Physically, as far as location was concerned, I was in the Bounce Sports Bar on Second Avenue in New York city. Most of our family had convened to celebrate our son’s fortieth birthday, but by Sunday afternoon game time, only my wife and I remained. She decided to cruise the boulevards while I indulged my passion.

Having spent the previous afternoon in the same establishment with my son-in-law to watch the third place game involving Uruguay and Germany, I was well aquainted with its cozy confines.

The crowd started to arrive around noon for the 2:30 kickoff. Orange and black intermixed with red and yellow flags, scarves, banners, and yes, vuvuzelas were in evidence, and the nervous engery was electric.

But what do you do, personnally, when your two favourite teams are playing each other, and one of them has to lose?

My love affair with the Dutch started in 1974, when Johan Cruyff and “total football”  invaded Germany for the World Cup, and almost won the championship, losing 2-1 to the hosts. The Netherlands have been known for aggressive, free flowing football ever since.

Their loss to Argentina in W.C.1978, was once again to the hosts, on this occasion in extra time. It was a brutally physical match, and for the Orangemen, the result was a bitter pill to swallow.

That game, and tournament itself, formed the basis of the novel “Renaldo,” that I wrote several years later.

So, 2010 was the Netherland’s third appearance in a World Cup final. The Orange had not been touted to do very well this time out, mainly because of their “always a bridesmaid,” reputation. What made me perk up and take interest was how their star players were performing in the European Champions League playdown in April and May.

When Dutch super stars Arjen Robben and Mark Van Bommel of Bayern Munich met Inter Milan’s Wesley Sneijder in the Champions League final, it convinced me that there was enough talent on the Netherlands to make a strong run in the World Cup.

As for Spain, a perennial under-achiever, the 2008 European Championships showed the world that this was a different Spanish side, one of supreme talent, patience, and a killer instinct. Their final game performance against a strong German side was one for the ages. How could you not fall in love with long haired Fernando Torres, the crafty Andres Iniesta, and hunky keeper, Iker Casillas?

And so it came to pass that on July 11, 2010, the two teams I fancied the most were going head to head in the biggest game of their lives. One team had to win, there was no doubt about that. Would the Dutch be third time lucky? Could the smaller Spanish team withstand the withering physical play that the Oranje were certain to throw at them and reign supreme?

The game itself was the ultimate chess match. Two different styles of play, two different temperments. History was not on Spain’s side, for no team that had lost their first game of the tournament had ever gone on to win the prize.
Once the English referee blew his whistle, however, history was forgotten.

Anyone who thought that soccer was not a physical sport, that it was played by primadonnas who would tumble to the pitch at the slightest touch, would have their eyes opened during this battle royale. It was all out war, no quarter asked, no quarter given. In between the record number of fouls and bookings, there were countless occurances of brilliant, spine-tingling football.

In the end, as so often is the case when two teams are so evenly matched in skill and emotion, the crowning of the champion came down to goaltending.

Iker Casillas of Spain made all the saves he had to make on that fated evening, Maarten Stekelenburg of the Netherlands did not. Andres Iniesta’s brilliant stike in the one hundred and sixteenth minute gave La Furia Roja their first ever Jules Rimet Trophy, and sent Latin hearts soaring.

Back at the Bounce Bar, there were equal parts of elation and deflation. Red and yellow colours filled the room, and orange and black suddenly disappeared. It had been a breathtaking experience, and as I walked back to my hotel, I felt both of the above emotions.

The reality that the greatest sporting even in the world was actually over, and that reality beckoned, did not hit me until the next morning. Bummer!

The whole month had been an amazing drama right to the finish, culminating in the World Cup final game…and how I saw it.

Set amidst the political unrest that colors so much of Argentina’s history, Renaldo is the epic tale of the De Seta family. Renaldo De Seta is the younger of two sons in this powerful and wealthy family. When Renaldo is seven, his father Peter is killed while visiting England for a soccer tournament. This tragedy shapes the family and is largely responsible for determining what both Renaldo and his older brother Lonnie will become.

