World Cup Final 2006

 

 

After an incredible extra-time win over the hosts by the Azzurri, with two superb goals at the death of the game by Fabio ‘5.8’ Grosso and Alessandro del Piero and a defensive strength epitomised by the incomparable Fabio Cannavaro, it was only commonsense that the Azzurri would head into the World Cup final as favourites against an ageing French team which had been poor and without invention or guile in the opening rounds, but had suddenly decided to do a Hawthorn 1991 once the knockout rounds began and re-assert the glory and brilliance of a past epoch. The Jacques Chirac Atoll Rockers clinically dismantled the highly fancied (but flagrantly overrated) Spanish, a team in yellow in the quarters (they must have gone soft in the favellas of Rio and Sao Paulo, because footballinvective.com would have thought they would have executed Carlos Alberto Parreira for doing the impossible and producing such a lazy, boring and unexciting team with such exemplary individual talent) and the Portuguese in the semis. (against whom the French have never lost incidentally since 1975). In one fell swoop, the French had exorcised the demons of a woeful 2002 World Cup performance, and an indifferent tournament at Euro 2004, where they were tactically humbled by the eventual champions, Greece (stick that up your jumper, Figo, Deco, Pauleta, Rui Costa and Big Phil – so much for the golden generation).

 

The Italian squad certainly possessed greater depth than the French, evidenced by the impressive statistic that the side’s eleven goals up to the final were scored by no less than ten individual players, including two defenders. However, Domenech (French coach) had finally hit on a winning formula, after an underwhelming qualifying campaign and a listless group phase. Like Jacquet, Lemerre and Santini before him, the plan was simple: give it to Zidane. But in fairness, Domenech deserved great credit for revitalising Vieira and building a solid back four (Abidal-Thuram-Gallas-Sagnol) which in any event was rarely tested in the knockout matches. Moreover, Domenech knew he had winners in his squad. Henry (see later), Zidane, Thuram, Barthez, Vieira and Trezeguet had all featured in recent French World Cup and Euro 2000 glory – crucial experience in such a big match.

 

In essence, the match was always going to be a desperately even affair between two of the world’s footballing heavyweights. Fans looking forward to a quality final could take solace from the fact that the Euro 2000 final between these two countries was a classic, with a Trezeguet golden goal creating history for the French national team.

 

The first five minutes of the World Cup final were, in a word, bizarre, and set the tone for the remaining 115 minutes of footballing drama that were to unfold in the superb Berlin Olympiastadion, which after its re-construction simply does not know whether it should exhort the virtues of the Fatherland or give its spectators the peace sign:

 

 

After French funboy Thierry Henry was temporarily laid out (genuinely, for a change) by a completely innocuous clash with Italian defensive supremo Cannavaro, the game meandered on in a virtual time warp, as if the twenty-two players on the park were still coming to terms with the fact that the ‘Doc’ had sent them to July 9, 2006 at 88mph in his wonderful Delorean, ‘Back to the Future’ style.

 

Once Henry came to however, he intelligently headed the ball into space for the unheralded Florent Malouda to chase inside the penalty box. Marco Materazzi, who would eventually become the dominant personality of the most extraordinary (as in strange, weird, unconventional) World Cup final in living memory, made to challenge the flailing Malouda but pulled out, making no contact with a by now sprawling and prostrate Malouda. However, as numerous 18 year old males find out soon after their first date, pulling out does not safeguard a happy result for all parties, and the referee, Hector Elizondo, pointed (wrongly, once again) to the spot.

 

Zidane despatched the penalty with aplomb unbecoming of even the greatest of footballers. That it hit the crossbar and bounced delightfully just behind the goal line simply added to the genius. However, the incident signified the end of any further charity to be donated freely to Malouda; having duped the referee into the penalty, Malouda was ignored for the rest of the match whenever/wherever he went down. Indeed, a later incident in the box involving Gianluca Zambrotta may have gone the Frenchman’s way had he not already used his ‘Get out of jail free’ card with the Argentinian referee. Malouda should have been reminded of the old Confucian football adage, which states simply: ‘If player simulate and fool referee to give penalty, than player can expect referee to do him no favours in box unless his liver being eaten by direct opponent, Ted Bundy-style.’

