With football looking no closer to breaking out in this strange Scottish summer it's with some sadness that one says "cheerio" to Euro 2012.
Brutal honesty, of course, means conceding that Spain's triumph was as far removed from Scottish football as Craig Whyte is from Andrew Carnegie.
This Spanish team play, to borrow a line from Bobby Jones, a game with which we are not familiar.
The only lessons we can learn from them are long term ones. Lessons that will evade us for as long as the siege mentality of our current civil war continues.
But thinking about Scottish football only sullies the moment.
The dull, boring Spaniards. All that possession, all that winning. The dullards.
That always looked like a premature verdict on this side. On Sunday they showed why they're the best in Europe, the best in the world and the best in Europe all over again.
The possession was emphatic, the passes delivered with intent, the Italians toyed with and ultimately destroyed.
A decent Italian team that had exceeded expectation and impressed so much against Germany.
But Spain weren't going to let them upset the football odds on Sunday night.
Where the wonderful Andrea Pirlo could dictate against other teams he was frustrated here, where Mario Balotelli was so explosively untameable against Germany here he was all but sidelined.
Spain were just too good.
Andrés Iniesta just seems to get better and better. He's now won three Champions Leagues, a World Cup and two European Championships.
He's 28 years old.
He represents the freakiest reality of this side. We're already discussing them as the greatest ever - some cling to the Brazil of 1970, Bob Crampsey forever championed the 1958 vintage - but they have time on their side.
They're young. They proved on Sunday just how hungry they still are.
It's a shame not to linger on what they've already achieved. But the mind does stray to what they might yet achieve.
You can't stop debates about the "greatest." But this Spanish collective could yet provide a definitive answer.
> The tournament? Enjoyable, intriguing, exciting.
A Golden Boot for Fernando Torres proves that this was a championships defined not by the goalscorers but the creators.
Pirlo and Iniesta stood above the rest. When people are able to play football this well we can only weep about the circus that surrounds the game.
They are pure footballers, sent to thrill and amaze us. Together they offer a potent and timely reminder about what made the world fall under the spell of this game.
Watching them over the last month has been an antidote to the suffering caused by prolonged exposure to fitba'.
> Sweet sixteen.
Hard not to feel that expanding the tournament to 24 teams in 2016 will dilute what has, in 2012, been a perfectly formed championship.
It might help Scotland qualify but 24 is an unwieldy number.
Size isn't everything.
> How we watched.
Nothing new in the BBC hammering ITV in the final head-to-head.
It's not ideal though. Proof that ITV still can't get football right and also an excuse for the BBC to stick with the Lineker, Hansen, Shearer, Lawrenson diamond formation.
Lazy, smugly matey and with little new to say they let the viewer down.
Lineker is now seen as a sports broadcaster and as such is untouchable. Shearer hasn't delivered on the money the BBC paid to get him so should be jettisoned.
Lawrenson now sounds like he hates football. Time to put him out of his misery.
Replace them with people that will challenge him - Lee Dixon shows promise - and Alan Hansen might just be reminded why he was once highly rated as a pundit.
Encouraging Lineker to contribute more than being the smug ringmaster of a nineteenth hole debate would also help - he doesn't need to turn to Hansen to analyse a striker's contribution, he can do it himself.
ITV threatened interesting panels but it didn't quite come off. The Warsaw studio could have inspired but ended up making all concerned look awkward.
Jamie Carragher isn't for me but Roberto Martinez was a sound choice.
Roy Keane's views on Ireland seem to me to be a manifestation of an internal conflict between his natural superiority complex and a deeper self loathing. But he could offer something of the maverick if properly marshalled.
Sadly Adrian Chiles looks scared of both Keane and advert breaks. For an ITV football host that's a horrid combination.
Morecambe and Wise also struggled when they jumped from the BBC to the commercial channel but their place in TV history was already assured.
Adrian Chiles has given us Working Lunch and The One Show. A footnote to a footnote in the book of great TV presenters it's hard to see how ITV can persevere with him.
Until we remember that his understudy is Matt Smith, the unthinking woman's trumpet.
Time for another ITV rethink.
Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Scotland in 1990: A bad start, a painful finish
With the 1986 World Cup out of the way the SFA turned their attention to finding a long term successor for Jock Stein.
Thankfully SFA supremo Ernie Walker had met an insurance salesman at a Rotary dinner who fitted the bill perfectly.
With the Ally's Army nightmare still causing the great and the good of the Scottish game sleepless nights it was time to seek solace in the anonymity of Andy Roxburgh.
It was an appointment unlikely to have the Tartan Army dancing in the streets. But maybe there had been enough of that when we sent the team off to Argentina.
Greatly respected within the game and an experienced coach he may have been but Roxburgh wasn't an ebullient media performer and wasn't one of the Scottish football's highest profile figures. On the other hand he knew the players, had experience of the international game and, crucial this, was an SFA man.
Having missed out on the 1988 European Championships, Roxburgh negotiated qualifying for the 1990 World Cup by leading his team to second place behind Yugoslavia. In doing so we condemned France to third place, a blow so grievous that the French could only recover by winning the whole thing in 1998.
