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Every 24 hours our planet performs a turn and each time that happens someone, somewhere, marks off another day. There are now just 10 to tick off.
The FIFA World Cup, being the greatest show on earth, would be nothing more than a hackneyed cliché if it weren’t so true.
Let me get a few numbers out of the way early. The quadrennial festival of football has been attended by between 1.5 million and 3.6 million spectators at every tournament, in locations spanning five continents, since 1966.
For Germany 2006, the cumulative viewing figure was estimated to be 26.29 billion. Even the draw for that tournament, a televisual occasion where the only balls in play were those drawn from pots by ageing men in suits, dragged 300 million people to screens. FIFA estimated that one billion individuals watched the 2010 final, a seventh of the entire population of the planet.
While those numbers are jaw dropping, the meaning of the World Cup can’t be quantified by pie graphs and viewing polls. The tournament’s essence is in the expression, through a pursuit which is both athletic and poetic, of sheer human emotion. Emotions felt by all of us are on display: redemption, joy, agony and so much more in between.
Redemption
At France in 1998 a young petulant David Beckham kicked out at Diego Simeone of Argentina, earning a red card which forced England to play out the match with 10 men before being eliminated from the tournament on penalties. The tabloids blamed Beckham for defeat and he became a national hate figure.
Four years later Beckham, now a mohawked global superstar, returned as captain and fate pitted England against Argentina in the first round of the tournament in Korea and Japan. England won a first half penalty. Beckham stepped up as the world watched in Asian primetime. Beckham scored, and it was the only goal of the game. His celebration, full of unbridled relief, showed everyone what the moment meant, four years after his effigy was hung.
Joy
The volcanic Calciopoli match-fixing scandal involving some of the biggest clubs in the Italian game – Juventus and AC Milan among them – erupted weeks before the 2006 tournament. Many affected players were in the Italian squad for Germany. Not for the first time the Italian game found itself in crisis.
The players encamped united, placing Calciopoli to one side, and went through the tournament without losing a game. They defeated Australia, Ukraine, hosts Germany and eventually France in the final. After a generation, Italy was atop the world once more. As one, millions – men and women, old and young, players and fans – celebrated wildly in the streets.
Agony
In 1990, England’s charmed run to the semi final could largely be attributed to a 23-year-old Paul Gascoigne. ‘Gazza’ was skilful, cheeky and a little naive. The English public were drawn to those traits – Gazza was fun to watch.
Locked in a tight semi final against West Germany on a steamy hot night in Turin, with his nation riding every kick, Gazza made a rash challenge on Thomas Berthold. The referee reached for his pocket. A yellow card was pulled. Gascoigne knew the ramifications – suspension from a possible final, the pinnacle of a career and a lifetime’s work and ambition.
Exuding a youthful innocence, Gazza burst into tears on the pitch. The moving scenes remain famous, and synonymous with English heartbreak. They lost the match on penalties and haven’t got to a semi-final since.
The reel of enthralling moments seems endless. Maradona’s two goals against England in 1986, Baggio’s missed penalty in 1994 and redemption four years on, Ronaldo in 2002 and Michael Owen’s famous goal against Argentina. Iran and the USA putting poisonous politics aside in 1998, Zidane’s headbutt in his last ever match, Luis Suarez’s goal-saving handball in 2010 and Spain finally prevailing in the same year.
It happens for 30 days, just one month in every 48. Humanity puts down what it is doing and watches. Heroes are made and stars are cut down. Emotions abound. A country competes at a World Cup, not just eleven men. It brings people together for beers and barbecues. The line between players and fans becomes a colourful blur. That blur makes the World Cup so alluring.
In 1998, Croatia, a young nation not long out of a war, defeated Romania and Germany on their way to finishing third. Twenty-two men made up the squad but the triumph was for a population of four million.
Who could forget South Korea in 2002, the nation a throbbing mass of red as they stunned the world by reaching the semi-final on home soil.
2006 at Federation Square in Melbourne. It was winter and I was 17. I caught the last train in to pull all-nighters for all four matches: Japan, Brazil, Croatia, Italy. I remember the city buzz, green and gold everywhere, layers of warm clothes and hanging with the homeless.
I remember killing hours of anticipation at the Golden Towers eatery in Swanston Street, a venue which never closes. Flares were lit and people were thankful for their warmth. Everyone was behind the national team. I remember the wild celebrations after Japan and Croatia – a mix of appreciation of effort and ruefulness after losing to Brazil – and the heartbreak of the Italy match. The gamut of emotions spread over 14 days. Emotions we hadn’t been able to feel together, as a nation, for 32 years.
