WORLD CUP MEMORIES

World Cup Memories

I can't quite believe I'm saying this in November but it's the World Cup Finals commencing in less than a week! It's all very odd but in an attempt to gee myself up for Qatar I have decided you will all have to suffer my countdown to...Qatar v Ecuador(!) next Sunday with my living memory favourite players who have graced the World Cup Finals....

Starting with this guy! I was 5 years old when Mario Kempes ensured almost single handedly the host nation won the World Cup on home soil. 

I can't remember if I watched any of the finals live but I have had Cubillas, Gemmill and Kempes imprinted on my brain ever since. 

My Scotland top was stolen off the washing line even before Iran had virtually killed off any hope of Scotland qualifying for the latter stages of the competition never mind winning it like we were supposed to! 

I was still devastated my Scotland top was stolen and my parents pulled out all the stops to ensure I wasn't bereft for long and took me along to Kirkies Sports on Main Street in Rutherglen. But by now I only had my eye on one shirt! 

Please cast your eyes to the image below. This is how El Matador looked throughout the 1978 World Cup Finals. The greatest top and shorts combo in World Cup history, the iconic Puma Kings boots, worn by Pele and Cruyff before him, and those oversized socks and no shinnies required because no defender was ever getting near him. And yes let's go there, the tousled 'unkempt(!) hair, the strapping under the knee and the tickertape wherever he strode. Sheer perfection. 

"Have you got the Argentina top please?" I asked when I got into Kirkies catching my mother completely unawares of my intentions "with Kempes 10 on the back?"

"Out of stock in your size, pal!" Utter devastation, and no minor tantrum! I think I came away with a consolation Liverpool top! 

Kempes was an absolutely brilliant striker to back up the swagger. He was lightning quick, with razor sharp senses, dynamic feet to get him one on one with the goalkeeper and when he was, there was only ever one outcome. He scored 6 goals including 2 in the Final v the Dutch. 

By the time1979 came round and Argentina came to Hampden on a scorching hot June day to play a friendly, Kempes was already just a footnote in Argentina's footballing history. They were already building for 1982 in Spain and had unearthed Leopoldo Luque to replace Kempes and a young Diego Armando Maradona! I wasn't aware of any of this!

Dad took me the short walk from home up to the players entrance at Hampden to see the World Cup winning Manager Menotti and Captain Passarella stride from the team bus to respectful applause. But the biggest cheer was reserved for the new number 10 in La Albiceleste 🇦🇷. Little did we all know at the time...

I threw yet another strop there was no Kempes in the squad and refused to go to the game! 😂

World Cup Memories #2

Number 2 on my list of the greatest players I have ever seen was also a part of the greatest ever Brazilian side not to win the World Cup. And it's so true. What a swashbuckling joy to watch the 82 Brazilian side were in the Spanish oven that year.

Manolo el del Bombo famously brought his big drum to the games with him. But the beating heart of the Brazilian side was undoubtedly the walking contradiction, a chain-smoking attacking midfielder genius with a medical degree, 'Doctor Socrates'. He wore the number 8 and often a headband during games with "100% Jesus" emblazoned on it. He strode like a colossus across every blade of grass.

Brazil played 4-2-2-2 that year with two attacking full backs when no other team would consider such a slapstick approach .

The Brazilian defence was always dreadful as they admitted themselves there never was a defender on the beach or the favela's where most Brazilians learned to play and it was the last place any of them wanted to be. The wee goalkeeper as well, bless him!

82 was the first World Cup I was old enough to be utterly immersed in. Scotland were there of course (we always were!) and the 82 Scotland top was an understated beauty. The World Cup song by BA Robertson wasn't half bad either. We had licked our wounds from 78 and New Zealand and Russia were winnable fixtures. We Have A Dream signified a more 'let's not kid ourselves and get carried away this time lads' approach to our campaign after being put back in our box and shipped home from Argentina in disgrace.  

I remember We Have A Dream being performed on Top Of The Pops with the entire squad on backing vocals. They looked awkward and nervous and I still can't make up my mind whether that was for the performance or for the fact that the Brazilians were in our Group!

This Brazilian side from all the pre-tournament accounts filtering from South America, via the snail mail of the times, were the real deal and ready to take the World Cup back home for the first time in twelve long, painful years. A national tragedy it now having being so long.

So sure were they, Brazilians travelled in their thousands in anticipation of seeing the WC back in the hands of the captain Socrates of the Seleção 🇧🇷 The famous yellow was abundant and dominant in the stands at every game.  

