Euro 2008 – looking in from the outside…

So how was it for you?

For most fans of the home nations, Euro 2008 was no doubt a very different experience to the norm (be that the England fans used to qualifying, or fans from elsewhere in our sceptred isle used to willing the English to lose).

This, we were told, was to be a tournament for the football purist, without any of the added stress of following your own country’s fortunes. No unrealistic hopes inevitably dashed. If a game’s boring, turn it off. Switch allegiance at half time if you think a team you didn’t fancy at first deserve your support.

The last time England failed to qualify for one of the major tournos was USA 1994. My first son was just a couple of weeks old then, so I’d always known that would be a tournament viewed almost exclusively in my living room ‘en famille’, regurgitated milk sliding slowly down my shirt front, countered by the antiseptic odour of baby wipes.

Since then it’s been mostly pub visits or raucous gatherings of friends for most of the big games, or in the case of Euro 2004, a trip to the event itself (Click Here). Somehow, that just didn’t seem appropriate this time (the pub visits that is…I made several abortive trips to UEFA’s website over the months in a bid to secure tickets).

So the living room it was, with the benefits of a well-stocked beer fridge and a new-ish flat screen bigger than anything I’d ever viewed a major sporting event on before (at home, that is). And despite the relative cynicism I’d expressed about the event on these very pages only last month (Click Here)... I was really looking forward to it.

Before the big kick off, the kids nailed their colours very firmly to the Dutch mast, admirably ignoring the front cover of a 442 magazine lying round the house which boldly proclaimed “The Death of Total Football – why Holland won’t win and won’t be worth watching”. This, of course, meant they demanded to be kitted out in Dutch shirts…more moolah in the Nike kitty, and dad musing that though the change kit was aesthetically pleasing (a fetching pale blue with red / white / blue national flag horizontal band), just how often do the Oranje have to change due to a colour clash?

The wife and I chose simply to follow the teams playing the beautiful game the most beautifully…the caveat from the missus being that she would also seek out the beautiful game being played beautifully by beautiful men.

Euro 2008 – the football

For all the build up…it took me a few days to really get into the event. I just couldn’t bring myself to disrupt my normal routine, to drop everything, for many of the first round of games. Indeed it wasn’t until game 6, Italy vs Holland, that I consciously set an evening aside for “the match”. My timing couldn’t have been better. After the yawnathon that was France vs Romania earlier that evening, this one was a gem.

The game got just the start it needed in the shape of an early Dutch goal. Startled, the Italians tried manfully to break away from their catenaccio instincts…only to see the enterprising Dutch counter-attack them to shreds, with one man long since discarded by the Prem (Giovanni van Bronckhorst) and another much derided in it (Dirk Kuyt) showing the flexibility of van Basten’s 4-2-3-1 formation, in which full backs and attacking wide men alike can prove impossible to contain.

It wasn’t quite total football, but it was compelling nonetheless, as the reigning World Champs were rolled over by a team unfancied even by their own fans and players before the tournament began.

Euro 2008 then enjoyed a golden few days as Spain for once lived up to their reputations in demolishing Russia…lightning failed to strike twice for the workmanlike Greeks…but did strike twice for the Dutch as they battered the French into submission with another display of counter-attacking zeal…Croatia outclassed the Germans…Portugal continued to excel…and Buffon broke Mutu’s heart…

At this stage, I couldn’t help but think that bar the hapless joint hosts, and possibly the past their sell by date Greeks, England wouldn’t have been able to live with one team in this tournament. As a friend commented sagely, “we’ve been found out without even being there…”

Meanwhile, the TV schedulers, who knew they’d be in for a battering after signing an agreement pre-home nation failure which committed them to showing all games on their main channels rather than digital offspring, breathed a sigh of relief. Those who, at such times, always complain about the News or Eastenders being moved no doubt acted in type, but at least real football fans were realising this was a tournament worth tuning in for.

