A Month of Smiles and Sourpusses

Friday, Jul. 07, 2006 By BILL SAPORITO

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It finally happened. Two weeks into my world cup stay in Germany, the taciturn, inflexible, humorless country with the inedible cuisine — the one that I had been promised by so many critics — finally made an appearance. I was sitting in a beer hall in Munich and, having asked the waitress for a stein of the national brew, was met with a stare and a curt "uh-huh," the second syllable rising sharply in feminine tartness. My sin? I had left the reserved table with the place card bearing my name, since the television in front of me had ceased working and the Portugal-Netherlands match was about to commence.

Bless her for that dear little sneer. For weeks I had endured Germans with smiles locked in place for the hordes of football visitors prepared to compare the hosts, and their football team, unfavorably with their native lands; English friends, of all people, made fun of the food. Instead, we encountered hoteliers who couldn't do enough, absurdly polite cab drivers, and waiters who nodded attentively at my preschool German before deftly producing an English-language menu. And the food was fine, although that mostly had to do with the number of Italian restaurants throughout the country. Nevertheless, I got the feeling that if my beer-hall server had to explain to yet one more incredulous visitor that yes, calf's lungs are a delicious Bavarian specialty ("How interesting — I'll have the roast pork"), she was going to strangle someone with a string of sausages.

Despite that small dose of sauerkraut, there was no stopping the generous portions of euphoria, especially after Germany's quarterfinal penalty shoot-out win against Argentina, which once again sent citizens running deliriously through the streets. For this World Cup, Germany changed its football style as well as its personality, adopting new training methods brought in by its California-based coach Jürgen Klinsmann, a.k.a. Grinsi Klinsi for his uptempo, upbeat style — he almost jumped out of his shoes when Germany leveled the score with Argentina. Can't imagine Franz Beckenbauer leaping into the arms of his assistant.

So if one of the world's most famously stiff countries can undergo a complete makeover, why can't the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA)? There wasn't enough beer in the entire country to allow anyone to make sense of the Portugal-Netherlands match: a sprawling, brawling affair punctuated by absolute artistry — and four red cards distributed by Russian referee Valentin Ivanov. This wasn't the only botched match of the tournament — there was France vs. South Korea and U.S. vs. Italy — but it did underline everything splendid and sputtering about FIFA and the game it administers. First, the extraordinary skill: Maniche's slick goal; Robin van Persie sending two defenders sprawling with one deft move. And Portugal's Luís Figo, in most likely his final Cup, playing with style and determination.

Ivanov should have taken notice of the quality on the field and done everything he could to keep it there. Instead, he opened the yellow card window within the game's first five minutes, like a bank giving out toasters for new accounts. By game's end, four players were left to look on from the sidelines as if they had just lost a game of musical chairs. This is per FIFA's instructions, which conflate minor offenses with major transgressions. Result: a record number of bookings and a falling number of goals compared with other tournaments.

All of which has been noted, debated, reviewed and reviled on any of the world's jillion websites and blogs devoted to football. The last time the World Cup was staged in Europe, in France in 1998, most media weren't interested in web coverage; today, it's instantaneous and massive. Even FIFA's website lets fans see highlights of every match — including the ridiculous dive by Italy's Fabio Grosso and resulting penalty that cost Australia that game. The National Basketball Association now uses three refs to control 10 players on a much smaller playing surface than soccer's. Yet FIFA sees no reason to change the way games are refereed, or to use the technology that nearly every other major sport has employed to try to make sports as fair as possible.

Amazing that a nation like Germany — whose historical and psychological burden is deservedly weighty — can transform itself for the sake of a football tournament, with wondrous results: it's become a ridiculously happy country for the time being, and its Mannschaft has exceeded expectations. If only the game's ruling sourpusses would get that message.