Socrates wasn't even the best attacking midfielder in his own team. The brilliant Zico of Flamengo was technically perfect. Zico had wizardry in his feet, Socrates poise and balance. 

For all their undeniable brilliance that unreliable defence would let them down again. They conceded first in their first two group games including against Scotland for Christ's sake! Narey with the greatest toepoke ever seen which just made Brazil angry and Zico went to town on us! But it was fine we just had to beat Russia in the final group fixture to qualify ( )

Brazil qualify even showing weakness. It's what they do, start slowly and take time to build like great samba. Despite being unconvincing in their group It was still only a matter of time to have that trophy in the suitcase.

That feeling was only enhanced with a 3-1 win against old foes and bitter rivals Argentina in the second group stage (as they had in those days). A win against Italy in the final fixture of the group would see Brazil not only qualify for the knock out stages but in doing so remove the final two major obstacles to ultimate success by knocking Italy and Argentina out in one fell swoop. 

Socrates refers to that day v Italy as "the day football died!"

He admitted to the BBC that:he had never watched back Brazil's 3-2 defeat by Italy in the 1982 World Cup - none of it. He just couldn't bear to.

"I just don't need to go through that game again," he said. And it is quite likely that refusal remained until January 2011, when he died at the age of 57.

No one accounted for the brilliance of Paolo Rossi.

I think this remains my favourite World Cup Finals of them all. Just the excitement and the novelty of watching live every match, on a big rented (Radio Rentals) telly and the games themselves were all from the top drawer. Schumacher on Battiston, Marco Tardelli's celebration v W Germany in the final and yes, being one up on that Brazilliant side, Socrates et al. We were at least given a chance to dream!

•Scotland drew 2-2 with Russia in their final group game and didnae qualify•.

World Cup Memories #3

It would be remiss of me not to include an artist at work on this list. From the ridiculousness of Brazil s riotous approach to defending in 1982 to a master of its craft 8 years later on home soil. 

Italia 90 was as close as I ever came to physically being at a World Cup Finals. I was already long fascinated by Italy as my grandfather had fought in WW2 there and I had written up an itinerary to follow in his footsteps to Sicily before taking the train to Naples and then Milan where the Italians had been building the mightily impressive looking Giuseppe Meazza (San Siro) stadium for these finals. 

Scotland were in Genoa and Turin in the far north and Brazil were again in our group but Grandad had only experience of the south of the country and he knew all about the industrial North - agricultural South divide which was so divisive in Italy, and being a farmer himself in his youth, there was only one winner as far as he was concerned "where the people are as golden as the soil!" he would say. And Naples too had Maradona back in town! 

Diego does not appear on my list as his World Cup record was in keeping with the flawed genius status he seemed to covet throughout his career for club and country and after six years, two historic Scudetto's, which resulted in days of raucous celebrations and included mock funerals for the traditional northern powerhouse teams Juve and Inter, in Napoli, Maradona was by 1990 a crock having been targeted by the uncompromising hardmen and 'macellaio' in Serie A for his undoubted genius. His injuries and ongoing off-field controversy meant his star was supposedly on the wane. Still, even a diminishing Diego only just failed to physically carry Argentina to another triumph but not before putting the hosts to the sword in one of most emotionally charged world cup semi finals I have ever felt through my TV screen.   

Renowned the footballing world over for inventing the 'catenaccio' (door bolt) formation where, to all intents and purposes, a clean sheet defensively was Priority A, Italy's coach at the time of Italia 90, Azeglio Vicini, favoured the 'zona mista' approach for one reason and one reason only - He had Franco Baresi in his team.

Baresi wasn't the tallest central defender, and there have been quicker centre backs but rarely was he beaten in the air or one on one for pace by taller, quicker strikers. His reading of the game, his footballing intelligence, his command of his space, awareness, it was all impeccable. Catenaccio would have been proud to call him one of its own. But what stood out and the reason why Vicini had such confidence in playing the more offensive minded system was Baresi could be the focal point for attack; he could effortlessly stride forward linking defence with attack, spraying passes short and long often joining in attack. He wasn't so much 'box to box' as 'net to net'! He was often so dominant he came to be known as 'Kaiser' after that other great playmaker sweeper Beckenbauer. 