We were on our way to Italy. One or two fans would be making the trip as well. (I must digress here: Maude MacFarlane, legendary Hibs fan and then in her seventies, made the trip with a number of the Easter Road faithful. Maude packed her suitcase with home comforts including mince and stewing steak. Those Hibs fans must have been the only ones in Italy to attack the bars each night with a plate of homemade mince and tatties inside them.)
Costa Rica, Sweden and Brazil awaited the Scots in Group C. It was to be a typically Scottish campaign, bookended by humiliation and heartbreak.
The largely unknown Costa Ricans were up first. Against a side making their World Cup debut Scotland were expected to get off to a decent start. I do wonder what on earth in our World Cup history ever persuaded us to make any such assumptions.
It was teatime kick off and I found myself home alone. As I watched the game I raided the biscuit barrel for chocolate Hob Nobs. I had more than one nibble but I can't honestly say if it was overdosing on rolled oats and cheap milk chocolate or events on the pitch that left me nobbled.
It's important to remember that Costa Rica weren't bad and they scored a very tidy goal. But we should have beaten them. If the game was still being played now we might still be waiting on a Scottish goal. One of those days. Shame those days for us always seem to come along at the worst possible time.
Did Roxburgh get his team wrong? We played five at the back which might have been too cagey in a game that was definitely winnable. Alan McInally started up front for the only time in the tournament. Maybe risking Ally McCoist at the expense of McInally's more imposing presence might have made a difference. But then again, maybe not. We should still have got something. Instead we once again gave ourselves a mountain to climb.
(After Roxburgh had announced the team McInally said to McCoist "Ally, you're lower than Captain Nemo, pal." Who says Scotland strikers who once played for Bayern Munich can't do literary jokes?)
The Swedes offered a chance at redemption. Amazingly we took it.
Stuart McCall was drafted in to a 4-4-2 line up (Robert Fleck replacing Rambo up front) and delivered the opening goal inside ten minutes. If we didn't exactly push on from there Maurice Johnston's 80th minute strike at least allowed us the luxury of conceding a goal to Stromberg's penalty with five minutes to go.
A defeat and a win. With four of the six third place teams set to advance to the second round we had given ourselves a chance. We only had to stop Brazil to get there. And this was not vintage Brazil. They'd won both their games but a 2-1 victory over Sweden and a 1-0 win over Costa Rica was hardly the stuff of legends.
A draw and we'd done it. That was all we needed.
Roxburgh again shuffled his pack, captain Roy Aitken dropped back to play sweeper in a five man defence. This time the move was justified. If getting a draw meant a rearguard action so be it.
The game itself was far from a classic. Murdo MacLeod getting that free kick full on the napper was the most memorable moment. Murdo bravely tried to play on but was replaced by Gary Gillespie when it became clear that he didn't even know who we were playing. (Was it Tommy Docherty who, when told a player with a head knock didn't know who he was, replied: "Tell him he's Pele and get him back on?")
If you've been following this series on Scotland's World Cup adventures closely you will know that if there's time there is not only hope but also the increasing likelihood of a right old kick in the teeth.
So it proved. When Leighton couldn't hold a low shot it was the Brazilians who reached the loose ball. Muller knocked it home and Scotland, just eight minutes from the draw they needed, were done.
Having added to that overflowing corner of our collective memories marked "National Embarrassment" the 1990 squad had now also contributed to growing litany of "National Heartbreak and Hard Luck Stories."
Let's not overplay the victim card though. This was no repeat of 1986's group of death. We could and should have done better.
This was our fifth qualification on the bounce. We'd never had it so good. And the chances are we never will again.
Now that we were so used to qualifying we were fielding teams with experience of previous World Cups. It still wasn't enough.
Looking at the names here you can certainly see that the Roxburgh and Brown years were marked by a consistency of selection.
Jim Leighton (Manchester United)
Alex McLeish (Aberdeen)
Roy Aitken (Newcastle United)
Richard Gough (Rangers)
Paul McStay (Celtic)
Maurice Malpas (Dundee United)
Maurice Johnston (Rangers)
Jim Bett (Aberdeen)
Ally McCoist (Rangers)
Murdo McLeod (Borussia Dortmund)
Gary Gillespie (Liverpool)
Andy Goram (Hibernian)
Gordon Durie (Chelsea)
Alan McInally (Bayern Munich)
Craig Levein (Hearts)
Stuart McCall (Everton)
Stewart McKimmie (Aberdeen)
John Collins (Hibernian)
David McPherson (Hearts)
Gary McAllister (Leicester City)
Robert Fleck (Norwich City)
Bryan Gunn (Norwich City)
Thankfully SFA supremo Ernie Walker had met an insurance salesman at a Rotary dinner who fitted the bill perfectly.
With the Ally's Army nightmare still causing the great and the good of the Scottish game sleepless nights it was time to seek solace in the anonymity of Andy Roxburgh.
It was an appointment unlikely to have the Tartan Army dancing in the streets. But maybe there had been enough of that when we sent the team off to Argentina.
