUND

  Only three of these eight matches were worth the exorbitant admission.

  Italy squeezed the life out of Norway, who created only one chance for Tore André Flo, which Pagliuca saved. Olsen failed to bring on Solskjaer, the most lethal substitute in world football, until eighteen minuets from the end, and when he did his team just kept thumping long crosses at Flo. Good riddance.

  Brazil easily saw off Chile in an entertaining match. Chile worked hard and created a few chances, but Brazil finished clinically, the powerful defensive midfielder César Sampaio setting them in on their way with two goals from set pieces. He now had three goals in four games in France, the same as he scored in his other forty-three internationals. Ronaldo scored the other two, one from the spot and one to seal the game two minutes after a Salas header gave Chile a glimmer. Comedy moment: Rivaldo twisted away from a defender, went between two more and pushed a through ball to Júnior Baiano, who surprisingly found himself one on one with the ’keeper. So surprisingly that he fell over the ball. I would swear that even one or two of the Brazilians were giggling.

  Paraguay had a good defence and Gamarra and Chilavert both enhanced big reputations. France had no forward worth the name (Thierry Henry was still playing as a wide attacker). So a stalemate was no surprise. France kept plugging away – Paraguay didn’t, they played for penalties; Fabien Barthez might as well have read his birthday cards and eaten his cake in the penalty area. France got their reward for at least trying when Laurent Blanc, their captain and centre-half, hit a volley from Trezeguet’s knock down. Chilavert nearly stopped even that. That was game over – the Golden Goal had come into play for the first time. There was a lot of confusion in the crowd
– clearly many of them hadn’t twigged that the first goal in extra-time wins the game. France had let in one debatable penalty in nearly six and a half hours.

  Denmark were not a happy bunch and received wisdom had it that Nigeria would roll them over. Hmmm. Peter Møller scored after two minutes, a fierce left-foot drive from Michael Laudrup’s flick-on. Another Møller left-footer, this time from a free-kick, was half saved by Rufai and knocked in by Brian Laudrup. Eleven minutes gone and received wisdom wasn’t looking very wise at all. Now Kanu, Okocha, George and the rest started attacking, but the Danes were fired up by this point, and they had Schmeichel behind them and he hoovered up anything that got through Nielsen and two centre-backs. Ebbe Sand came on for Møller and showed a bit of class, cleverly nudging Laudrup’s bobbling pass to the side of Taribo West and hitting it smartly as it landed. A late starter at twenty-five, it was his first goal for Denmark, but he was a stalwart for the next few years. The match was over, the last two goals a footnote.

  Mexico looked lively and up for it, but they were just ground down by Germany, who won the game on self-belief. They certainly didn’t win it with talent, they were ponderous and one-dimensional, hoping Bierhoff would get on the end of crosses and Klinsmann would reach the ball first. Vogts kept changing his pack but they were all the ten of clubs; in this game he started with seven defensively minded players – against Mexico, for goodness sake! Mexico deserved their lead and would have gone two-up had Hernández taken an easier chance than the one he scored.

  Holland against Yugoslavia should have been a cracker but neither side was at their best and it was all a bit messy and spiteful. Three yellow cards, all to Yugoslavia, was generous and a tad myopic from Scottish referee Hugh Dallas.

  Bergkamp showed his strength – not always what he is remembered for – to hold off a defender and score from Frank de Boer’s raking pass. Just after half-time Komljenovic, who had scored with a fine header against the USA repeated the dose from a free-kick. The goals represented two-thirds of the big defender’s international haul. Yugoslavia were briefly on top, and when Hugh Dallas awarded a penalty for Stam’s shirt-pull (he missed a few others on both sides, so why give that one?) they should have taken the lead. Mijatovic, a star at Real Madrid that season, had a rank bad tournament and hit the penalty against the bar. The game was open for someone to seize, and it was Edgar Davids who rifled a shot in after a spell of Dutch pressure.

  Romania ran out of steam against Croatia, who should have finished wilting opponents off long before the end. Suker’s penalty was given for what looked like a fifty-fifty tangle. Popescu howled his frustration and earned himself a booking but referees tend not to overturn decisions. You would think footballers would realise that after all these years, would you not?

  A signature of this round was the lack of potency in attack of most of the protagonists. Ronaldo was an obvious exception, but Bebeto, his partner, looked well past his use-by date and Klinsmann was not the force of old for Germany. There were good strikers still in: Bergkamp, the Laudrups, Vieri, Batistuta, but none looked in prime form. Flo and Salas and Hernández were all out and the hosts might as well have had me up front. So maybe Suker, who looked an ordinary footballer at times but had that strikers’ instinct for being in the right place, could make the difference.