Baresi and Vicini also knew that they had the back up of the exceptional Giuseppe Bergomi and a young strutting Paolo Maldini to hold the fort while Baresi went marauding. It was beautiful artistry in motion to watch but the irony was that this Italian side could not cope with ultra defensive formations in opposition. Teams knew that given the space, the likes of Vialli, Mancini, Baggio and Donadoni in the forward areas would tear them apart. It was left up to the unheralded and frankly unheard of 'Toto' Schillaci of Juventus to allow unknowing opposition teams to be lulled into a false sense of security that, having kept Italy at bay until this late stage in the game, the job was done when Salvatore appeared as a sub. Cue perhaps the greatest rags to riches story of any World Cup. It just wasn't quite enough to win the World Cup on home soil though. 

In Naples of all places and led by battered and bruised patched up captain Diego, Argentina killed off the Italian dream but only after Schillaci, by now the Azzuri's main striker, had opened the scoring. Caniggia equalised, and, down to ten men, the Argentine's went on to win on a penalty shoot-out. The emotional outpouring could almost be felt in Glasgow. Many in Naples were torn and confused not knowing whether to laugh or cry into their pizza for Diego! 

I didn't attend Italia 90. I really wanted Grandad to come with me but I was naive even asking if he would consider returning to his place of service only this time with me. Even at home in Glasgow, and half a century on, it was often still visibly raw in his memories even with the little detail he knowingly chose to give. We settled for him joining me for the odd game on TV in his local, The Laurieston, a pie and a pint watching the Kaiser marshal his troops!

World Cup Memories #4

Disclaimer 

France 1998 I have to say was the most fun, and drunk I have ever spent a World Cup Finals so memories of this competition and this fella might be slightly compromised by the booze! •

I was working in a bookshop in Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow and the build up to this World Cup was particularly epic. 100 staff and dozens of fitba daft and just plain daft among us. it had been all the chat for months in advance. 

Scotland were there of course and we had the honour of facing defending champions Brazil - them again - in the opening game of the competition at the sparkling new Stade de France in Paris. A wee kilted jig with the tartan army prior to the inevitable defeat by Brazil proved to be the highlight of this Scotland squads tournament!

I'm put off from going to France because French cuisine is frankly rank(!) and the build up in work had ensured plans were in place which were just as good as actually being there. (Most memorable: The deserted streets of Glasgow on the day of the opening game; up to the west end and Rob's flat for the opening game; and the unofficial table football World Cup in the shop window - I go out in the Group Stage and I still insist it was hand ball in the build up to the goal which put me out!? Where was VAR?).

I digress. 

Zidane was playing for a top Juventus side in Serie A under the great Marcello Lippi and I had really admired that team since, even without Zizou, I witnessed them absolutely tear Rangers apart on a rain sodden night at Ibrox on Champions League business two or three years before - a young del Piero given a standing ovation from an appreciative Ibrox for his outstanding performance is a memory that sticks out. Ibrox was my place of work and, perks of my job, I was able to shake Mr del Piero's and Mr Lippi's hand as we kicked them out of Ibrox and on to the bus back to the airport that night! 😜

I think Zidane was suspended for Ibrox but his talent alone was worth tuning into every Juve match covered live by Channel 4's excellent Football Italia coverage through the 1990s. By 1998 and on home turf this was set up to be Zidane's World Cup. 

Up until now in this daft wee series, we have had an even split of 'nearly men' and 'winners'. Kempes and Zidane are the stand out players of my lifetime because they saw their campaigns through, and both on home soil, to win footballs ultimate prize. 

In Zidane's case, it was never meant to be about him. This was Ronaldo's, no, not him, the Brazilian Ronaldo's opportunity to etch his name on Brazilian folklore. Meanwhile, the French public were so unsure of their team, they collectively feared embarrassment before a ball had been kicked, so poor had their preparation been. 

Enter the French Algerian lad from the impoverished tower blocks of multi cultural Marseille. A country troubled by racial tension France was divided over the question of immigration, with far-right politicians such as Jean-Marie le Pen stoking the argument by claiming a team made up of players of New Caledonian, Spanish, Caribbean, Senegalese, Ghanian, Armenian, Portuguese and Argentine heritage did not represent the nation.

"I once cried because I had no shoes to play soccer, but one day, I met a man who had no feet."

"I was lucky to come from a difficult area. It teaches you not just about football but also life. There were lots of kids from different races and poor families. People had to struggle to get through the day."

Zidane played with a confidence and a swagger which belied any tensions he may have felt off the pitch. This was his playground. If he could change perceptions with his feet he need say little. Zidane epitomised letting his feet and his football do the talking. 