The last round of group games brought about its inevitable dramas, such as the arrival of Arshavin (a tabloid writer’s dream name, natch), a defeated Raymond Domenech’s bizarre on-air proposal to his fiancée, and best of all, the Turks’ stupendous comeback against the Czechs…a game in which Petr Cech tarnished his once unsullied rep just a tad more, and I allowed myself my first mid-game switch of allegiance just after half time as it became clear one team was happy to sit on a lead, and the other would do everything in their power and more to overturn it.

At Euro 2004, the cautious begun to overtake the cavalier once the knock out stages arrived. Not so here. The quarter finals were full of surprises. Many predicted Spain to falter and the Italians to come strong, but it wasn’t to be. The previously magical Dutch couldn’t cope with a post-suspension Arshavin making up for lost time. The by now much fancied Croats were sensationally mugged by the amazing Turks. And the Germans deservedly (yes, deservedly) put out the much fancied Portugal.

With a semi-final line up of Germany vs Turkey and Spain vs Russia, we knew we’d be in for a Final that would present a contrast of styles, artists against artisans. And in a Hollywood ending, the artists triumphed.

Euro 2008 on the box

So, what thoughts crossed our collective conscience as this “feast of football” (copyright every football PR spin doctor ever) unfurled in front of our eyes?

Well to be honest, such was the entertainment on offer, there was less need than is often the case to get distracted by weighing up the pros and cons of the pundits & commentators. But let’s face it, we had to do just a bit of that…

Half way through the tourno, Motty let it be known he wouldn’t be hanging around for the next World Cup lest the nation’s abiding memories were of him “being past his best”. Two decades too late for that, my son!

He set the tone for his anti-climactical swansong at the Spain vs Italy quarter final when failing to spot the best player of the last decade when the camera zoomed in on a beaming Zizou sat next to Arsene Wenger. “And there’s Arsene Wenger…” he informed us. Silence. The camera stayed doggedly fixed on the gallic maestros. A nation waited, sub-consciously mouthing the words “sitting with his countryman Zinedine Zidane, a winner with the French at Euro 2000”. More silence. Surely a director is bellowing in his ear, “Motty, it’s Zidane, you prick!!!!” The camera crew & director eventually cut back to the preparations for the game, with viewers in every other nation no doubt listening to their main man gushing about the greatest Algerian of them all.

Motty resembled a half cut aged relative at a wedding, tripping over his words, failing to recognise people, and constantly asking his minder Lawrenson what was going on. Even Lawro’s patience was frequently tried as The Motster habitually failed to take on board his sidekick’s punditry, only to repeat it near-verbatim minutes later, dressed up as his own words of wisdom.

After the Final, Lineker spared us a eulogy to the greatness of Motty, and the “backroom boys” clearly hadn’t been charged with rounding up a series of clips of his greatest hits (Ronnie Radford, the report in the snow that introduced the sheepskin, zzzzzzzz……). A brief mention was made of his having “played a blinder” (pass the sick bag, Alice), Hansen briefly demurred, and that was it. Motty hung up his international mic.

No doubt when the official retirement comes, we’ll get an hour long peak time special about this ”national treasure”, with the normal line up of talking heads (hello Arthur Smith) paying homage to Barnet’s most famous son. No one will dare mention that Wolstenholme’s “some people are on the pitch” was pure spur of the moment stuff, ditto Barry Davies with “look at his face – just look at his face!” or “and where were the Germans? Frankly, who cares…” – whilst Motty’s most famous moment “the Crazy Gang have beaten the Culture Club” had clearly been scripted moments after the semi-final victors were known.

Messrs Pearce, Wilson and Mowbray chose not to circle around the carcass, but instead all chose to play a very straight BBC bat. The succession, when it comes, will be a relief…unless THE BBC POACHES CLIVE TYLDESLEY FROM ITV, AND IN HIS EXCITEMENT HE JUST KEEPS SHOUTING LOUDER AND LOUDER AND LOUDER….MOSTLY ABOUT CRISTIAAAANO RONAAALLLDDDOOOO!!!!!!!!”

Talking of ITV…who’s this bloke dressed in sports casual who’s wandered in from the pub and is making like lead pundit, acting all pally with the Prem gaffers? What’s that? Andy Townsend…? Never heard of him. Oh and Steve Rider. Blandness personified. Long groomed by the Beeb as Bough’s successor, he could do with a Frank-like hookers & charlie scandal to raise us all from our comatose states during his broadcasts.

