Croatia 1 (0) – (0) 1 Brazil AET. Croatia won 4-2 on penalties (Education City Stadium, Al Rayyan)
Croatia scorer: Petkovic (117′). Brazil scorer: Neymar (105’+1’)
Well, well, well. Europe 1, South America 0. So Brazil might have been favourites and five-time World Champions but the Croats care little for reputation and just went about their business to dump out Neymar and his samba dancing pals.
After a quiet first-half, Brazil totally dominated the second forty-five and but for numerous saves from Dominik Livakovic they would have cruised through. However, there was no panic from Croatia even when Neymar scored an excellent goal in extra time. He started the move, played two one-two’s, riding a challenge before rounding the ‘keeper to fire home – a special goal indeed. Croatia though just kept going and with three minutes left, broke down the pitch where Petkovic swept home with a slight deflection taking it beyond Alisson.
And so to penalties. Livakovic having starred again Japan in the shoot-out in the last sixteen, once again was the hero, saving Rodrygo’s first spot kick. Croatia were perfect with all of their first four which put the pressure on Marquinhos. However, when he struck the post, it was adeus Brazil with Croatia into a second successive World Cup Semi-Final.
Netherlands 2 (0) – (1) 2 Argentina AET. Argentina won 4-3 on penalties. (Lusail Iconic Stadium, Lusail)
Europe 1, South America 1…another drama filled game, dominated by an over officious referee with 17 yellow cards and one 1 red issued, with ugly confrontational scenes between the teams and their benches at the end of extra time and penalties.
When Messi stroked home a penalty with seventeen minutes remaining the game looked done and dusted at 2-0 to Argentina. The Dutch had nothing to lose and went more direct, and even though they got one back with seven minutes reaming through a lovely Weghorst header it seemed as if it was just a consolation. Then deep into time added on, a quite brilliantly worked free-kick move saw Netherlands draw level through Weghorst’ s second goal. Extra time was dominated by Argentina in the second fifteen, but it was penalties once more.
Aston Villa’s ‘keeper Emi Martinez has a great record saving penalties and proved it once again, making saves from the first two Dutch spot-kicks which was enough to see Argentina through 4-3. The celebrations were all the greater knowing that their South American rivals Brazil has exited earlier.
Morocco v Portugal (Al Thumama Stadium, Doha)
The third World Cup meeting between these sides, with the first at the finals in Mexico. It was a group stage game with Morocco winning 3-1. Portugal gained some revenge with a 1-0 win in 2018 with Ronaldo getting the vital goal.
After the drama of the opening two Quarter Finals, who knows what this one will bring. Will Ronaldo be back in the starting line up or do they stick to the side that demolished South Korea? Morocco should not be taken lightly as they have shown resilience and no little skill to make it this far. They will be hoping it’s not a game too far.
England v France (Al Bayt Stadium, Al Khor)
For me this tie will take me back to Spain 1982. The glorious sunshine, the weird echoey commentary and crowd noise, a squad number system based on surname (Trevor Brooking wore No:3, Tony Woodcock No: 21) and no makers logo on the Three Lions legendary Admiral kits.
Against the French in the group stages Bryan Robson scored after 27 seconds, only for France to level, but a second goal from Robson and a volley from the late great Paul Mariner sealed a 3-1 win. Oh that today will be as comfortable! Les Bleus are a team of many talents – from Lloris in goal through to Mbappe up front. This is a real tester for England and go into the game as underdogs.
But as this tournament has shown anything can happen.
PS. Did anyone mention England beat France 2-0 with a Roger Hunt brace on the way to winning the 1966 World Cup?
“These supporters can win you the game. When I hear them, the hairs on my neck stand up. They must be the best in the world. It makes me want to finish my career back in Britain. But Scotland will have to play with the passion they showed against us in Mendoza four years ago.”
Jonny Rep, who scored against Scotland in the 1978 World Cup, putting us out of it, prior to the final game for Scotland against Russia in the 1982 World Cup.
When I went to university, my first encounter with my History Professor was just after he had published his new book on World War One. When asked about the reviews that he should expect he told us these mattered little as most of his contemporaries would not read the book, just look at the bibliography and sources he quoted. From there they should be able to work out what he thought and his opinion of the principal facts; all of which were not in doubt.
