NONSENSE and MAGIC: (part One)

From the backstreets slums of Naples to the sun-drenched beaches of Rio a world awaited in breathless excitement the naming of the sixteen squads. It was a globally co-ordinated announcement across the planet with vast crowds gathered to watch spellbound on huge monitors in every major city of the competing nations.

At a precise moment the names would appear to end months of arguments and wild-fire speculation. It was to be a footballing fiesta like no other. A time of magic and wonder, of broken hearts, happiness, glory and despair. A priceless cast unhindered by the ravages of age upon even death itself. For when dreams collide with imagination anything is possible.

This is the story of the greatest world cup never played.

ARGENTINA:
To no one's real surprise it was Diego Armando Maradona who lit the opening flames of controversy that were soon to engulf the greatest world cup never played. Named as Argentina's vice captain by manager Cesar Menotti to Alfredo di Stefano, Maradona could not help himself when asked by an Argentine journalist if he considered Brazil as their most dangerous rival?'

'No circus is complete without its clowns', he joked. ''I am sure they will put smiles on people's faces then get knocked out and go home moaning'. The laughter that filled the room regarding Diego Maradona's comments was not shared by his Captain Afredo di Stefano who sat alongside glaring stern-faced at his compadre.

Deep down di Stefano was hurt that Maradona was utterly adored by the Argentine people, whilst himself though respected and lauded with plaudits could never aspire to the heights in which the kid born in the slum hell-hole of Villa Fiorito was held. He understood fully that in Argentina Maradona was a law unto himself.
Even di Stefano the great 'white arrow', the Generalissimo' of Madrid who ruled over the imperious Real Madrid dressing room knew it was unwise to pick a fight with 'El Pibe de Oro' 'Golden boy'.

So it was di Stefano spoke to try and ease the possible damage caused by Maradona's ill judged words about Brazil. 'I am sure I speak for Diego when I say that we both have huge respect for the Brazilians and their wonderful players'. Maradona simply smiled and winked at reporters.

When asked to reply he exclaimed, 'Hey, who am I to disagree with the great Alfredo'? Di Stefano offered him yet another of his stone faced looks. 'Next question'
he said.

BRAZIL:
The veteran coach Mario Zagola knew he was fighting a losing war against the rising tidal waves of euphoria sweeping across Brazil. Before a ball had been kicked in Italy the trophy it seemed was already won. Handed them by a fanciable notion that such was the wealth of attacking prowess in their squad the Brazilians were unbeatable. How could they possibly fail with the flair and guile of Pele, Jairzinho, Garrincha, Ronaldinho, Romario and Zico?

Though quietly confident Zagola was under no illusions that many ambushes lay in wait for his team. It would take more than all-out attack to triumph, Brazil's Achilles heel had always been in defence, the eternal thorn in their shoe. Despite a heavenly bundle of riches elsewhere the coach could not ignore this and speaking of the problem Zagola mused, 'just because you buy the most tickets does not necessarily mean you win the lottery'.

Mario Zagalo was ready to risk the mobs' wrath by unveiling a tactical system that would cause utter despair amongst his countrymen but one deemed absolutely necessary for the task ahead. A calculated gamble that would either end with Zagalo being granted immortality status and his statue placed next to Christ the Redeemer that towers heavenly over Rio. Or they would lynch him.

ITALY:
The pragmatic, wretched Catenaccio approach that has cursed Italian football since time immortal was set to be thrown aside in truly astonishingly style by Azzurri coach Marcello Lippi. Whilst his Brazilian counterpart Mario Zagalo contemplated the unthinkable by adapting a more defensive outlook, Lippi was also set to go against type by ridding Italy of their traditional over-cautious style and launching an all-out assault to win the cup on home soil.

His was a team of Captains. Zoff, Baresi, Maldini, Riva and Rivera. Lippi was also blessed with a very special and extravagantly gifted Father and son partnership, Valentine and Sandro Mazzola. With being made host the Italians had already been granted footballing heaven on earth, though such was human nature they demanded more. Anything less than wining the tournament would be deemed a lamentable failure.

