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Finally, Deutschland NOT über alles Fanzine Writer Of The Year 2008

UEFA Euro 2008 was true to The Beautiful Game’s current schizoid condition. It was easily the best ever Euro tournament vintage – but it was good, not great. There were memorable moments of superb play and great players, high excitement and drama, yet somehow never a truly great match. The spectacle was potent, not intoxicating, yet some of it was rivetting. And there were only two outright stinkers, Rumania V France and Spain V Italy. As a bonus, mercifully, it was virtually free of fans misbehaviour. In amongst it all there were scripts of unintentional high comedy that had you wondering once again at the human condition, the way you do when you are unfortunate enough to stumble across the assorted loons and nutters who infest footy internet "forums.” The game itself stayed safely within the limits of affection though its administrators and owners often push their luck to a cliff edge the way fans did back in the unlamented 70s and 80s. At the end of the tournament the balance sheet was well in credit in its standards of play, fans loyalty and refereeing but there is still much to do off the pitch. There always is.

The player who left the largest impression was little general Andrei Arshavin of Russia, which came as no surprise to Evertonians after his performance against us when we defeated Zenit St. Petersburg in the UEFA Cup. Alas, the inevitable increase in his transfer value has put him way beyond our finances. But even his play couldn’t disguise Russian team weaknesses and it was no real surprise when they were completely outplayed by the Spaniards in the semi final. What WAS a surprise was the other semi final in which under-strength Turkey did the same to full-strength Germany and then lost through goals to the two players who had been the biggest muggins on the field until they scored: Lahm and Klose. For all its problems footy never loses its wonderful, delightful ability to surprise and excite. This is why I pay next to no attention to off pitch petty squabbles and old maid gossip manufactured by tenth rate middle age men – the game is much better than that and I have better and more valuable things to do with my time.

The TV media performance was so awful it rapidly became a comic parody of itself. Occasionally I turned the TV sound back on to listen to half time comments by the self-styled experts, to find they yet again got everything hopelessly wrong in a headlong rush for the kind of slippery hype you can only find in a tripe shop. Most of them are so anti-German it verges on racism. The unintentional TV comedy turn of them all was the commentary team of Motty-Lawro on the Beeb, a pairing now in danger of implosion through Lawro’s reckless inability to stop his Last Word Freak shtick even when the topic has been done to death. At one point Motty had to resort to the inevitable unfunny strap line, “Switzerland is noted for its production of cuckoo clocks,” before a deliberately fey attempt to stifle sniggers into the mic. You wanted to take the two of them aside to tell them gently that Really, Boys, It’s Time You Both Fucked Off To The Pub, Retired And Left The Way Clear For Reasonably Intelligent Commentary. You would be wasting your time, though. The impression grows that the both of them have little contact with the human race as we know it, except through the doubtful arbitration of BBC Suits and the make up department. Meantime, ITV offered us nothing better than the bag of wind cockney barrow boy Andy Townsend, Hollow Man Steve Rider and Matt from Planet Zog. I always turned with relief to a suitable radio commentary and muted the TV sound. Hilariously, this was enforced anyway during the Germany-Turkey semi when a storm over the Alps knocked out the world TV sound transmission and we ended up with Radio 5’s commentary. Then you had to hastily scramble for the tuner when that arsehead ale house drunk Alan Green materialised out of the men’s toilet to exhale Guinness fumes and bullshit all over you.

The group matches threw up some terrific games, the most exciting of which was Czech Republic V Turkey featuring a stirring late two goal come back by the Turks to win 3-2. The Czechs looked suitably shell shocked while the Turks perambulated. I hoped against hope the Turks wouldn’t proceed far because their behaviour on and off the pitch has been an utter disgrace during the last decade, but they managed late winning goals in a few games and even knocked out the formidable Croats through penalties. Appropriately, the thuggish looking Turkish coach, Terim, looked like he had been recruited from the ranks of Berlusconi’s fellow “politicians” in Naples after swallowing a nest of narky wasps. I dreaded the prospect of penalties proving decisive in the tournament. I hope FIFA will do something to rid us of this demeaning and cheap spectacle and return to the so-called Golden Goal. At least that would restore us to a result gained in open play. Penalties stink the place out and we all know it.

Switzerland V Turkey was a rain-soaked game that should never have been played except in scuba gear but the players swam stoically through it and still managed to produce an exciting underwater vaudeville match full of prat falls that reminded us of those 70s corrupted games created at the old Baseball Ground when Clough and Taylor regularly had the pitch flooded to ankle deep mud. (You remember the Baseball Ground don’t you? It was another one of those dumps with “tradition” and “atmosphere.” Actually, it was just a dangerous, uncomfortable and disgusting slum and Derby County were well rid of it.) Sadly, the Swiss went out in the last minutes and were left with nothing but absolute weariness for a sterling physical effort that, alas, contained not much team or individual skill. Ditto co-hosts Austria.