The death of his father fills Lonnie with rage, and he struggles for years to manage it. When Celeste Lavelle enters Lonnie’s life as a college instructor, she manipulates Lonnie into falling in love with her and joining her as a member of a terrorist organization. Renaldo chooses a very different path. He devotes himself to playing the acoustic guitar and soccer—two of his father’s favorite pastimes. In 1977 he attends the championship game of the Argentine Soccer League and when violence breaks out between fans on opposing sides, he is instrumental in saving the life of Astro Gordero, a ruthless but influential Argentinean lawyer. Gordero sees potential in Renaldo and hopes to turn the young man’s talents into profit. He gives Renaldo an opportunity to try out for the Argentinean 1978 World Cup Soccer team, and sets himself up as his manager.

The author has accomplished a great deal with this book. Beginning with Renaldo’s grandfather Lonfranco Guissepe De Seta, who immigrated to Buenos Aires in 1898 from Italy, the author paints a vivid picture of the era through the experiences of the De Seta family, sharing information about the culture, economics, and politics of this country. The author also introduces readers to the game of fútbol, which he generally refers to as soccer. This sport is clearly one that the author is passionate about; he captures a great deal of excitement in his description of the games. For example, about the beginning of the World Cup finale, he writes:

By two fifty-eight p.m., the team photographs had been taken, the combatants had exchanged informal handshakes and hollow good wishes with one another, and the teams had saluted the multitudes with upraised arms. Now, finally, Italian referee Giovanni Patrizio stood over the ball at center field. Four years of preparations, qualifying matches, exhibition contests, scandals, name calling, and bitter rivalries had all led to this one moment.

Ultimately, this story is about hope. Peter De Seta’s father came to Argentina with nothing but hope that he could make a better life for himself. He instilled the same sense of optimism in his son. After Peter’s death, his two sons choose very different paths: One chooses despair, and the other chooses hope. The actions that stem from these choices will leave readers contemplating the power of this quiet feeling.

Click here to read the review of Renaldo on ForeWord Reviews.

photo credit: Rachel E. Chapman

Millions of people around the globe are suffering from World Cup postpartum blues.

It has been over a month since the vuvuzelas stopped droning. I never thought I would miss that sound, but I am not the only one.

How do we cope? For those who recorded the games from the live t.v. feeds, or those who can download them on their computers and relive the excitement from sites like FIFA.com, there are fleeting moments of remembered euphoria.

But real life has intervened, and returned us to our present day realities.

Sure, there is great football to be had just over the horizon with the start of the Premiership, European and South American League games. In North America, Major League soccer is in full swing, with several  World Cup participants plying their trade with considerable interest…Thierry Henri playing for New York Red Bulls as an example.

But oh, how I long  for the days of early June, when three group matches could be viewed in one day…and then the round of sixteen, where every game was sudden death.

The quarter finals, the eight who remained standing…Uruguay vs. Ghana, the Netherlands vs. Brazil,  Argentina vs. Germany, and Spain vs. Paraguay.

Drama in every match. A handball foul opens the door for Ghana to beat Uruguay, but the penalty is missed, and the South Americans win on penalty kicks. 4-2 Uruguay

Brazil stuns the Dutch with a goal ten minutes in, then falls apart with an own goal by Melo, and a perfect header from the Oranje’s Wesley Sneijder sends them onward. 2-1 The Netherlands.

Germany jumps all over Argentina right from the opening whistle, Muller scoring after only three minutes. Klose adds two of his own and the bewildered Argentines and Diego Maradona head home. 4-0 Germany.