But there was good reason to feel optimistic for the Azzurri were primed, in good health and most surprisingly ready to attack!

ENGLAND:
If medals were ever handed out for unbridled fervour and patriotism then England manager Bobby Robson would already have had a hatful pinned upon his chest. Though a surprising and even controversial choice over the more successful Alf Ramsey, Robson soon dispelled any doubts regarding his capacity to lead the 'three lions' to everlasting glory in Italy with a series of rousing speeches at his initial press conferences.

'Why should we worry about other countries when you look at our players'? We are England, Moore, Charlton, Gascoigne, Edwards and Shearer. Let the world worry about us'. The manager's sheer exuberance for the task ahead was a godsend to newspaper editors and he swiftly found himself wrapped in the Saint George flag. The legendary war-time words of Winston Churchill were given a modern make-over with a little roguish tinkering and headlined onto posters of the squad that lay draped over every possible vantage point across England. 'Never before had so much been expected by so few':

It came as little surprises that of the twenty two players chosen for the tournament the main focus of media hysteria was a young Geordie whose natural ability bore easy comparison with any Englishman that had gone before. Paul Gascoigne was quite simply a footballing genius. This allied with his many bizarre off-field antics fuelled mostly by alcohol was all rolled into one madcap package nicely labelled as 'Gazza'. Adored by English supporters as one of their own Gazza went along with every madcap stunt dreamed up by the tabloids.

Then there was the ageless Stanley Matthews whho was still turning defenders inside out, back to front at a whim when Bobby Robson confirmed him as a member of his squad. Matthews was deemed as England's elder statesman by the media. For 'Sir Stanley', as he was reverently referred to by both players and fans stood for all that was good in a game that had long since lost any inclination of innocence. A throwback to a far gone age. As men Gascoigne and Matthews differed from black to white but both shared one all consuming passion.

The three lions on their chest.

It was true that an aged old arrogance from empire past still held strong but for once the English had reason to feel that their team was equal to any other. 'We are England', exclaimed Bobby Robson.

HUNGARY:
Once upon a time they were a secret but not anymore. It was an early May summer's evening in Budapest and the Hungarian coach Gustav Sebes was deep in thought as he strolled along the banks of the Blue Danube, pondering events set to unfurl on Italian soil. The legendary 'Magical Magyar' era of invincibility that peaked at Wembley with their stunning 6-3 master class over England and finished in bewilderment and disaster against the Germans in the world cup final a year later remained the defining period for Hungarian football.

Gustav Sebes was a perceptive coach of the highest order whose tactical ruse of having his Centre-forward Nandor Hidegkuti drop just ten yards deep on that famous fog strewn Wembley afternoon so confused the English that it was to be the catalyst for the ensuing massacre which occurred. Back then they exploded from behind the dark veil of the Iron Curtain to cause havoc and a sense of wonder. They were truly a Golden crop, a Magyar harvest.

Once more united by their flag they had gathered to conquer the world and this time around planned on a happy ending. Hungarian captain Ferenc Puskas spoke for the all concerned when asked by a reporter what he expected from his team given this unexpected chance of redemption? 'Victory', he declared in typically brash style. It had been a long time but the 'Galloping Major' and his 'Mighty Magyars' were back!

HOLLAND:
If any nation on the planet possessed a tendency to shoot itself in the head when victory appeared certain then it was the Dutch. Their inexplicable ability to self-destruct at major tournaments in an inner circle of feuding over money and petty jealousies bordered on the obscene. All this from a land of just two million people that has flowered some of the game's finest ever footballers. Johan Cruyff, Johan Neeskens, Ruud Gullitt and Denis Bergkamp.

But it appeared with every blessing came a curse, one fated to eternally torture the Netherlands. There was only one man capable of bringing harmony to where there had always been chaos. They called him the 'General'. Rinus Michels had on past occasions come closer than anyone in winning the World Cup for Holland. Michel's authoritarian attitude would have failed dismally in dealing with the huge egos of his world class superstars if it was not for outstanding qualities both as a coach and human being.

