World Cup Fever

Much as I love all sports, especially those involving a ball of any shape or size, I can’t help but be under-whelmed by the prospect of the upcoming Soccer World Cup.

My memories of 1966 are still vivid. The family racing down the A21 in an overloaded Wolseley 1500 in order to reach the camp site on the South Coast in time to set up our black and white TV before the final kicked off. 2 young boys, mum and dad, my sister, still a babe in arms, our luggage, groceries and a TV set the size of a modern washing machine. Even with a roof rack that is still quite a feat.

History has proved how difficult a task it will be to recapture the excitement of that day. Over the years my view of the World Cup has become jaded by indifferent performances from England teams of supposed world beaters. Looking back to 1966 those were naïve times which regrettably will never be repeated. The game itself has changed, the way it is played and marketed is as different as a modern family car is to a Wolseley 1500.

For me the tournament is no longer the festival of football that it purports to be. Accountants and broadcasters have been fattening the golden goose year on year, teasing out ever larger eggs with each successive tournament. This is nothing exclusive to football, most professional sports have gone, or are going, the same way. Rugby seems to spend most of its time in the gutter for one misdemeanour or another, as does motor sport and cycling. Snooker and darts, if they can be called sports, have lost their way and cricket in all its dubious forms is becoming a joke.

I have no problem with sportsmen and women taking advantage of every legal opportunity to enhance their earnings in what is for most of them a short career. I am delighted for Peter Crouch that he can be paid to kick a crisp carton into a litter bin, I just wish his attempts with a ball in front of goal were equally as productive.

Back in 1966, managers, the likes of Bill Shankley, Matt Busby, Bill Nicholson, Harry Catterick, Ron Greenwood and Jock Stein, were ‘the club’ – I can’t recall the name of a single club chairman from that period. Nowadays the chairman or owner(s) appear to be grabbing more of the headlines than the players.

I don’t doubt the pride that any player would feel when pulling on the shirt for their country but with so many millionaires strutting their stuff on the global stage I worry that on occasions the commitment might be tempered by the split loyalties of club and country. No doubt accountants will be pawing over the club books as chairmen wince nervously at every mis-timed tackle.

Yes, there was commercialisation in the 60’s but nothing on the scale that we are likely to see over the next few weeks. Players may be fitter these days but you needed to be tough in those days. Remember, there was only 1 substitute allowed (or reserve as the 12^th man used to be called), no water bottles, steel toe-caps, metal studs and none of this falling over in the box if a player so much as brushed your expensively coiffeured hair.

If your side had already used their reserve player and you took a knock then even concussion or a broken leg was frowned on as a valid excuse for leaving the field of play.

Players were not rotated or rested because they were exhausted having played 10 games in a month. I recall reading that in one year Pele played in over 150 games, including friendly and exhibition matches. Thankfully that sort of exploitation has now disappeared from the game.

It is sad to see such a large percentage of the available seats being earmarked for corporate clients, sponsors and the press and can only hope that these people at least have the decency to utilise their allocation at some of the less attractive games. There will undoubtedly be a great atmosphere at all of the games, if for no other reason than the wretched vuvuzela horns. Infuriating as these things are I would rather see 60,000+ fans blowing their lungs out than a half empty stadium.

Watching the sports / news channels at any time, night or day, over the past 2 months reminds me of the old chestnut of how many electricians does it take to change a lightbulb. There are ex-players and D-list celebrities, long since forgotten, appearing on all manner of programmes drunk on the hype for this tournament. On the one hand you have the BBC, Sky, etc. pleading poverty and at the same time they are sending huge teams of reporters and camera crew to cover every detail of the occasion from the England plane leaving Heathrow and arriving in South Africa to what colour towels are being provided at the team hotel. Is anyone really interested in hearing the views of some junior reporter and/or pundit giving feedback of the half-time atmosphere from a sweaty Soweto bar surrounded by a group of bemused locals. Having gorged their expense accounts to excess on the frenzy of the election TV executives will have been wracking their brain to find any tenuous link that would justify their programmes presence in South African during the World Cup. Can we expect to see Songs of Praise from Cape Town? Why not Bargain Hunt or one of the many cookery offerings.

It would be nice to think that the 2010 World Cup will be remembered for some amazing skills on the pitch from the likes of Torres, Messi, Ronaldo or Rooney – my fear is that the success of the tournament will be measured by the amount of TV sets, Satellite packages, razor blades, cars, household goods, cans of beer, replica kits and memorabilia sold on the back of the event.

Just think, in 6 weeks time it will all be over, and we will just have another 3 months of re-runs and analysis to look forward to. I am sure that by that stage I will be so sickened by the ceaseless procession of footballing clichés being thrown at me from every angle that I shall have a long list of candidates that would warrant a vivuzela being forcibly inserted where the sun does not shine.