At the time, it appeared odd.
Reading We Made Them Angry by Tom Brogan reminded me precisely of that discussion. Of all the books you will ever read, I would challenge you to find one that is as well researched and documented as this. There are not just references made to player’s biographies but also to obscure matchday programmes, interviews, many of which are long forgotten and a bibliography which includes periodicals, websites and scholarly tomes.
It is all in aid of telling a tale of World Cup redemption under the leadership of arguably the best manager Scotland ever produced, Jock Stein. It is of a campaign sunk in the midst of more noticeable and argued over World Cup Group failures – ’74 when we never lost, ‘78 when we lost our dignity, ’86 when we lost our leader, and ‘90 when we last graced the competition, and thus thereafter lost our place on its stage.
1982 was the year of two headlines – a toe poke and a collision. Both with connotations of violence which the Scottish Football Association were nervous about fans displaying under the Spanish sunshine whilst on the terraces, but we were undone by both, ironically, not in the stands but on the field of play.
Brogan has much to say about both, but to his credit they do not dominate the tale he tells. He begins at 7am on Wednesday the 14th of October 1981, in Belfast. It is the culmination of the campaign to get to the World Cup in Spain; we are one game away. It is symbolic. Not just that this was a game being played by the Scottish national team in Northern Ireland for the first time since 1972 but as a Scotland fan, it is always games close to the wire which hold significance. We are past masters at taking the entire process and holding it on a knife edge prior to destroying ourselves; at least that has been the majority of our experiences…. 1982 was little different.
To be reminded of the fact that we were in the midst of five World Cup Finals in a row, rather than it being a painful memory, stirs the blood and I have fond memories of the processes of getting to World Cups which, unlike now, were expected to be successful. I have not often agreed with Graeme Souness, but here I can wholeheartedly, insofar as these were our World Cups, the process of qualifying. Brogan is highly expansive in the build up and in the detail, he brings to the table.
But it is here where I began to struggle just a little.
Academic treatises tend to have their bibliographies and footnotes but keeping your reader onside needs the yarn told swiftly with pace and flair. The interruptions to tell of each significant player’s background, fascinating to start with, becomes slightly irritating as we progress. Turning some of the reference points into footnotes or refences would not have diminished the authority with which this story is told but enhance the structure with which it is enjoyed.
I don’t know if I really wanted to know as much about the Russian coach as I found out, that Alan Hansen was born in Sauchie or the tartan background of so many of the New Zealand team, but to be fair, it was interesting to read. But it took nothing away from the authenticity of the research. It felt authoritative. It was interesting to note that Alan Hansen turned down a trial with Hibs so he could play a golf tournament or that The Game (a fictional account but a very real emotional rollercoaster of Scottish fans going to Argentina in 1978) was broadcast on STV in opposition to the night of BBC Cup Final Sportscene’s highlights programme or of the machinations in government which could have seen the Scottish team being pulled out of the entire Finals due to the worsening military and political situation in the Southern Hemisphere, but they could have been crafted in a more integrated manner.
That political situation was the Falkland’s War and Brogan quotes from a number of sources over the possibility that the team would have to bow to pressure and not play in a contest where the possibility that they may meet on a field of play, a country fighting them on a field of battle, was very real. In the end opinion swayed all and Scotland went to the Finals. Brogan quotes widely from official documents released in 2012 as well as players like Danny McGrain who reflected that a poll in the Daily Record wanted them to play, Graeme Souness who responded to the news that the Task Force wanted them to play and Kenny Dalglish who seemed unaware of it all! In the end, the government wanted them to go, so go they went. It is interesting to note that this is the equivalent today of asking Ukraine the defenders to withdraw from sport rather than Russia, the aggressors.
The other political back drop of which I was unaware was the Home Internationals and how playing in Belfast had become such an issue. It clearly feels a far more violent time and Brogan does well to draw our attention to the historical detail which some may have called a more naïve period in our collective history but is in reality far more sensitive to the cause of offence than some would admit. Names of the past who had their teeth cut administratively within that context find a voice and Brogan tells it as it was, without much by way of criticism. It is a refreshing feeling that we, as a reader, are given the notion of being able to form our own views.
