So I finish this day in Tamworth a little later than expected; but doesn’t worry me too much. I am still confident I will be at home in front of the TV in time for the Brazil v. Germany World Cup semi-final game. At this point, not being addicted to the World Cup matches I freely confess I thought it started at 5 p.m. English time. But the road was busier than I had expected. Sod’s law. The traffic lights all against me. The queues always in my lane.
Still, I told myself, no need to panic. Imagined that, without Neymar (broken vertebrae in the last game in one of the last rough-house challenges in a whole series of lunges, assaults, dives and pantomime injuries) and Tiago Silva (suspended after second yellow card) the game would be well in progress. In my fantasy Germany would score first, then be inexorably reeled in and Brazil to score the much-deserved winner somewhere around eighty minutes.
Got back at 5.15. No football on TV. Checked the TV schedules: ahem… … nine o’clock start.
Time to watch highlights of the Tour de France, take a ‘phone call from my mother, talk about the impending holiday in Cornwall, discover that Walsall have signed up Jordan Cook (said to be a striker) and have a couple of Spanish players on trial and get a beer, incidentally and very neatly avoiding having to listen to the whole overblown chitter-chatter of the pundits before the actual kick off.
Then it all started to happen!
Brazil, frankly, despite massive support from the crowd, unbelievably totally blew it.
Wrong tactics, wrong personnel, overly emotional, overly hyped …
Or simple facing a superior team that played with efficiency, style and real purpose. Making holes in the Brazilian defence and whatever they tried to pass off as a midfield German players also showed silky skills and deft touches.
Some bluster and attempts to intimidate from a lacklustre David Luis – skipper for the night – and a ridiculous dive by Marcelo seeking a penalty were sad glimpses in the early moments.
As eleven minutes clicked up, super approach play and Miroslav Klose stuck Germany in the lead. Then a German avalanche engulfed the Brazilians who looked punch-drunk and vulnerable.
More goals, inevitably followed in what was described accurately at one point by commentator Martin Keown as a “testimonial game”.
By half time the Brazilians were out of it completely. Five nil down. The crowd quietened and broken spirited. Pictures of fans openly weeping filled the TV screen.
Eventual result: Seven one; the Brazilian fans reduced to booing on-the-giant-screen pictures of the players substituted. Didn’t like that: poor attitude. Remind me of that comment if I ever, publicly veer away from proper support of my own team and act so disrespectfully. Maybe “everybody has a bad day at the office” doesn’t begin to cover the vast abyss between teams out there, the often gross ineptitude of usually world-class players but I find that unacceptable. Cheering the opposition? Nothing wrong there. Criticism of your own team? Fine in private or when constructive. but Boo-ing yer own?
(There was a time, back in the day, when I became disenchanted with what I was seeing at Walsall. Tommy Coakley was manager at the time: a little more than out of his depth I guess looking back), but I simply stopped going. Bought a mountain bike and stayed away.)
Happily things have moved on at the Saddlers –as they always will. Brazil will now have a time of introspection – as a team and as a country. Doubtless we will now hear more of the protestors who criticised their government for staging the finals (feeling there were more urgent priorities, like health, poverty and education). But the players and manager will have to “cowboy up” to participate in the third/fourth place play-off game and this may be a time to salvage some pride.
So, all of my “tips” (“England,” said my heart; “Italy,” suggested the library sweepstake and “Brazil!” calculated my logical (?) brain) are out of contention. But the football has been compelling in these knock-out stages.
Trials and Trails: life and times of a Walsall fan 