Four years ago, after some 30 hours in transit, the first thing I heard upon walking out of OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg was the sound of a vuvuzela. The less said about those instruments the better but that initial blast captured the public mood. The tournament was all people wanted to talk about.
Flags from around the globe hung from lamp posts and hotel windows. South African football shirts were everywhere – even news readers donned the ‘Bafana Bafana’ uniform. In truth, the tournament wasn’t that great, and is well remembered now for an octopus. But that didn’t stop a growing nation, and developing continent, devouring the World Cup for what it was. The experience remains one of the best I’ve ever had.
In 2012 I was in Amman, Jordan, when their plucky team upset Australia 2-1 in a qualifier. And how they celebrated. Outside the ground cars honked, fireworks went off and locals, upon realising I was a visitor, good-naturedly banged on the side of my taxi. So packed were the streets that it took hours to reach my hostel a couple of kilometres away. And that was only a qualifier.
Qualifying, of course, is an achievement in itself. It took Australia 32 years to make a World Cup after 1974 and I feel that a lot of our citizens don’t realise what an achievement it is to have made it three times in a row. Egypt – ranked 24 in the world – missed out this time, as did Denmark, Poland, Ukraine, Paraguay, the Czech Republic and Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s Sweden. All decent football nations. Scotland, who used to be there perennially, hasn’t been to the big dance this millennium.
In 2002, the Republic of Ireland drew with Germany before Spain knocked them out in a penalty shoot-out in the Round of 16. They didn’t win the tournament, but they made it, and put up a bloody good fight. 100,000 fans came out to provide them with a heroic welcome in Dublin.
As Engel Schmidl in Soccer International magazine’s World Cup preview states:
“Football aficionados might tell you the Euro Championship showcases an overall better standard of play than the World Cup. Even more so, they will say, international football has been left far behind by the elite club football seen in the UEFA Champions League.
“These assertions might be strictly correct. But neither the Euros nor the Champions League produces the type of stories that make the World Cup so compelling to both hardcore and casual football fans worldwide… These are the stories that make people believe in the Beautiful Game: unlikely heroes, impossible victories and roller coaster rides of joy and adrenaline.”
Putting aside the crookedness of how tournament hosts are determined, international competition isn’t controlled by money to the same extent as the club game. The value of new nations discovering the game and others rallying by their side is priceless.
FIFA’s slogan of 2006, ‘A Time to Make Friends’, was a little cringe-inducing, but possessed an element of truth. Can any other event bring a population together more than a World Cup? A revolution, perhaps, but revolutions are usually bloody affairs featuring more than one side in a disagreement.
The World Cup is more than a sports event. The tournament also promotes a clash of cultures and styles. This year, for example, has drawn diverse nations such as Switzerland and Honduras together, as well as South Korea and Algeria.
The tournament acts as a marker. People remember where they were and what they were doing. Even if the football’s not exciting, the football fever is. And that unifying aspect is why the tournament is the biggest show on earth, bigger even than the Olympics.
With all due respect, only a dedicated few remember who won badminton in Barcelona and archery in Athens. Conversely, memorable World Cup moments like the ones I listed above are ingrained in a nation’s psyche. Brazil is still haunted by 1950, my Uruguayan-Australian mate has those digits tattooed on his leg. England still celebrates 1966. The Dutch rue 1974. Even Australia, now, has 2006 to refer to as its footballing watermark.
The World Cup inspires a set of quaint and familiar traditions. The office sweeps. Team anthems. Sticker books and wall charts to fill. Some bottle shops sell a beer from all 32 competing nations – even Iran is represented. The adoption of a second team – curiously, in the days when Australia failed to qualify, many of us chose England, perhaps seeing something of ourselves in the Poms.
And then there is the abundance of preview magazines, publications which, in the pre-internet age and before cable-TV gave saturated football coverage, made some teams with their unfamiliar heroes appear exotic. There is something satisfyingly retro about them now. A throwback commemorative item if ever there was one.
Australia will be the lowest ranked nation in Brazil and negativity surrounds our chances. That lack of hope doesn’t mean we should lose our humour, however, and a hilariously glass-full, fan-driven Facebook page, Positive Socceroos Facts, has gained over 12,000 followers in under a fortnight.
One fan posted: “Josh Kennedy and Jesus have never been seen in the same room together”. Regardless of how hopeless our chances seem, there are only 10 days now before the world will be riveted by the biggest and best month in sport.
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