Spain has some nervous moments turning back persisent and tenacious Paraguay, but striker David Villa’s eighty-third minute tally ensures the European champions will be in the semi-finals. 1-0 Spain

The semi finals began on July 6th., with The Netherlands facing a surprising Uruguay in Capetown. Eighteen minutes was all it took for Dutchman Van Bronckhorst to paste a cannon shot into the top right corner of the Latin’s onion bag. But Diego Forlan, the blond and stylish heart and soul of the South Americans, tied the match with a superb strike at forty-two minutes. Lady luck would shine on the Orangemen on this day, however, and goals by Sneijder and Arjen Robben would be enough to give the Europeans their third trip to the World Cup Final. 3-2 The Netherlands.

Germany, perhaps the most improved and unexpected team in the final four, would take the field in Durban against tournament favourites Spain on July7th. Would the German’s offensive prowess be able to overcome the tiki-taka passing game of their formidable opponents? From the outset, Spain controlled the pace and flow, frustrating every German attempt to show their scoring skills. The Mannschaft chose to sit back and let the Spaniards come at them, and hope for an opportunity to counter attack. Well, La Furia Roja came, and came and came, so close to scoring on so many occasions. Only twice was Spanish keeper Casillas really tested. The killing blow came in the seventy-fourth minute, when stout defender Carles Puyol leapt and headed a  Xabi corner kick into the back of the German twine. 1-0 Spain

 The stage was set for a new country to hoist the World Cup trophy on July eleventh, and we fans had not discovered the World Cup postpartum blues…yet.

Sixty four games, sometimes three in one day. I can still remember how excited I was back on June 11th. I was up early to see the opening ceremonies, but then had to leave to play in a golf tournament, that was an all day and evening affair. Thank goodness for television recorders.

I very much wanted the South African team to do well…which meant beating Mexico in their opening match. Trouble was, I like the way Mexico plays football…I like their offensive style and their enthusiasm. So, the 1-1 result was not a disappointment, especially when I heard that South Africa had scored the first goal of the tournament and the entire country went nuts.

Each day revealed a special gem, or two.

England-U.S.A. drawing 1-1 on July 12th., the Americans receiving a gift goal from the English keeper.

 Germany drubbing Australia 4-0  and Ghana beating Serbia 1-0 to give Africa its first win on the 13th.

Shades of things to come on the 14th. when Italy had to score late to tie Paraguay 1-1. The 15th. had another shocker, co- favoutite Brazil squeaking out a 2-1 victoy over the mysterious North Koreans.

June 16th. was the day that reigning European champion and tournament favourite Spain went down to little Switzerland 1-0,  sending shock waves through the football universe. Host South Africa had its bubble burst that same day, with a 3-0 loss to Uruguay.

Mexico thumped France 2-0 on the 17th., and Maradonna’s Albiceleste’s from Argentina spanked South Korea 4-1.

The German Mannschaft came crashing down to earth with an unexpected 1-0 loss to upstart Serbia on the 18th., and the U.S.A. had to come back from a 2-0 halftime deficit to tie Slovenia…and endure a winning goal that was called back by the referee. That same fateful night, mighty England was held to nil-nil draw against Algeria, and the knives were coming out over’ome.

On the 19th. the Netherlands beat Japan 1-0, to land their second victory, and June 20th saw the Italians manage only a tie 1-1 tie  with a game New Zealand squad. The Azzurri looked slow and uncertain.

Portugal had a feast at the expense of North Korea running up a 7-0 scoreline, the most lopsided win of the tournament, on the 21st.

Uruguay beat Mexico 1-0 to win Group A, and wonderful South Africa topped the French 2-1 and sent them home on the 22nd. Unfortunately for the Bafana Bafana hosts, the goal differential meant that their tournament would be finished that same day.

The 23rd. decided Group C, England sneaking through in second place after a 1-0 win over Slovenia, and the U.S. topped the group with a fantastic late goal by Landon Donovan, 1-0 over Algeria.