Through their ground breaking standards of coaching the Dutch produced an overwhelming abundance of talent. With the genius of Cruyff and Neeskens excelling amidst a whirl of fast moving orange shirts the Dutch were virtually impossible to halt in full flow.

Michels had a favourite saying that summed up his entire footballing philosophy: 'Football is war'. The Netherlands were going into battle and their General was back to lead them. This tiny land of technically perfect footballers seemingly born with an arrogance of expectant supermen believed victory in Italy was to be their destiny.

GERMANY:
'The tired old adage of 'never underestimate the Germans', was for once deemed redundant as their mighty squad was unveiled to a feverish nation gripped by world cup fever. The coaching hierarchy of Sepp Herberger and Helmut Schoen had always been men of few words preferring instead to let their many achievements speak for them.

But even they found it hard to dull huge German optimism when quizzed by expectant journalists of their chances in the forthcoming competition?' When I look around there is no team stronger', Claimed Schoen. Not always had Germany received the acclaim their superb efforts deserved with many insisting they lacked the true artistry and guile of genuine world champions.

But this time round with Bernd Schuster, Gunther Netzer, Karl Heinze Rummenigge, Jurgen Klinnsman, Gerd Muller and the majestic Franz Beckenbeuer in their line-up Germany were going into a tournament not just to win a trophy but maybe a few hearts also. Sepp Herberger and Helmut Schoen together had already pulled off the 'Miracle of Berne', what price another in Rome?

FRANCE:
The French coach Michel Hidalgo believed implicitly in the Beautiful game. Here was one of football's great romantics. Not for Hidalgo the technical strangulation of 4-5-1, with muscle bound athletes masquerading as footballers. His was a field of dreams where players were artists free to express themselves. Whilst many admired Michel Hidalgo's bold philosophy others feared the worst.

The critics claimed such tactics were simply naïve and that France would pay dearly for their folly by being overrun in midfield on Italy's playing fields.When questioned the coach refuted all arguments that this pure football approach could end in disaster. An unusually agitated Hidalgo argued his corner with all the ferocity of a cornered tiger as he spoke passionately to the doubters.

'What is this game of ours without beauty'? When you have wonderful painters who can create magic on a canvas why restrict them to writing street signs? We have been handed an opportunity to partake in this most blessed of competitions. Yet in a tournament for footballing gods you would have France perform as beggars at a king's banquet'?

Michel Hidalgo made ready his plans and silently prayed that his field of dreams would not crash and burn into fields of fire.

PORTUGAL:
Jose Mourinho was under no illusion that this invitation to the king of king's celebration was a mere stepping stone, an opportunity to create for himself a place amongst football's immortals. A new kid on the block maybe but a special one nonetheless.

In Portugal public opinion verged towards a mere show of respectability by their team nothing more. All except the coach for he secretly felt given the right draw and a slice of good fortune the Portuguese could well break the hearts of a few so-called favourites. To upset the established order Mourinho would go against his naturally defensive instincts and build a team around one player.

A man of myths, one of that very few blessed with the power to make dreams real. Eusebio da silva Ferreira. Or simply Eusebio. Without doubt the finest footballer ever to adorn the Portuguese shirt Eusebio possessed blistering pace and a thunderous right foot shot that could flatten a brick wall.

When asked on how he rated his side's chances against much more fancied opposition Jose Mourinho replied: 'We are underdogs so let them underestimate us. For make no mistake we can bite and we can hurt. In one word I can tell you why we can win this trophy'? After a short pause for dramatic effect the self-appointed 'special one' proclaimed:
'Eusebio'.

For once Mourinho happy to keep it short!

SCOTLAND:
For a land so diminutive in size few nations possessed the heart or capacity to dream like the Scots. Theirs was a vision of jinking wingers creating bedlam, of flowing football allied with granite defending. Last gasp stands fighting against the dying of what appeared a forever, flickering, faraway light. It was to be a man from Govan chosen to end this torment. Alex Ferguson always made a point of referring to his fellow compatriots as the 'Master race'.