What I also enjoyed was the detail around how the authorities dealt with the preparations and the scandal of the tickets and Mundiespana, the post competition reflections from the likes of Jim McLean and where there was disappointment and dissension, it was noted and explained. These appealed, as much to my interest in the Scotland team as to my academic prejudices.
Perhaps my favourite part of the entire book, as a proud Scot, is the claim, borne out by Brogan’s meticulous evidence is that 1982 gave birth to a phenomenon which has endured – The Tartan Army. Rather than disgrace themselves in the sun, as some worried would happen, the Scottish supporters excelled. Warm, friendly and in some cases under extreme provocation, given that Argentina was a Spanish speaking country, they behaved and earned the highest of praise. I am sure that there were many who followed the competition who were disappointed that the Scots did not get through. The voices that Brogan brings of the fans who went and saw the glory of their country are very worthy of reading. Of the drinking competitions, the water polo playing by a guy from an estate in Dunfermline or the ways in which they travelled there and came back, derring-do is made de rigueur.
Of course, for Scottish fans two events defined the Finals.
Firstly, when Jimmy Hill called Dave Narey’s goal against Brazil, a toe poke, he meant it as a compliment. Most Scots did not take it as such, and Hill enjoyed notoriety in Scotland from that point onwards. It was not always good natured, however, but the goal led to an alleged conversation, not in the book, where one Scottish player was to say to another, I think we have annoyed them! On the terraces the quote became the title of the book – we made them angry. Having woken them up, the samba perfect Brazil went on to beat us 4-1 in an exhibition of football which was a privilege to watch, and according to the players, quoted in the book, with which it was a privilege to share a pitch.
Then came Willie Miller and Alan Hansen bumping into each other in an attempt for both to clear a Russian attack, which led to Russia scoring. It has become part of our folklore that this was blamed for putting us out of the competition. As Brogan makes very clear, it was a little more complex than that, but a draw was what finished us. The perspective of fans, the manager, pundits and both players add to the understanding Brogan brings to the debacle.
And as the final game drew its veil over our participation, it was indeed a draw, once again that did for us. We should have known. In ’74, all we did was draw, in ’78 the draw with Iran became the headline, ’82 was the draw with Russia, ’86 the draw with Uruguay and then in ’90 all we needed was … a draw. And guess what we did not get…
Despite it being very heavy on the evidence, this is a book which does great service to a World Cup Finals which drew us back into the realm of some dignity. 1978 was not just a tough watch but for someone like me, an Ayr United fan, a tough experience as our greatest ever manager was castigated for one of the greatest footballing disasters which befell any national team. Brogan has the material to dwell on what we were good at, because we were, and this lends authority to the memory of a time when we expected to be at the top table.
Donald C Stewart
(Publisher: Pitch Publishing Ltd. April 2022. Hardcover: 384 pages)
Whilst England fans bemoaned the fact that the Three Lions exited the 1982 World Cup in Spain without losing a game and wondered at what might have been if Trevor Brooking and Kevin Keegan had been fully fit, Stuart Horsfield, then a ten year old boy living in Scarborough was transfixed not by the efforts of his country of birth, but by the football of another nation – Brazil, nicknamed the Seleção (The National Team).
1982 Brazil: The Glorious Failure, is Horsfield’s recollection of that summer 38 years ago, and the 12th edition of the FIFA World Cup in the sweltering Spanish sun. History has come to show that the Brazil side which contained stars such as Sócrates, Zico, Eder and Falcão played some outstanding football that the media, pundits and fans alike believed should have seen them become World Champions in 1982. However, as the record books show, that didn’t come to fruition, with coach Telê Santana’s skilful squad exiting to the pragmatic Italian side, who themselves went onto lift the trophy.
Horsfield builds to that game by providing the reader with a link back to previous Brazilian national sides starting with another infamous game against Italy, that being the 1970 World Cup Final in Mexico. That 4-1 victory for the Seleção is held up as possibly the greatest final in World Cup history, with the likes of Carlos Alberto, Pelé, Rivellino and Jairzinho providing a quality of football that simply overflowed with style, skill and unbridled joy. The author then details how in the following two World Cups (1974 in West Germany and 1978 in Argentina), Brazil lost their way as they tried to adopt a more European style of play, finishing fourth in 1974 and third, four years later.