Italy would bid South Africa arrivederci, after its shocking 3-2 loss to Slovakia,who advanced, and South American team Paraguay would secure top spot in Group … and a ticket to the round of 16 with a  0-0 draw against New Zealand on the 24th.

The last day of the first round saw Brazil and Portugal play to a safe but dull 0-0 result, to both go through in Group G. In Group H, Spain and Chile would move on, in that order, after the Europeans beat the Chileans 2-1.

Whew, that’s a lot of football. Upsets and surprises galore.

A month in paradise recap will continue, and  I will give you my thoughts on the round of sixteen, when every game is sudden death.

From nearly all accounts, this was a joyous, thrilling event, something  in which the host nation vastly exceeded expectations. Their month-long football feast has drawn nothing but accolades from everyone who has bothered to voice an opinion.

Well done everyone!

photo credit: Magnus A.
photo credit: Gastev

After 63 World Cup games, many of them unbelievable, unpredictable, and even unbearable, the final day is here…who will be crowned champion?

Spain and Holland hit the pitch later this afternoon in what promises to be a dramatic battle of cultures and styles. Spain is favoured by the London bookmakers, mainly on their very strong performance against Germany.

]]> http://www.renaldo.com/renaldo/soccer-blog/world-cup-blog/the-final-day-is-here-who-will-be-crowned-champion/601/feed/ 0 http://www.renaldo.com/renaldo/soccer-blog/world-cup-blog/the-world-cup-final-in-new-york-city/593/ http://www.renaldo.com/renaldo/soccer-blog/world-cup-blog/the-world-cup-final-in-new-york-city/593/#comments Sat, 10 Jul 2010 17:40:45 +0000 james http://www.renaldo.com/renaldo/?p=593
photo credit: leoncillo sabino

This is where I have landed, celebrating my step-son’s 40 th. birthday with the family, so it is going to be the World…

photo credit: leoncillo sabino

This is where I have landed, celebrating my step-son’s 40 th. birthday with the family, so it is going to be the World Cup final…in New York city.

He is not a football fan, but luckily, my son-in-law worked in Germany for several years and has a strong connection to the sport, as well as many friends in Deutschland. Even though be is disappointed that his team lost to Spain,we will be heading off to Bounds Sports Bar to catch both games this weekend.

Do I dare to cheer for Uruguay?

I think it will be an even match. Both Thomas Mueller for Germany and Luis Suarez are back after suspension, and they are offensive forces to be reckoned with. It is said that Miroslav Close has a bad back, so could Diego Forlan be the wild card for Los Charruas?

As for the final on Sunday, England’s Howard Webb is the referee. He is the first English offical to work the final since 1974. He officiated the Champions League final in Madrid two months ago, so he is highly qualified and impartial.

Paul the Psychic Octopus has picked Spain to win the Jules Rimet trophy. Paul has a 10-1 won lost record. No doubt the Dutch are hoping he will be 10-2.

How will the Dutch stop the Spanish ball control game? Good question.

La Furia Roja has been compare to a spider spinning an elaborate web, sooner or later the prey will fall and get immobilized until the spider decides to strike. The Spanish are patient, very, very patient, just like the spider.

The one thing the Dutch have going for them is their ill temperament. They are tough as nails, and mean spirited too. Mark Van Bommel and Khalid Boulahrouz would run over their grandmothers to win this game. The Spanish have not run into the kind of tickery that the Dutch will employ, and Arjen Robben is a master at drawing fouls.

Time to go watch Uruguay take on Germany. Tomorrow it is the World Cup Final…in New York city.

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photo credit: jikatu

The votes have been cast, and after nearly a month of football hottie watching, the winner is, Diego Forlan!  Diego is in the back row, far left.

This Uruguyan super stud, oops, star, came out of nowhere to melt the hearts of millions of lady viewers. His long, flowing blond locks, held back with a headband, his killer smile, and his unbelievably buff torso have given eye-candy fanatics a feast.