Though said mostly in jest Ferguson had in mind a remarkably strong line-up capable on their day of giving anybody a beating. Arguably the greatest club manager of all time, Ferguson's best traits were his passion and a magnificent ability to build teams that simply refused to be beaten. He now faced his greatest task. Whilst Alex Ferguson would ensure his team played with fire and determination on the pitch, off it the Tartan Army would perform equally so.

Scotland were nobody's favourites to win the Greatest World Cup Never played, but woe betide any who underestimated them.

CAMEROON:
An invitation unexpected maybe but one gladly accepted. For Cameroon travelled to Italy representing not just their nation but Africa. A poverty stricken, war ravaged continent, but one united in their dream of a miraculous triumph for the 'Indomitable Lions'.

Cameroon's place in the finals was viewed as just reward for their bravura performances in Italia 90.Two unforgettable occasions, firstly an unlikely opening day victory over world champions Argentina and a last, gasp quarter-final defeat against an extremely lucky England. Written alongside these classic matches would be forever etched the name of one man. The remarkably ageless Roger Milla.

Across Africa a new sense of hope was beginning to flower as the seeds of a new dawn cast light over countries which for decades had known nothing but darkness. It was a phenomenon. The kalashnikovs were being laid down in favour of following the Cameroon. Embittered rivals whom had slaughtered each other for decades declared ceasefires.Truces were brokered in even the fiercest of war zones.

To show solidarity with their African brothers a map of the continent was stitched onto the Lion's shirts next to their own national badge. It was more than a symbol it was an act of intent by the Cameroon.

PERU:
Whilst never proven Peru's dreadful 6-0 surrender to Argentina in the 1978 World Cup finals remained forever a dark stain upon their footballing integrity.Did the Peruvians accept bribes off the Argentine military Junta to throw the match and allow the host nation an easy passage into the final and ultimate victory? It was to be a helping hand from above that offered the Peruvians an opportunity to end to such talk and allow them to regain honour on a football pitch.

An invitation laced with the almost inevitable certainty that somewhere along the way lay another encounter against their much vaunted South American cousins and destiny. Only then could the matter be laid to rest. The team spokesman Hector Chumpitaz denied vehemently any suggestions they would be playing for redemption but did admit the pain of the Rosario massacre still cut deep.

'A light went out that night in Peruvian football', spoke a clearly emotional Chumpitaz. 'In the Greatest World Cup never played we intend to switch it back on'.

Though unsaid it was to be all about redemption.

URUGUAY:
Through sheer weight of history Uruguay took their place amongst rivals that maybe dwarfed them in seize but when it came to achievement were mere pygmies in comparison. The Uruguayans have a word that literally sums up their footballing philosophy. Garra. It means 'to stand tall and never admit defeat'. No more than in 1950 when on Brazilian soil at the Maracana stadium in front of 200,000 fanatical supporters they caused the greatest World Cup upset of all time to steal the trophy 2-1, causing national mourning and several suicides in doing so.

On that momentous day Uruguay's legendary Captain Obdulio Varela played himself into the games immortals with an inspirational performance of leadership, technical brilliance but above all a staggering amount of Garra.Whilst nobody argued with their inclusion few dared suggest Varela and his team were potential winners but with attackers of the highest calibre in Juan Schiaffino and Enzo Francescoli they would prove a wild card that demanded respect.

A decent hand maybe but one not capable of going a long way before it was finally called.

But in Montevideo they believed in miracles for their team had already turned water into wine at the Maracana! If a third was to be had in Italy then God, lady luck and a never before witnessed dose of Garra would be needed. Outnumbered, outgunned but never beaten. This was Uruguay.

DENMARK:
From the birthplace of Hans Christian Anderson came a team well accustomed to making fairy tales come true. In 1992 Denmark won the European championships after originally failing to qualify. It was only when the former Yugoslavia imploded into a savaged civil war that the Danes were summoned off their summer holidays to partake in Sweden.

What happened next proved astonishing because even without any tactical or physical pre-tournament preparations they managed to battle their way through to the final where on the greatest night in Danish football history the fairytale received the perfect ending with a 2-0 victory over Germany. Now once more they had been handed the opportunity to live happily ever after.