He had balance, trickery, a footballing brain, and could create space with the drop of a shoulder which made you question whether any pitch he performed on was actually twice the size of regulation! In full flow he was frightening, in a tight spot he could conjure magic, opposition never knew whether it was best to man mark or leave him be. His was a career which inspired the most "oohs and aahs and yes ooh lalaas" of any player I have ever seen. A complete joy to watch. And he scored THAT goal at Hampden too for Real Madrid in the 2002 CL final. Check out his body shape and control of the football dropping from that trajectory and then to produce the finish...

https://youtu.be/rFfomw-Z4uE

The music entirety appropriate.

He scores two in the World Cup Final in Paris while Ronaldo for whom this script had actually been written for suffers from a mental anguish prior to the game and is not just a shadow of himself but left in the shadow of the great Zizou. 

I could go on and on about this guy. Let's just leave it here

Better than Messi. Better than Ronaldo! 

The greatest.

(Discuss?)

World Cup Memories #5

Perhaps this choice is the first who may not be instantly recognisable, and if you are not a fully paid up member of the goalkeepers union this selection might be a struggle.

It was a toss up between The Safest Hands In Soccer, Gordon Stewart and his exploits between the sticks in that weeks issue of Roy Of The Rovers and Bayern Munich and Belgium No 1, Jean Marie Pfaff who I was modelling my own game on most in 1982. As a ten year old I wanted to be both rolled into one. 

I wanted to be a goalkeeper by the time the1982 World Cup Finals came round, because there wasn't a lot of running around involved and physically I bore more of a physical resemblance to the World Cup Mascot for those Finals, Naranjito than the physical embodiment of an elite sportsman! 

I loved crisps, shot stopping and diving and enjoyed spending time after school in my wee square of garden with my dad going through little goalkeeping drills from the Ray Clemence' Goalkeeping book, diving to my favoured left side and attempting to improve my weaker right. 

I was not bad and just like the Clemence' v Shilton debate of the time as to who should be England No. 1 I soon too would have my own battle for the no less coveted No. 1 jersey of the Toryglen Swifts with Scott Gray which was much more amicable than Clemence' v Shilton appeared to be. It was good to be keeping each other on our toes and we both improved as a result of pushing each other on.

My first Scotland game I attended was in 1979 when Belgium came to Hampden and defeated us 3-1 under the lights. 

Belgium had Theo Custers in goal that night and he was terrible and couldn't catch a cold even in December in Scotland, but he had unbelievable luck on the night, a terrific head of hair, and a green jersey which looked brilliant under the Hampden lights. Unfortunately for Scotland Alan Rough was worse at the other end and had a worse perm than Custers! 

By the time the 82 World Cup in Spain came round, and maybe off the back of that Hampden shocker, Belgium had replaced their number one with Custers making way for Jean Marie Pfaff. He was not the tallest goalkeeper which I liked and this gave me some hope, but he made up for this lack of height with his agility, athleticism and his ability to bluff strikers into taking that extra touch or just a moment's hesitation in order to rush from his line and shut down the angle to goal. He also usually outwitted the penalty taker. He also played with a smile on his face and was good natured. Whenever I watched Sideshow Bob later on episodes of the Simpsons I would be reminded of the great Pfaff. 

His clown-like persona extended to the size of his hands. I think the word eccentric was coined for Jean Marie Pfaff.

Belgium topped a group with defending champions Argentina in it at Espana '82, but went out in the second qualification phase after abysmal showings against the weaker Poland and Soviet Union just as Belgium were beginning to believe that they could produce something as special as their strips that year. 

Pfaff played his club football for Bayern Munich and was capped 64 times for Belgium including appearances at the 1986 World Cup in Mexico. His nickname was El Simpatico for being a thoroughly nice chap. 

For this then ten year old there was no better role model.

World Cup Memories #6

One of the genius terracing chants of my lifetime is "we've got Dennis Bergkamp, we've got Dennis Bergkamp..."which those otherwise notoriously librarian like Arsenal fans sang at the height of the great Dutchman's career. It was genius because every other supporter knew exactly what they were acknowledging and would mutter a "fair play" under their breath.

This choice is about a moment of World Cup history rather than a true World Cup great. Bergkamp and his Dutch side never achieved the greatness their collective talent perhaps should. There seemed to always be extenuating circumstances for that with the Dutch. 

1998 in France in Marseille in the Quarter Finals of the World Cup and the Dutch Squad were in a typically Dutch turmoil. The squad were an enormously egotistical lot and rumours spread all is again not well in the camp. Two lacklustre draws and a regulatory 5-0 thumping of South Korea in the Group Stage spoke volumes about the mood around the Dutch Hotel.