However, by 1982 there was a return to the Brazilian spirit of 1970, with a freedom in their football, which Horsfield suggests may have been influenced by the political scene in the country as the military dictatorship lessened its grip on power. This uninhibited and talented Brazil squad were drawn in Group 6 in the First Round along with New Zealand, Scotland and the Soviet Union. The author dedicates a chapter to each of these games, with his youthful bewilderment at what he saw evident in the writing. The Seleção won all three games with a brand of football labelled ‘futebol arte’, to advance to the Second Round, which format wise back then, was made up of four groups of three teams, with only the four winners advancing to the semi-finals.
As with the First Round, Horsfield again details each game in a separate chapter, with Argentina and Italy their opponents. Brazil took on their South American rivals in the first match, convincingly winning 3-1. Going into the Italy game, Brazil knew that a draw would have been good enough to see them through to the last four, whilst the Azzurri (The Blues), knew that only a victory would be good enough to progress. With the way Brazil had been playing and with Italy having been uninspiring in the competition up to then, it was assumed by most experts that it would be a straightforward win for captain Sócrates and his team.
The events though at the Sarrià Stadium in Barcelona, didn’t though follow the script, and a Paulo Rossi hat-trick in a pulsating encounter that saw Italy win 3-2, ended the Brazilian dream, in a game that is seen as one of the greatest World Cup encounters of all time. Horsfield captures the drama of the match itself both on the pitch and in the stands and reveals the real sense of loss his ten year old self felt at the exit of Brazil. The book though doesn’t end there though with two final chapters, Aftermath and Legacy concluding this interesting read. A conclusion from those closing chapters is that 1982 pretty much marked the end of free-flowing football being a style to become World Champions, with Brazil adapting to be a more pragmatic in their victories in 1994 (ironically beating Italy on penalties) and in 2002.
Besides, Horsfield’s own recollections of the games, the book is enhanced with contributions from players, coaches and media at the tournament. Within the chapters on each fixture, the use of quotes from television commentary of the time to describe key moments is a nice touch and almost makes the reader instantly want to look them up on YouTube (which the author helpfully lists at the back of the book). If there is a slight criticism, it is that there is sometimes an overuse of metaphor as Horsfield makes a point about a particular player, coach or situation. However, this doesn’t detract greatly from a book that tells an intriguing story and takes the unusual stance of bringing to life a team that despite its enormous talent, will be remembered for being losers and not winners.
(Pitch Publishing. October 2020. Hardback 255 pages)
Frederic Piquione’s red card for jumping into a heaving mass of West Ham fans deliriously celebrating a second (and potentially winning) goal at Everton on Saturday brought into focus one of the most inane developments in the evolution of modern football: the goal celebration. Yes, we know that various World Cups have seen some bizarre and, admittedly entertaining rituals to commemorate the football hitting the back of the net just moments earlier. The first of these, in my memory, occurred in the 1982 World Cup with Falcao and most memorably Tardelli performing the raised arms, pumping chest, bulging eyes routine whilst running the length of the pitch. These events set the tone for later ‘goal celebs’ which began to permeate the English Leagues. Don’t get me wrong: scoring at the World Cup finals is a matter of emotion. And you would be hard pressed to criticise a player for scoring at the most important tournament in his sport and one that he might never get the chance to revisit. But when you see Didier Drogba going through orgasmic throes having scored at, say, Molineux or Nani behaving as if he had discovered mass production of nuclear fusion when scoring against Wigan, it all looks a little, er well over the top. What happened to the simple handshake? The pat on the back? The running back to the halfway line with your team mates giving you a quick hug and, ah yes, the occasional kiss on the head? All far more civilised, wouldn’t you say? The modern goal celebration says far more about how players think about themselves: the Me, Me, Look at Me, type of narcissism on display is hard to digest sometimes particularly when you think that it really is just a game. And a team game at that.
As for Monsieur Piquionne and the legion of media men who saw fit to criticise the rules that led to his dismissal, one thing seems to have slipped their minds: the players know or should know exactly what the rules are. These rules were enacted to ensure everything stays in perspective. A little more of that and we could actually concentrate on less theatrics and more football…..