Not only has he scored some of the prettiest goals of the tournament, but he is a man’s man, taking every knock, bump, and bruise in the tough going, without the  carping and whining like so many lesser stud-muffins.

Diego Forlan won his crown not by your writer’s opinion, although he would rank right up there in my estimation, but by sports columnist Rosie Dimanno and her compatriots at the Toronto Star newspaper. Ms. Dimanno has been enlightening her vast audience of all things football from South Africa for the last month, and she has written a classic article on the World Cup from a female perspective.

To read what Rosie has to say, and see Diego in the flesh, visit : http://bit.ly/hunk_squad 

June’s issue of Vanity Fair magazine featured some of the world’s hottest football bods. Unfortunately, none of them are still around to oogle at. To take another peek, go to : http://bit.ly/boysin_briefs 

 But fret not, the Dutch and the Spanish offer plenty of male pulchritude. Not only that, their contrasting backgrounds give you the hot blooded Latins against the ruggedly cool and efficient northerners.

For Spain, Rosie picks striker David Villa as her number one squeeze. Holland’s Nigel de Jong tops her list for the Oranje. But almost anyone can find a cutie to their liking amongst this regal throng.

On the Dutch side, if you like them tall and blond, go for Dirk Kuyt, dark and pretty, Robin Van Persie, bald and cuddly, Arjen Robben, and big, rough and mean, Khalid ” the Cannibal” Boulahrouz.

For the Spanish, long maned Sergio Ramos is smokin’, striker Fernando Torres has cut his locks, and now looks extremely fresh-faced, the kind you might want to take home to mother. Shaggy haired defender Carles Pulyol looks like he should be playing guitar with Ozzie Ozborne, and the magical midfield magician, Andreas Iniesta, is so cute  you just want to give him a big hug.

So there you have it…the hottest of the hot.

Now go for it ladies and chose your own favorite… they are yours for the watching, but don’t forget,

 the winner is, Diego Forlan!

photo credit: Rosino

The city where I live is in mourning right now. Oh, we have felt both the agony and the ecstasy, but tonight, with Portugal’s defeat, there is very little joy in Mudville. Mighty Casey has struck out!

To paraphrase Ernest Thayer’s 1888 baseball poem, the mighty ” Cristiano Ronaldo” has struck out.

 Mudville is a very multi-cultural place.  I know this by all the different flags I see on cars and around town. Some cars have two flags, our national flag and their team of choice flag, or host South Africa’s flag and their team’s flag.

But the flag most prominent in Mudville the past two weeks has been the flag of Portugal.

Mudville stated out over one hundred years ago being very, very English. Not British, but English. (the Irish and the Scots were persona non grata) Then things started to change.

The Italians came by the boatload, and put their mark on this fair city with their passion and great work ethic. The Portugese were not far behind them, living in mostly peaceful harmony.

People from all over the world arrived in the years to come,  so that now, during this World Cup, all thirty-two participants have their own enthusiastic  fan base in Mudville.

When Italy won the World Cup in 1982, Mudville went nuts! It was very different from when England won in ‘66. Oh, there were a few, “pip pip, jolly good shows, and several Pimms Number One Cup’s sipped in refined quarters, but in “82 and again in 2006, the Azzurri’s joy was shouted from the rooftops.

But surprisingly, this year, I saw very few red, green and white flags except  in a section of the city we call “Little Italy.” But elsewhere, they we almost invisible, and when the Italians faltered and went home last week, they disappeared.

So the  red and green of Portugal was everywhere, with the mighty Cristiano ready to hit a bases loaded home run.

But it was not to be. Their Iberian neighbour, Spain, spoiled the party. Portugal’s gallant gate keeper, Eduardo, lept and spun and dove and twisted to keep la pellota out. But one unattainable rebound on David Villa’s foot was not to be denied.

“Oh somewhere in this favored world, the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville, Mighty Cristiano has struck out!”

With apologies.