ITV’s regulars lack the playing CV of any of the Beeb’s core team  or the ‘eye candy’ factor that must have secured babbling buffoon Jamie Redknapp his Sky contract, and all Andy T’s ubiquitousness achieves is to serve as a reminder that ITV’s budget for football is pitiful. With the number of games to which they have rights about to spiral, rumour has it they tried, without success, to steal ‘everyman front man’ Adrian Chiles from the Beeb. So maybe Rider and Matt Smith aren’t seen as up to the job? Should’ve thought of that before pissing off Gabby…

As for the rest…well when I discovered a friend’s 7 year old plays for a local team managed by Peter Drury, and that the ITV commentator writes hugely entertaining match reports for his kids and their parents after every game, I found myself appreciating him as much as I had in his 5 Live days…Marcel Desailly, great player, but did his on-pitch chats with ‘Stubbsy’ (good for little other than Sport Relief high jinks) really add anything to the proceedings?...I’m still in a minority when it comes to David Pleat, but whilst on ITV he does admittedly dumb down from his 5 Live ramblings, I still believe he offers more insight to us amateurs than most other pundits, and me, I find the mispronunciations entertaining…and the channels can share the ‘Pundit Who Should Be Summarily Dismissed For Crimes Against Broadcasting’ for inflicting Messrs Bright & Beglin on us time and again…

Euro 2008 – goalfood’s team of the tournament

Casillas
Bosingwa / Marchena / Puyol / van Bronckhorst
Senna
Modric / Fabregas / Sneijder
Arshavin
Torres

Subs: Buffon, Lahm, Ballack, Ronaldo, Pavlyuchenko

Manager: Slaven Bilic

Key to our team is our player of the tournament, Marcos Senna. He played what is now known to all in the UK as “the Makelele role” to perfection – and frankly, with far more vision and flair than Makelele himself has ever offered.

Senna’s holding midfielder masterclass meant we had no qualms including all three of our favourite playmakers in the team: Croatia’s Modric (Spurs fans must be licking their lips), Fabregas (Spain’s super sub), and Dutch dynamo Sneijder.

With these three given license to roam and create in the middle, the width is provided by the tourno’s two most exciting overlapping full backs in new Chelsea recruit Bosingwa, and an old favourite of goalfood’s in Gio van Bronckhorst.

With such attack-minded full backs, you need a rock solid defence. In the face of some stiff competition, we opted for the ‘keeper and centre back pairing from the victorious Spanish side. Why? Because when it counted, in all three of their knock-out stage games against heavyweight opposition, they kept clean sheets.

Finally, our strike force….and despite disappointing in the semi final, we felt Arshavin had to be included, playing as a deep lying striker. This is why we opted for Torres over his compatriot Villa, due to his great work ethic.

The subs bench allows us to keep the same system. Lahm was the other obvious contender as an overlapping full back…Pavlyuchenko is an obvious striking alternative…and though neither dominated the tournament as maybe they could / should have, we felt Messrs Ballack & Ronaldo both showed their class, and have the adaptability as well as the ability to fit into our free-flowing, (ahem) total football pattern.

There were numerous contenders to manage the team, as so many gaffers did their reputations a power of good at Euro 2008. 
For all Aragones achieved in turning the perennial under-achievers into champs, we couldn’t have a racist codger at the controls.
Fatih Terim proved a master motivator, Hiddink was as ever the great tactician, and van Basten answered his many pre-tournament critics where it mattered, on the pitch. All three fell just short.
Our man, though, has to be Steve McLaren’s nemesis, Slaven Bilic. The multi-lingual part time rock star behaved on the touchline as you or I would if we suddenly found ourselves not only in charge of the national team, but defying the odds again & again.
What’s more, he looked like a bug-eyed E-monster, who’d come straight off the dancefloor at Shelley’s or Shoom and been forced to squeeze into an ill-fitting suit for a family wedding, still buzzing. Slaven Bilic – right on one matey.