The Secret Of Winning World Cups

Monday, Jul. 10, 2006

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So the 2006 World Cup ends in a nail-biter of a match that either side could have won several times in regular and extra-time — but wound up leaving to the furies of chance in that agonizing trial known as the shootout. Though the France fan in me wants to note how dominating and impressive the French played all through the second half and extra periods; suggest there is some sort of footballing morality that argue les Bleus actually won in spirit even if the Italians walked off with the material Cup.

But the fan of the broader game in me knows that would be missing the point. At 8 PM, the whistle was blown and the game was played. It went into extra time, Zidane stunned the planet by blowing one of the most lamentably-timed fuses in the most inexcusable of ways, and 10 minutes picture perfect, and that's all that matters. Bravo Italy — you won the game that needed to won at the time and date given to determine who would be World Champ.

And that, to some degree, was the sub-theme of this entire Cup. Sure, many of the group round matches featured disappointing levels of play, cynical energy conservation by players and coaches, and some of the worst refereeing seen in such abundance at this elite level. Still, in the end, each and every team that eventually moved ahead had to do more than just turn up and play the gig or schlep along until some internal logic of odds or reputations handed them the three points.

Whether they looked like champs or chumps, each that wanted — and managed — to move into the "Money Time" knockout round still had to come out on top at the final whistle, and just find a way to get a result no matter what mighty or miserable effort that took. Perhaps no team did that better than Italy.

The Azzurri sleep walked through the group round — witness the gob-smacking tie in their Stupid-Fest match with Team USA — but they still won their group, then used the advantage gained from that to the max in knockout round. So what if they barely eeked through their listless quarter final match against Australia — winning only on a highly questionable penalty awarded and scored in the last possible second of extra time? They made it through where the deserving Aussies didn't, then rebounded off that dismal match to play far the best play of this Cup — and of any match or tournament within memory — in their semi-final victory over Germany.

After dominating the first half of their final, the Italians looked by turns tired, worried, rattled, then determined to rely on their marvelous defensive talents, and just let the French keep coming. By the end — even up a man after their physical play and defensive harassment had clearly raised Zidane's frustration level so high that all it took was a razzing by Marco Materazzi to make him explode — the Italians had clearly decided to take the match to the shoot out. Despite the Squadra's history of catastrophic failure, this time they knew it was theirs, and intelligently worked to get themselves to that mission they felt certain of fulfilling. Confident team; smart footballers.

Ask French coach Raymond Domenech if he feels there's a moral victory in his side having controlled the final from the second half on. Think he feels any better that France would have won the final if football (like boxing) was decided by points rather than penalties? Not a chance: he knows the game is played as it was in Berlin — a game Italy triumphed in. "If I could be happy by playing well in a losing match, it would have to come from some peculiar French attitude," a crestfallen Domenech said after the final — noting how earlier generations of French Champions (above all those from the 1998 and 2000 squads) learned the "culture of winning" by playing pro ball in Italy. "We played the match we planned to, and dominated much of the game. But that wasn't enough to beat the Italians tonight, and in football, only victory is beautiful."

In the final, perhaps, but the other lessons of this Cup seem to suggest that the manner in which teams win — or lose — can also determine the beauty of a side. Brazil's game, for example, never got past the cute stage to show us that stunner beauty we all now expect from it. The result: it went out in the quarter finals when France got gussied-up and stayed that way for the remainder of the tournament. Ditto England, who continued to dress drab and sleep in late for most of its sluggish tournament, and was then undone by a Portuguese team whose striking natural loveliness began to repel many admirers when it was used to try to seduce referees with gaudy displays of simulation.

And let's not forget countries like the Ivory Coast, Ukraine, and above all Australia — relative neophytes to the World Club cat walk — all of whom have the stuff to become top models of the game before long. And what about Germany — a team whose attractive, youthful profile and seemingly tireless smile made it a darling that no one could resist even after it had lost. And the attitude of that side also reflected the 80 million faces one saw in normal, helpful, elated Germans across the country all month long.

So while Domenech has a point about winning being the only real reflection of beauty — no matter how much more alluring or even stunning a loser's match might have been (or not) compared to the eventual winners — this World Cup was a reminder that up till that last step, there are a lot of different ways of trying to look good.

Just how beautiful those varying efforts are early on will still almost always be in the eyes of teams' beholding fans. And this Cup showed there will always be some looker out there to satisfy any taste.