 

Frances early goal was so reminiscent of the early penalty goal scored by the Dutch in the 1974 final, and had the effect of finally stirring both teams from their collective stupor. Thereafter, the first half was dominated by the aerial supremacy of the Italians, who bombarded Barthez’s goal like Stealth bombers at Fallujah circa 2003. Led by giants Luca Toni and Marco Materazzi, the Spags proved an enormous aerial threat for the French, who were cruelly (and surprisingly) exposed. Thuram, Gallas, and Vieira, no bunnies in the air, were given an abrupt lesson in "Heading for Goal 101" by the Azzurri, who were ferocious in the penalty area, and were fed willingly and more than capably by Andrea Pirlo, the closest thing to a quarter back the world game is ever likely to see. That Materazzi scored with a towering header over a helpless Vieira, and that Toni was unlucky to hit the cross bar underlined the clear advantage the Spags had over the Frogs in this aspect of the game. As half-time approached it was clear that the French defence, which had looked fool-proof throughout most of World Cup, even when they were struggling to score up the other end, had a glaring, ominous weakness. The French defence was about as confident in the air as B.A. Barachus refusing to get on a plane.

 

So as half time arrived, the Italians had demonstrated an aerial superiority which had translated into more meaningful goalmouth chances. Despite the scoreline, it was the Rocky Marciano wannabees on points at the first change.

 

In the second stanza of regulation time, the French turned on arguably their best period of the tournament, including even their game against the team with yellow shirts (some of the players with Brazilian names, if memory serves me correctly). Against the best-organised, most tactically astute team at this tournament. Zidane, whilst clearly not the outrageous playmaker of 1998-2004, was the centre of all of the best French probings, ably assisted from a defensive point of view by the mega-consistent Vieira and Makelele. Malouda and Ribery ran the Italian back four ragged with their clever cross-defence running, constant switching and high work-rate.

 

This leaves us to speak ill of that great French choker and flagrant Arsene Wenger bum-chum, Thierry Henry. When Henry plays in the regular Premier League matches, it is simply marvellous how he boosts his goal scoring averages artificially with his regular hat-tricks against West Brom, Middlesbrough, Sunderland and other assorted hack teams. It is fantastic to watch his blistering pace and his wonderful technique as he comes under as little pressure as a dodgy Nairobi shower. But history has taught us that in the big games (and, yes, Thierry, you petulant surrender monkey, the World Cup final ranks as one of those) our friend Henry is about as effective as caffeine for insomnia. FA Cup finals, Champions League matches, World Cup matches, European championship matches – the list is long, and damning. What puts this in even starker perspective is that his goal scoring average for France is less than one in two, which when you consider he has been fortunate enough to play his entire career as the monkey in the Zidane circus act, is pathetic, and re-affirms footballinvective.com’s assertion that Henry is NOT (and never will be) a world class striker.

 

So as the rest of the French team performed admirably in the face of an Italian defence so tight you’d think its collective arse could hold a pin being pulled on by a Lamborghini tractor, arsehead Henry demonstrated to the world yet again, that when the real pressure is on, when players of EQUAL or SUPERIOR technique are pitted against him, he is found sorely wanting. Sure, he made a couple of nice runs in the box, but as further proof of the difference between a run-of-the-mill English hack defender and an Italian defensive supremo, there was at least one run into the box where Henry thought his ‘pace’ would see him past the defender, only for the 33 year old Cannavaro to safely, and efficiently sweep the ball clear. No less than Cruyff spoke of the enormous mistake Henry had made in the off-season to renege on offers from the big clubs in La Liga in order to continue courting Wenger at Highbury – Henry passed up on the offer of playing against the best in the world, week in, week out, and thus the opportunity to perhaps realise his potential and refine his technique. But this is good news for footballinvective.com, who takes significant pride in denigrating the biggest exponent of choking since Barlow and Chambers faced the music.

 

Oh, and we still haven’t mentioned the ball from Ribery that trickled along the six yard box which would have been rammed into the net like a money into a brown paper bag at Juventus head office, but Henry thought he’d take a breather approximately 35 yards away. 

 

It seems like Henry attacks like Roberto Carlos defends, as these exclusive footballinvective.com pictures show – again, note how Henry’s one significant contribution of these finals comes as the monkey act in the Zidane show:

 

 

Ah, Thierry Henry and Roberto Carlos – providing more ammunition for footballinvective.com than Richmond supporters the day after a 20 goal loss to the Pies. Also great to see him miss out on the shootout, Domenech shrewd enough to realise that World Cup final penalty shootouts also rank as a high pressure environment, and that withdrawing Henry from such activities (sort of like taking Mark Latham out of his own election campaign) is probably a wise move, for all concerned.