The moustachioed Guus Hiddink, himself by appearance no shrinking violet, was in charge of this absolute shower... most of whom had graduated from the Ajax youth academy of excellence and should have known better. Was it Guus or was it all still going on since Euro 96 when apparently Kluivert, Reiziger and Seedorf wafted imaginary money in the air and the faces of young Blind, de Boer (R) and van der Sar causing carnage and an epic rift within the camp. Not the ideal preparation for the Argentinans in the Quarter Finals.

Enter one Dennis Nicolaas Maria Bergkamp, once a midfielder, now a striker and the perfect foil for the tireless but limited Kluivert up front. Bergkamp was by now nicknamed 'The non-flying Dutchman' after a particularly bumpy flight to the USA for the World Cup Finals in 1994 saw him famously state like Mr T in the A Team "I ain't getting in no plane, fool!" Rather than tranquilizing him, the Dutch FA and his club side fully sympathised with his fear and Bergkamp arrived in Marseille by car while the rest of the squad flew. 

Bergkamp never seemed to break sweat on a football pitch. He was a glider across the surface and it didn't matter the surface, he possessed the most effortless gifts for a top footballer, balance, poise, vision, he seemed to know in advance everything occuring around him, a range of passing an eye for goal. He was perfection in behind the main striker - ask Thierry Henry who snubbed Lionel Messi to name Bergkamp as his greatest ever teammate. 

"Because of longevity, and because I saw him every day in training for seven years, Dennis Bergkamp,".... "Because he was always doing what the game was asking him to do."

Arguably the crowning glory of Bergkamp's career came at the Stade Velodrome on the 4th July 1998. The Dutch played more long balls that tournament than any Dutch side had before because they knew as long as it was accurate, Dennis would do the rest. 

I was at Clockwork in Mount Florida with some pals and the reaction of the entire bar that day I shall never forget. There was the silence as he somehow almost casually brought Frank de Boer's 50 yard cross-field ping from defence down with one deft almost feather-like touch, there was another touch which I still swear is a secret, you just cannot see, and the hapless Argentinian defender certainly did not, and then the finish with the outside of his right foot. The goalkeepers arm outstretched just left hanging there as he too asks himself "what just happened there?"

The bar I was in rose as one, some chose to whoop while the majority applauded, there seemed to be a collective 'did you see that?' as strangers sought out the eyes of other strangers just for a nod of how special that moment was. The replay just added to the collective disbelief! 

I will just leave this here; 

https://youtu.be/XsZkCFoqSBs

World Cup Memories #7

My final choice in this series is someone I idolised, a little magician and a technician. At only 5ft 6in he was diminutive for a footballer of note but anything he lacked in physical stature he made up for in creativity. Pierre Littbarski is the most prolific German assist-maker in World Cup history and second only to one Diego Maradona in the all-time list. 

He was virtually the quintessential one-club man playing over 500 times for unfashionable Koln, or Cologne, in the Bundesliga. He played in quite a formidable Koln side through the 1980s and I think I first came across his name during radio commentary of a Uefa cup tie where Littbarski inspired his side to a 5-0 drubbing of Glasgow Rangers in Germany. 

He played in 3 World Cup Finals and assisted strikers of the pedigree of Rummenigge, Voller and Klinsmann 7 times, Germany finished runner up in 1982 and 1986 before winning it in Rome in 1990. In doing so, Littbarski dispensed himself with the tag of 'the nearly man' having finished runner-up three times with his club side in the Bundesliga and twice at German Cup Finals before victory in Rome. His career deserved success.

Littbarski was a tough little cookie as defenders knew that if they could cut off the supply from Littbarski they would stand half a chance of defeating the ever formidable Germans. Littbarski was singled out for the rough stuff from opponents but was far too clever for most, deft touches to create space, low centre of gravity, pace and the most consistent, accurate passer of a ball I have ever seen. He was a joy to watch and I was excited to watch him play every opportunity I got. His one Achilles heel was perhaps he didn't score enough himself but he once said when you had a Rummenigge in your team, you didn't need to score.

He won 73 caps for Germany and scored 18 goals. 

Maybe not as lauded as some of the German greats he shared a pitch with possibly because he didn't play for Bayern Munich or in Serie A or La Liga like so many of his international teammates did? - I like that about him too, a one-club man became as rare as hen's teeth in his day and he played for the club he loved. 

His name is part French, part German and part Austrian and he had the rest of the world at his feet!

His name is Pierre Littbarski!