Greatly respected within the game and an experienced coach he may have been but Roxburgh wasn't an ebullient media performer and wasn't one of the Scottish football's highest profile figures. On the other hand he knew the players, had experience of the international game and, crucial this, was an SFA man.
Having missed out on the 1988 European Championships, Roxburgh negotiated qualifying for the 1990 World Cup by leading his team to second place behind Yugoslavia. In doing so we condemned France to third place, a blow so grievous that the French could only recover by winning the whole thing in 1998.
We were on our way to Italy. One or two fans would be making the trip as well. (I must digress here: Maude MacFarlane, legendary Hibs fan and then in her seventies, made the trip with a number of the Easter Road faithful. Maude packed her suitcase with home comforts including mince and stewing steak. Those Hibs fans must have been the only ones in Italy to attack the bars each night with a plate of homemade mince and tatties inside them.)
Costa Rica, Sweden and Brazil awaited the Scots in Group C. It was to be a typically Scottish campaign, bookended by humiliation and heartbreak.
The largely unknown Costa Ricans were up first. Against a side making their World Cup debut Scotland were expected to get off to a decent start. I do wonder what on earth in our World Cup history ever persuaded us to make any such assumptions.
It was teatime kick off and I found myself home alone. As I watched the game I raided the biscuit barrel for chocolate Hob Nobs. I had more than one nibble but I can't honestly say if it was overdosing on rolled oats and cheap milk chocolate or events on the pitch that left me nobbled.
It's important to remember that Costa Rica weren't bad and they scored a very tidy goal. But we should have beaten them. If the game was still being played now we might still be waiting on a Scottish goal. One of those days. Shame those days for us always seem to come along at the worst possible time.
Did Roxburgh get his team wrong? We played five at the back which might have been too cagey in a game that was definitely winnable. Alan McInally started up front for the only time in the tournament. Maybe risking Ally McCoist at the expense of McInally's more imposing presence might have made a difference. But then again, maybe not. We should still have got something. Instead we once again gave ourselves a mountain to climb.
(After Roxburgh had announced the team McInally said to McCoist "Ally, you're lower than Captain Nemo, pal." Who says Scotland strikers who once played for Bayern Munich can't do literary jokes?)
The Swedes offered a chance at redemption. Amazingly we took it.
Stuart McCall was drafted in to a 4-4-2 line up (Robert Fleck replacing Rambo up front) and delivered the opening goal inside ten minutes. If we didn't exactly push on from there Maurice Johnston's 80th minute strike at least allowed us the luxury of conceding a goal to Stromberg's penalty with five minutes to go.
A defeat and a win. With four of the six third place teams set to advance to the second round we had given ourselves a chance. We only had to stop Brazil to get there. And this was not vintage Brazil. They'd won both their games but a 2-1 victory over Sweden and a 1-0 win over Costa Rica was hardly the stuff of legends.
A draw and we'd done it. That was all we needed.
Roxburgh again shuffled his pack, captain Roy Aitken dropped back to play sweeper in a five man defence. This time the move was justified. If getting a draw meant a rearguard action so be it.
The game itself was far from a classic. Murdo MacLeod getting that free kick full on the napper was the most memorable moment. Murdo bravely tried to play on but was replaced by Gary Gillespie when it became clear that he didn't even know who we were playing. (Was it Tommy Docherty who, when told a player with a head knock didn't know who he was, replied: "Tell him he's Pele and get him back on?")
If you've been following this series on Scotland's World Cup adventures closely you will know that if there's time there is not only hope but also the increasing likelihood of a right old kick in the teeth.
So it proved. When Leighton couldn't hold a low shot it was the Brazilians who reached the loose ball. Muller knocked it home and Scotland, just eight minutes from the draw they needed, were done.
Having added to that overflowing corner of our collective memories marked "National Embarrassment" the 1990 squad had now also contributed to growing litany of "National Heartbreak and Hard Luck Stories."
Let's not overplay the victim card though. This was no repeat of 1986's group of death. We could and should have done better.
This was our fifth qualification on the bounce. We'd never had it so good. And the chances are we never will again.
Scotland squad at the 1990 World Cup
Now that we were so used to qualifying we were fielding teams with experience of previous World Cups. It still wasn't enough.
Looking at the names here you can certainly see that the Roxburgh and Brown years were marked by a consistency of selection.
Jim Leighton (Manchester United)
Alex McLeish (Aberdeen)
Roy Aitken (Newcastle United)
Richard Gough (Rangers)
Paul McStay (Celtic)
Maurice Malpas (Dundee United)
Maurice Johnston (Rangers)
Jim Bett (Aberdeen)
Ally McCoist (Rangers)
Murdo McLeod (Borussia Dortmund)
Gary Gillespie (Liverpool)
Andy Goram (Hibernian)
Gordon Durie (Chelsea)
Alan McInally (Bayern Munich)
Craig Levein (Hearts)
Stuart McCall (Everton)
Stewart McKimmie (Aberdeen)
John Collins (Hibernian)
David McPherson (Hearts)
Gary McAllister (Leicester City)
Robert Fleck (Norwich City)
Bryan Gunn (Norwich City)
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