Well for one.. La Furia Roja!!!!!!!
La Furia Roja!!!!!
La Furia Roja!!!!!
La Furia Roja!!!!!
Spain prevailed after fluffing their lines more than a few times in what, after 10 days, can only be described as an ill tempered game of very little sophistication. The Dutch played an excruciatingly thuggish game not worthy of a WC final. I had liked their resourcefulness & purpose till then. In the finals, I had no such sympathy since they were more sinning than sinned against.
It could have all ended otherwise. The 9 yellow cards not counting for much had Robben not fluffed against Casillas. Had Puyol been awarded a deserved yellow for gamely trying to sacrifice himself by tripping the explosive Robben in what was otherwise a 1 0n 1 against the Real Madrid custodian. Ironically, the one time Holland were on the right, getting on with the game by not falling, they were penalised.
Iniesta was delightful on 116 minutes. A smart pass from Cesc Fabregas and he slotted the ball with might. He had taken too long on a previous chance in front of goal some minutes before. In 4 minutes only a miracle would have saved Holland. No such miracle was forthcoming. The Dutch protested that a corner call on Casillas was erronously given as a goal kick which led to the goal. That was a little rich coming from a side which had sorely tested the referee all night. Nigel De Jong, it appeared had watch back to back Bruce Lee movies before the final.
As a neutral observer to start with, I tilted towards Spain more out of outrage against the Dutch tactics, it was heartening to see a game not going to penalties.
I slept happy after the game. Could not help but chuckle at the memories of WC 2006. Much water had flown under the bridge. Re-learnt an important lesson that night. At the end of the day, it's just a game :)
Keep forgetting it frequently though. My take is.. if you don't go all in.. Why bother ?
The days are rolling by. Already 2 months and 20 odd days into the job. Its smooth. Its not rocket science. Maybe, it is for the best ?
What was supposed to be the theme became the post script. What would life be without sports. Cheers to that.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
The mind goes back...
I distinctly remember 9th July 2006. Worked on 8th till about 3 30AM before I took the office cab. Was back in office by 11AM & again worked till it was time to rush home & watch the kick off.
It was Italy vs France in the 2006 WC Final. As if to answer my specific prayer God had put the Great, great, gr8 Zidane in the WC final. It was going to be a tryst with destiny. I would tell my kids I was there. In front of the TV.
Within 7 minutes the Great, great, gr8 Zinedine Zidane, him of the cerebral skill and the rapier touch, infinitely delicate & supremely powerful, equal parts man & equal parts magic, had scored off a penalty of such ridiculous chutzpah that you had to rub your tired complaining eyes to believe it.
Gianluigi Buffon was the greatest goalkeeper on the planet at that time. And while the word is not generally associated with his ilk, a craftsman in his own right. Surely, Le Bleus would not let it go now.
Suddenly, Pavan Chitragar was on the phone. I don't remember whether I called him or was it the other way around. "It will end on penalities". My heart sank. Chitra was a footie exp & had got every analysis and prediction right till then.
From nowhere, Marco Matterazzi headed one & it was on parity.
I don't remember much of the game till about 110 minutes, except for letting off a huge puff of relief when Serie A's top marksman Luca Toni was adjudged offside after he had netted.
By 110 minutes, the Great Zidane was mostly prowling like a caged animal. Henry, Ribery & the others had all been neutralized by the Azzuri Wall. I had never seen a team "defend" in waves till that day. It was almost as if by magic the entire Italian team would metamorphose behind their lines and thwart the first whiff of a French move. The Rhino Gattuso, The mercurial Pirlo and the Semi Final hero Grosso would try their luck from time to time. But, at the heart of Italy was the supreme centre back, il capitano Fabio Cannvaro. The slightly built defender who made short work of people a foot taller. The ensuing years taught me what I did not see then, Cannavaro was just as much a Talisman as the Great Zidane was. He was precise, he was calm and he was strong.
If memory serves me right, around the 110 minute mark, a cross found an unmarked Zidane right at the edge of the box. I have never seen a player move into a header like Zidane did. In that one instant Zidane was all purpose. As far as headers went this one was perfect. It was sinister. Except that somehow, by some maniacal power of will, Buffon flung himself vertically to get his fingertips to parry what was a certain goal.
Then came the infamous headbutt. Hypocrites may talk and talk about role models. In a flash Zidane was off. The pot had simmered long enough. Trezeguet missed his penalty to finish things off. It was painful to see Cannavaro lift the Cup of life.