 

Despite the usual defensive efficiency displayed by the Italians, footballinvective.com was flummoxed that Marcello ‘Paul Newman’ Lippi had not maximised their opportunities from dead ball situations, given the first half success with the high ball. Indeed, Toni was disallowed another headed goal by a marginal offside decision after yet another Pirlo work of art, but this was the only meaningful goal mouth action from the Italians for the rest of regulation time, which was disappointing for all concerned. By the end of regulation time, it was clear that the French had wrested a huge psychological advantage over the Italians, playing high quality football in the Italian final third. Unfortunately for the cheese-eating surrender monkeys, the spaghetti-eating surrender monkeys had once again brought on the catenaccio training drill for the six billion viewers around the world to see. (Catenaccio is to defending, by the way, as Michelangelo’s David is to sculpture – an unquestioned masterpiece, as the Australians were to learn the hard way in the second round cliffhanger).

 

Extra time continued as the second half had ended, with the French re-asserting territorial control. The REAL turning point of the final came at the 99 minute mark – Franck Ribery, the breath of fresh air in the French team, after another fine passing move, found himself - finally - on the goal side of Fabio Cannavaro, who had been cleverly worked out of position. With clear sight of goal. Alas, Ribery sprayed his shot wide of Buffon’s left upright, without even challenging the goalkeeper to a save. It was a costly miss, and it was Ribery’s final action of the game, substituted for Trezeguet, with the latter's Euro 2000 glory, and the likelihood of penalties, firmly on Domenech’s mind by this stage. Soon after came the wonderful Zidane header from a satellite navigation guided cross from Mr Underrated himself, Willy Sagnol. That Buffon responded with a top class one-handed save over the bar merely confirmed his status as goalkeeper of the World Cup.

 

At the 110 minute mark, Marco Materazzi attempted to rub the front of his dirty shirt on Zidane’s head, and accidentally fell over. Fourth official Luis Medina Cantalejo (the Spanish referee who had crucified the Aussie World Cup dream with his shamelessly flawed anti-decision) motioned to referee Elizondo that Materazzi had been impeded – it was clear, Zidane had to go. What was said between the two protagonists remains unclear, but footballinvective.com is ever-ready to unravel footballing truth, with footballinvective.com's latest Letterman-style "Top 10" speculation:

 

Top 10 Reasons why Zidane head-butted Materazzi:

 

10. Materazzi to Zidane: “Let’s play charades. You go first and be Phil Carmen”

 

9. Zidane to Materazzi: “Listen, I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I am NOT doing one of those crappy Graham Gooch ads for Advanced Hair.”

 

8. Materazzi to Zidane: “You French cheese-eating surrender monkey. France’s military is even more piss-weak than Italy’s military!”

 

7. Materazzi to Zidane: “You play as well as Gabriel Gate cooks”

 

6. Zidane to Materazzi:

 

5. Materazzi to Zidane (after scoring headed goal in 18^th minute) “Ha-ha. Bet you can’t do anything with your head this game.”

 

4. Materazzi to Zidane: “Nice penalty, but you defend like Roberto Carlos” 

Zidane: “I’d rather be called a terrorist than be insulted like THAT.”

 

3. Materazzi to Zidane: “I see Posh Spice won “most intelligent player’s wife” at Real Madrid again this year”  

Zidane: “I told you not to remind me of that.”

 

2. Materazzi to Zidane: “How about a bribe if we rig the game and you get yourself sent off.”  

Zidane: “OK. I did play for Juventus after all.”

 

1. Materazzi to Zidane: “Gee, that World Cup mascot’s pretty lame.

Zidane: “You can insult my mother, you can insult my sister, but NOBODY insults Goleo VI”

Goleo VI

 

Not surprisingly, the Zidane send-off sparked further speculation and conjecture throughout the world in the following days, with this series of conspiracy theories being amongst our favourites:

 

The Zindane incident, as seen by the world:

 

As seen by Marco Materazzi:

 

As seen by feral Italian fans:

 

As seen by feral French fans:

 

As it should have ended, according to the 

Italian coaching manual:

 

 

After the Zidane send-off, the game petered out towards its inevitable finish – the Italians had seen the game through to its logical (though unsavoury) conclusion. Lippi’s substitutions, though nominally attacking in nature, given the personnel introduced, merely served to preserve the status quo. The Le Pen’s Worst Nightmare XI, on the other hand, were robbed of possible extra-time success by the at best impetuosity, at worst utter absurdity of Zidane’s actions. Footballinvective.com has attempted, with all of its might to explain away the Great Man’s act of insanity, but finds that it simply can’t. Not quite as pathetic as Plugger’s failed comeback attempt with the Swans, but surely just as dumb.