  WORLD CUP CLASSIC No.21

  30 June 1998, Geoffrey Guichard, St Étienne; 30,600

  Referee: Kim Milton Nielsen (Denmark)

  Coaches: Daniel Passarella (Argentina) & Glenn Hoddle (England)

  Argentina (4–4–1–1): Carlos Roa (Mallorca), José Chamot (Lazio), Nelson Vivas (Lugano), Roberto Ayala (Napoli), Javier Zanetti (Internazionale); Matías Almeyda (Lazio), Juan Sebastián Verón (Sampdoria), Diego Simeone (Cpt, Internazionale); Ariel Ortega (Valencia); Gabriel Batistuta (Fiorentina), Claudio López (Valencia). Subs: Hernán Crespo (Parma) 68m for Batistuta; Sergio Berti (River Plate) 91m for Simeone

  England (4–4–2): David Seaman (Arsenal); Gary Neville (Manchester United), Tony Adams (Arsenal), Sol Campbell (Tottenham Hotspur), Graeme Le Saux (Chelsea); David Beckham (Man Utd), Paul Ince (Liverpool), Paul Scholes (Man Utd), Darren Anderton (Tottenham); Alan Shearer (Newcastle United), Michael Owen (Liverpool). Subs: Gareth Southgate (Aston Villa) 71m for Le Saux; David Batty (Newcastle) 97m for Anderton

  Cautioned: Seaman (Eng) 5m, Ince (Eng) 10m, Verón (Arg) 44m, Simeone (Arg) 47m, Almeyda (Arg) 73m, Roa (Arg) 120+m

  Dismissed: Beckham (Eng) 47m (retaliation)

  This was the best game of the round and one of only two truly great games in the entire tournament. England may not have played the prettiest football in World Cup history but they have been involved in more than their fair share of high drama roller-coaster games. Maybe it’s the punishing pace we try to play at, but it seems to produce end-to-end epics every now and then.

  The whole game was good, played between two sides with good technique who wanted to win the game. England? Good technique? Well, yes, actually, all these players could trap and pass, the odd heavy touch from Adams and Ince apart, and those two had other admirable qualities. There was obvious animosity, especially after the sending off, but it never spilled over into anything vicious.

  The big match up was reckoned to be in the middle where Ince, Beckham and Scholes had to outwit the formidable combination of Verón, Simeone and Ortega. I’ve just re-read that – five world-class players (or soon-to-be) and one who truly had drunk of the peyote that night.

  Three goals in the first fifteen minutes set the stadium alight. (Not literally, the yobs had calmed down a little.) Seaman brought down Batistuta unnecessarily and a bit clumsily and the long-haired one put the penalty away – just. Five minutes later and Shearer was celebrating a penalty at the other end after Owen was clipped by Ayala as he ran into the area. A further five minutes and Owen was in World Cup history with one of the really great goals. Ince tackled back and fed Beckham who spotted Owen on the move. Owen took the pass in his stride and roared across and away Chamot, giving the defender no chance to recover. Ayala was the last man on the edge of the area and Owen took him out to the right and without spoiling his angle too much, such was the speed he was moving. The shot, taken on the run, was hit high and hard past Roa with the fearlessness of youth. “Just think what he’ll be like when he grows up,” said the BBC commentator. Not sure he ever got any better than this. Maybe the Germans would disagree.

  If Paul Scholes had taken a tough half-chance minutes later that might have been it, but he pushed it wide of the post. Argentina levelled just before half-time. Verón bought a soft free-kick, and after Batistuta dummied a shot Verón pushed the ball down the side of the England wall to Zanetti, who spun and fired in a cracking equaliser. Two minutes after the break the entire complexion of the game changed when referee Kim Milton Nielsen made a shocker of a decision, sending off David Beckham after an innocuous tangle with Simeone. Simeone went down as if shot, and Verón and Batistuta were immediately in Nielsen’s face waving cards. Loathsome stuff; perhaps Batistuta was bored, because he had contributed nothing since his penalty.

  Now we came to it. What could England offer a man down against the team who were now favourites for the World Cup? Guts, passion, hard work and a lot of skill; for once we got the full Three Lions on a Shirt. For the last seventy-five minutes of this pulsating match England went toe-to-toe with a top side and gave as good as they got – and they had a man less. Shearer was the captain, and he put a stint in, his power alongside the threat of Owen’s pace meaning Argentina were reluctant to commit defenders forward in numbers. Shearer was the captain, but the leaders were behind him. At the back Gary Neville, playing an unfamiliar role in a back three, was calm and collected alongside the immense Adams (who should have been captain) and Sol Campbell, who became a big boy. Anderton belied his nickname (“Sicknote” ) with a skilful display until replaced by the waspish Batty, and Le Saux worked equally hard down the left until replaced by Gareth Southgate. In the middle Scholes, all precisio
n and bite, gave way to Paul Merson, whose ability to run with the ball and keep possession were invaluable in extra-time. Seaman made up for his impetuous tackle earlier with a fine late save. And in the middle, loving every minute of it, was Paul Ince. Ince, the first black player to captain England, gave the performance of his career, a demonic, frenzied air about him as he chased every ball, made tackle after tackle, and, in the dying minutes, still had the energy to burst through a couple of weak tackles and get a shot in. If that had gone in I think I would have cried. Ince was faced with Simeone, one of the great South American hard men, and Almeyda, a notorious enforcer with Lazio, and they backed down; Simeone, the captain, was substituted. Batistuta was already off, replaced by Crespo, utterly quashed by Campbell. For one day, Incey, you truly were The Guv’nor.