It’s hard to have butterflies in your stomach ‘early’ on a Friday morning, but the 11th of June 2010 will forever be remembered as the day when Africa finally got to host its very own World Cup (with a sentence like this, no wonder its hard to get excited…) Amidst the incessant vuvuzela ruckus, South African and Mexcio kicked-off (is there a more suitable analogy here?) the 2010 Word Cup.
Inaugurating games are only exciting for what they are: inaugurating. No titanic clashes, no world domination schemes, no streakers, no Messi, no presidents, just vuvuzelas. Needless to say, the stakes tetanises the South Africans who have a hard time keeping their feet on the ball against the technical Mexicans. Unsurprisingly the Central Americans are the first ones to be dangerous with an erratic Giovanni Dos Santos and his barely wide left-footed shot (19’). The pitch is perfect, the sky is blue, the girls are pretty, and we all love the World Cup. By the half hour the tendency is clear: for lack of anything better, the South Africans will play the counter attack thanks to its supersonic wingers and superslow opponents. But that’s for later. For the rest of the first half, the Bafana Bafana rely on a 9 men defense. Khune denies Franco the first goal of the tournament (we’ll see why later), Vela scores an offside goal (37’) and Franco puts his header just over the crossbar (40’). Nothing too exciting. The vuvuzelas make it seem like the crowd doesn’t care about the game, like a giant bee hovering over the stadium. Halftime show in America, beer and car comercials. Second half starts the same format: the Mexicans bring numbers forward but lack the general pace to create space whilst the home team load up the munitions. It only takes ten minutes for Parreira’s men to capitalize. Counter attack, Modise launches Tshabalala (talk about a musical name) in the open space, the left foot is powerful and precise, the shot cannot be more in the corner, the goal is beautiful, 1-0, 54’. This is why Khune had to pull out that previous save on Franco. The dancing celebration is ridiculous, the stadium erupts and the love story can begin. The pressure is now more imposing from the Americans, but to almost no result. The South Africans even miss to seal the deal with Modise’s lost one-on-one (75’) after having outrun the entire Mexican defence. Unfortunately the “fairy tale” as many would want to call it is ended by Marquez’ cold blood after Mphela forgot to follow his defenders following a Guardado cross to make it 1-1 (78’). The dream could have been revived at the 90’ with Mphela 700th deep run after his keeper’s incredible release but the post saves El Tri. 1-1 final score. Heart and concentration on the African side, we all know how far that can get you.
The second game of the day was the occasion to discover one of the tournament’s biggest enigmas: France. With a hated coach, unbelievable talent (some left at home) and semi injured players, it’s anyone guess what France will produce in these coming weeks. Even more so this afternoon. Even though Les Bleus seemed on the right path, with a clear chance after just seven mere minutes of play and Govou’s unbelievable miss, the first half revealed all that is wrong with France’s game nowadays: an exasperating tendency to use Ribery’s left flank, a number nine (Anelka) who refuses to step into the box, a creative midfield much too subdued (Gourcuff), wingers that step on each others feet and a worrying defensive central pair. On the Uruguayan side, the lethal weapon is named Diego Forlan who, mostly by himself, brings the French defence to its knees with his quick feet and smart touches. The blond haired angel pushes Lloris to a good save (16’) to which France can only reply with Gourcuff’s direct free-kick which Muslera strongly saves (18’). A couple of doubtful yellow cards and that’s about it for the first half. The sole satisfaction for Domenech might be Diaby’s good performance in place of Malouda. The Gunner brought the right strength and helped his team keep some possession. Halftime show in America, baldness miracle products and hamburger helper ads. If you wanted to unleash the fury of the beautiful game, look elsewhere. France keeps the ball but struggle to find any style or formation. The task for the Uruguayans, who have their own pleasant South American style, is a little more simple: contain with five defenders, recuperate, create minimal space with short passes and then blast the leather to Forlan who will take care of the rest. Emotions slightly rise when Benjamin Button Toulalan solicits Muslera on, once again, a shot from (way) outside the box (54’) and when Forlan misses an easy-pease volley about ten feet away from Lloris (73’). Henry appears on the pitch, just in time to clap (just about his best move nowadays) for his teammates’ horrible cross to which he was offside anyways. Lodeiro gets sent off after his second yellow card and a mere twenty minutes after having appeared on the field. Congratulations, the first of the tournament. France obtains one last well place free-kick, but the shot hits the wall. One big symbol. A bleak 0-0. Yes, soccer can also be not fun to watch. And be sure to take a nap after each game, those vuvuzelas really make you irritable (or watch the games on mute, that’s also quite profitable mind-wise).
TFO
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