 

So at the end of 120 minutes, footballinvective.com were left both amused and bemused by one of the most bizarre matches ever witnessed. There was never any questioning the technical quality of the players on the park, nor the highly thoughtful manner in which both sides sought victory. But, to this bleary-eyed observer, watching the 2006 World Cup Final was like watching a Christian fundamentalist speak in tongues – sure, it was supposed to be profoundly spiritual, almost on a higher plane, and we appreciate and respect that, but for the most part, it was just plain weird.

With Zidane by now getting tips in the dressing room from Pele on how to prostitute your footballing magnificence in retirement for all eternity, (given that Pele has cornered the market for stiffy medicine, tune in soon to see Zidane market the latest Ansell condom - keep your head protected) penalties ensued. And at the end of a desperately even match with very fine margins, it was not surprising that Trezeguet’s missed penalty, which bounced down off the cross bar just centimetres in FRONT of the goal line, proved the tiny difference. The Italians got their poetic justice - the Euro 2000 final now nothing more than a distant memory. Overall, neither keeper ever looked likely to make that heroic save, and despite Trezeguet’s unfortunate miss (3cm lower and it would have been THE perfect penalty), it was a veritable penalty-taking clinic for all you young kiddies out there, especially Grosso’s Cup-clincher (bastard) a wonderful left footer into the back corner of the right-hand part of the net, which sent pizza dough flying across Milan, Napoli, Rome, Lygon Street etc.

 

Footballinvective.com has been keenly covering World Cups since 1990, and can confidently state that this champion Italian team, despite the impressive depth of the playing squad and overall class, and whilst overall deserving of glory, has also been probably the competition’s grubbiest, in terms of the expedient (indeed Machiavellian) lengths that the Azzurri went to clinch a World Cup triumph. In the second round match against the hapless Australians, a brazen lunge by Grosso won them a penalty which should never have been, but which guaranteed a 10 man Azzuri victory without the pain and suffering of an energy-sapping 30 minutes against the most physical team (in a Mark Ricciuto, not Robbie Muir way) at the World Cup. No dirty tricks for the Ukrainian quarter finals necessary – the Ukrainian squad members had reputedly already received their quarter final bonuses, which in Ukraine these days probably means nothing more than a warm winter with plenty of gas and no need anymore to worry about what Mad Vlad Putin might do to the pipeline in the depths of December freeze.

 

For the Germans in the semi-final, every member of the Italian coaching staff was probably told to meticulously study the fracas at the completion of penalties in the Germany-Argentina quarter final, searching for any evidence of any involvement by a German player. Torsten Frings, the best German midfielder at this tournament (we think that Roman, Jose and all those well-heeled Chelsea supporters are going to be disappointed with Ballack) was the victim. The exclusion of Frings in the semi-final played havoc with the German midfield set-up – Kehl was serviceable, but you need more than serviceable in a World Cup semi-final - and it was no surprise that the Italian midfield functioned best against the Germans, who were without their own Claude Makelele and had Tim Borowski playing out of position too.

 

Then in the final, Materazzi, a well-known Serie A shitstirrer from way back when Moses was an embryo, delivered the final coup de grace with some more run-of-the-mill lip (and dare we say, invective?!), but surely big Marco hit pay dirt when he directly engineered the senseless send-off of the greatest player of the last twenty years in the biggest game of his career. The icing sugar on a whopping great big chocolate canoli of Italian cunning.

 

 

Hero of the final: Marcello "Paul Newman" Lippi – one of the greatest coaches of all time. He may be about to be stripped of a couple of his Scudetti as a result of the Juventus bribery scandal, but it no longer matters for the big man.

 

Cult hero of the final: Marco Materazzi - the dominant personality of the World Cup final. Gives away a penalty, scores a goal, gets Zidane sent off, scores a penalty in the shootout, got to play at the back with the greatest defender of the age – it’s like Materazzi got to go to Disneyland, Men’s Gallery, Universal Studios, Barwon Prison, Spearmint Rhino and the Running of the Bulls all in the one day. Living the Dream

 

Clanger of the final: Zinedine Zidane – The most undignified retirement since Mark Latham. We hope it was worth it.