It could easily be argued that in their Captain Peter Schmeichel the Danes had the best keeper in the entire competition. With his huge presence and uncanny knack of making the goal appear the size of a subbuteo net for opposing players Schemichel was in a class of his own. If by some crazy miracle that even Hans Christian Anderson could never have dreamt of Denmark did again triumph then the one whom Manchester United fans once lovingly referred to as their 'Mad Dane' would undoubtedly play a great part.

In reality it was all the stuff of dreams considering the calibre of opposition to be faced in Italy. But in the Greatest World Cup never played who was to say that fairy tales could not come true?

RUSSIA:
One last time the Russians were coming!

As was ever the case few dared to predict what to expect from a nation that had horribly underachieved given its size and wealth of talent it once had to chose from. There was only one man deemed capable of finally showing the world that Russian football could finally compete at this most prestigious of levels. Where to error would be punished before one thought to breathe and genius was not rarity but common place.

The legendary Dynamo Kiev and one time national coach Valeri Lobanovski. This sly old fox had looked at the quality of opposition and realised very rapidly that if Russia was to stand any chance of progressing in the competition then they must lure teams in and ignite on the break! Luckily for the Russians their coach had few equals when it came to preparing teams to play in this manner. Because of a tremendous confidence in the quality of his own team a part of Lobanovski wished only to attack with all guns blazing, but he was far too shrewd to attempt this knowing it could only result in footballing suicide.

Instead Lobanovksi had decided there was more than one way to skin a cat, especially those so large and with many teeth. It would be hit and run. There were no better exponents at this tactic than Russia's explosive twin strike force of Oleg Blokhin and Eduardo Streltsov. Both forwards were exceptionally fast, perceptive to the point of genius and perhaps most importantly they rarely missed.

Then there was the man in black!
The legendary goalkeeper Lev Yachin was to be integral in Russia's master plan to ambush the great and good. Yachin's masterful sense of positioning and immaculate handling on crosses meant his ability to begin attack with quick kicks and throw ins were invaluable.

Valeri Lobanovski was determined to prove there was still life in the Russian bear.

SPAIN:
Dark horses so many times but forever sent home as lame donkeys. For a nation that had given birth to an abundance of gifted footballers Spain's world cup record bordered on the criminally negligent. A land made up of fiercely independent regions who hated each others guts never bade well for international success. For it was a unity in shirts only.

The man chosen to bring success and harmony where there had only ever been contempt and failure was Miguel Munoz. A Real Madrid legend both as Captain and coach. Munoz won the European Cup four times, twice on the field and two more from the dugout. He had also managed the national side on two separate occasions taking them to respectable quarter final berths each time and this by Spain's wretched standards amounted to an unqualified success!

It came as no surprise that Miguel Munoz's appointment was greeted outside Madrid with all the warmth of a snarling wolf in a crèche. Early signs were hardly promising as he dropped hints of his team requiring a 'Strong club mentality'. Immediately in Barcelona and across Spain where Real Madrid were equally despised the talk was of eleven Madrilenos masquerading in red and yellow. But Munoz would surprise them all!

He was certain that if Spain were to stand half a chance of competing in Italy then character, courage and sheer heart for a fight would be required in huge doses.
Nowhere more could this be found then in the northern mountains of the Basque and his decision to hand Athletico's legendary defender Jesus Garay the national arm band of Captain was warmly appreciated. A similar nod was made towards the stupendously talented play-maker Luis Suarez of Barca folklore whom Munoz would compliment:' Spanish football has been enriched by some truly heaven sent players, but none better than Luis Suarez'.

Suddenly in Catalonia where the mere mention of Real Madrid was spat out never spoken Miguel Munoz was being seen as a decent man who just maybe could unite the warring tribes. This alone meant Munoz had already won one major battle, but as for what was to unfurl in Italy, dark horse or lame donkeys?

Few expected anything different.

SO IT BEGINS!

John Ludden
Cfieldsoffire@aol.com