It was 3 30 AM. I was crying bitter alone tears in my house. Had just got into a dirty argument with a friend who had Materazzi'd me. In that moment the frustration with life, job etc. all boiled up. More tears.
I slept with the memory of the Great Zidane unrolling the protection he wore around his wrist as he walked past the trophy. Not once did the great man look in the cup's direction.
Next day I walked into office with purpose. Headache and red eyes be damned. I would take out any bastard who spoke ill of Zidane. I was waiting for someone to make a sanctimonious comment. Then I would fuck his happiness three times over.
Got into skirmishes all day long. I used to mediate fights on MysoreSports. Today I was hunting. Some iota of ego was assuaged knowing people were not taking me on.
The day passed somehow. And then a few years passed.
I reconnected with Preetish the day WC 2010 started. I am 27 now. 2006 seems a long time away. I remember it with sadness. I remember it with much love. I believed in things back then. I am a little more cynical now. A little more hard. Its called aging. But every now & then, I indulge myself. And believe once more.
It was & remains the best worst memory of my adult life. If my bad memories end there... God Bless for that. Merci Zizou! thanks for the memories. You won.
It was Italy vs France in the 2006 WC Final. As if to answer my specific prayer God had put the Great, great, gr8 Zidane in the WC final. It was going to be a tryst with destiny. I would tell my kids I was there. In front of the TV.
Within 7 minutes the Great, great, gr8 Zinedine Zidane, him of the cerebral skill and the rapier touch, infinitely delicate & supremely powerful, equal parts man & equal parts magic, had scored off a penalty of such ridiculous chutzpah that you had to rub your tired complaining eyes to believe it.
Gianluigi Buffon was the greatest goalkeeper on the planet at that time. And while the word is not generally associated with his ilk, a craftsman in his own right. Surely, Le Bleus would not let it go now.
Suddenly, Pavan Chitragar was on the phone. I don't remember whether I called him or was it the other way around. "It will end on penalities". My heart sank. Chitra was a footie exp & had got every analysis and prediction right till then.
From nowhere, Marco Matterazzi headed one & it was on parity.
I don't remember much of the game till about 110 minutes, except for letting off a huge puff of relief when Serie A's top marksman Luca Toni was adjudged offside after he had netted.
By 110 minutes, the Great Zidane was mostly prowling like a caged animal. Henry, Ribery & the others had all been neutralized by the Azzuri Wall. I had never seen a team "defend" in waves till that day. It was almost as if by magic the entire Italian team would metamorphose behind their lines and thwart the first whiff of a French move. The Rhino Gattuso, The mercurial Pirlo and the Semi Final hero Grosso would try their luck from time to time. But, at the heart of Italy was the supreme centre back, il capitano Fabio Cannvaro. The slightly built defender who made short work of people a foot taller. The ensuing years taught me what I did not see then, Cannavaro was just as much a Talisman as the Great Zidane was. He was precise, he was calm and he was strong.
If memory serves me right, around the 110 minute mark, a cross found an unmarked Zidane right at the edge of the box. I have never seen a player move into a header like Zidane did. In that one instant Zidane was all purpose. As far as headers went this one was perfect. It was sinister. Except that somehow, by some maniacal power of will, Buffon flung himself vertically to get his fingertips to parry what was a certain goal.
Then came the infamous headbutt. Hypocrites may talk and talk about role models. In a flash Zidane was off. The pot had simmered long enough. Trezeguet missed his penalty to finish things off. It was painful to see Cannavaro lift the Cup of life.
It was 3 30 AM. I was crying bitter alone tears in my house. Had just got into a dirty argument with a friend who had Materazzi'd me. In that moment the frustration with life, job etc. all boiled up. More tears.
I slept with the memory of the Great Zidane unrolling the protection he wore around his wrist as he walked past the trophy. Not once did the great man look in the cup's direction.
Next day I walked into office with purpose. Headache and red eyes be damned. I would take out any bastard who spoke ill of Zidane. I was waiting for someone to make a sanctimonious comment. Then I would fuck his happiness three times over.
Got into skirmishes all day long. I used to mediate fights on MysoreSports. Today I was hunting. Some iota of ego was assuaged knowing people were not taking me on.
The day passed somehow. And then a few years passed.
I reconnected with Preetish the day WC 2010 started. I am 27 now. 2006 seems a long time away. I remember it with sadness. I remember it with much love. I believed in things back then. I am a little more cynical now. A little more hard. Its called aging. But every now & then, I indulge myself. And believe once more.
It was & remains the best worst memory of my adult life. If my bad memories end there... God Bless for that. Merci Zizou! thanks for the memories. You won.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)