Clogging the opposition – spin doctor style
My heart said Holland from the start. The English have a certain affinity with the Netherlands and us football fans still think of the Dutch as the total footballers of Cruyff, the power of van Basten and, for those of use who are Gunners, the sublime silkiness of Dennis Bergkamp. But this wasn’t anything resembling the beauty of 1970s Ajax or the Dutch national team. The only replacement of one Dutch player with another was in kicking the opposition.
But my head said Spain. At the start of the tournament, I told my husband that the World Cup would be won by a team speaking Spanish, cleverly hedging my bets between my two favourites of Spain and Argentina. But I hoped it would be Spain: which English football fan could want Maradona’s team to triumph?
Matthew drew Spain in the office sweepstake with some delight, tempered by an immediate first game loss to Switzerland. Watching Spain was often like watching my beloved Arsenal: you’d wish that they wouldn’t try and walk the ball into the net and wonder where all the strikers had gone. So by the time we reached last night’s final, I was committed, head and heart, to Spain.
As the game opened with a series of fouls, mainly from the Dutch, and a total lack of imagination from the orange shirts, I was glad I had transferred my affections before my heart was broken. For there was little to love about the Dutch last night. Just a few glimpses of what they might have achieved, including Robben’s 83rd minute run and shot – an undeserved victory prevented only by the shin of Casillas.
The Dutch put the blame for their defeat on the shoulders of English referee Howard Webb, Their manager, Bert van Marwijk, saw things very differently from the rest of us, saying “It’s not our style to play ‘ugly’ or commit horrible fouls. It’s not our kind of football“. He believed that criticism from Spain after Webb’s officiating of their defeat to Switzerland had made the match officials harden their attitude to the Dutch team. But in fact the Hetherlands were lucky to finish with only one red card. Before the hapless Johnny Heitinga was sent off after receiving his second yellow card, many of us wondered if Howard Webb had forgotten to put his red card into his pocket when he left the dressing room. Both de Jong, who somehow was allowed to remain on the pitch after aiming a Cantona-style kung-fu kick at Xabi Alonso, and van Bommel, who topped a thuggish performance with a appalling tackle on Iniesta ten minutes from the end, were fortunate not to receive red cards.
The cynical heartbreaking style of Holland could only be matched in its disappointment during the tornement by the childish bad-temper of the French team. Like political parties who know that they have lost the argument, they both resorted to smears, innuendo and, in France’s case, factional infighting. I never expected England to do well, so they didn’t disappoint me.
The Netherlands couldn’t win playing beautiful football. Thank goodness they didn’t win playing brutal football. The best team on the night won and the best team in the world are now world champions.
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