The favourites began to emerge as Portugal and Germany while Spain, Croatia and Italy hovered in the background. In the end the best looking thing the Italians brought to the tournament was their manager Donadoni, who bore an uncanny resemblance to an ad for Armani or Versace and subsequently got sacked for having them play Italian catennacio to perfection while he adjusted his hair in the mirror. That is, boring every fucker to death within a thousand kilometre radius of the pitch. When Spain knocked them out through penalties you could almost hear a Europe-wide sigh of relief. Meanwhile, the Spanish improved with every game and began to look confident in a way we haven’t seen in years.

Portugal went out to Germany in an exciting quarter final, where the Germans once again swept forward in a seemingly irresistible wave that only really faltered against the Turks. A feature of the game was still another opportunity for Fred Astaire to weep like a fourth former over another important loss. Schweinsteiger did a quite reasonable impression of somebody who wanted to put his head through a brick wall and thought the Portuguese were there as a sort of substitute stretcher bond. Bodies everywhere, then the Jerries were through. As usual the Dutch looked massively impressive and scored goals all over the place until the Russians ran rings around them and sent them home to pick sulky fluff from their navels in some cannabis house full of dimwits in the ‘Dam. The French went out before them without a semblance of a Gallic shrug after letting in six goals, scoring one and winning no games………the end of a great era.

So Spain V Germany in the final in Vienna looked tasty. And since it was on the Beeb I decided to give Motty and Lawro once last opportunity. Predictably, Motty was……well, Motty. But Lawro has gone slightly bonkers, believes his own publicity, and has now virtually buggered up what was a good commentary team. After a while you get more than pissed off with Lawro’s “I tell yer wa’ ” phoney laddishness and inability to shut the fuck up at sensible moments.

The first half was reasonably bright and open with good phases of play which occasionally swung end to end with startling rapidity. Spain played a better overall game than the Germans and Aragones had clearly worked out his opponent’s weaknesses at full back and through the centre. As it wore on Ballack – right eye socket bleeding and disfigured by a nasty head clash – got steadily more frustrated and ended the half in referee Rossetti’s book. It summed up the German display.

Not that the opening few minutes were inspiring. Spain kept the ball and played it across their back four on several occasions until you began to think they might be about to go all Italian through stage fright. Thankfully, it didn’t work out that way. The game got much better and more open without ever reaching greatness. Germany muscled their way back into it and launched a few attacks that got to the edge of the box but no further. Then the first Spanish attack had Lehmann make a great right handed save to prevent an own goal, or “a Riise” as it is now gloriously known on the playing fields of Merseyside. Torres had a couple of early runs that should have caused the German defence to think and redeploy, and then just to set down a marker he hit Lehmann’s bottom right hand post with a header. After which there was some end to end stuff again, a couple of minutes really scruffy play and then Torres scored on 22 minutes after racing through the middle slightly right of the D, outstripped Lahm and tipped it neatly over Lehmann’s right hand to show why he’s the best player of his type since unforgettable Jimmy Greaves. A few minutes later Silva missed a great chance with the German defence in total, weird chaos. It was difficult what to make of the Jerry defence and why they were so awful. Your grandma could have beaten their two centre backs in a one-on-one, even with a zimmer frame, and then gone on to dribble around the two full backs.

Germany had five reasonable minutes at the start of the second half and then faded to near invisibility as Spain outplayed them all over the park. Motty and Lawro were almost agog with paranoia of our Aryan cousins. “Don’t forget,” said the two of them apprehensively on three separate occasions, “you can never write the Germans off,” before Lawro went off on an astonishing attack on how they were performing and then said, “You just KNOW they’ll get a gilt-edged chance before the end.” They were plainly terrified of an equaliser. But there was never any real chance of it because Spain had closed out the midfield until both Ballack and Frings were both worn down to the bone by Sergio Ramos and Senna. Germany created nothing and never looked like they would despite severe tension in the closing moments. It was a fine and well deserved win for Spain, who could easily have had a couple more before the end. Nobody sensible could argue with it, though doubtless you’ll find the knobhead in your local saying otherwise.

Altogether it was an enjoyable tournament, easily the best since its inauguration. I wish England had been there but they didn’t deserve to be and maybe that was another gain for the spectacle. As a bonus, certainly nobody of any sensibility will miss the tabloid muck propagated by The Sun and The Daily Mail in their xenophobic racist ranting. For England, maybe next time. Maybe…………..and even then, only if they rediscover a sense of personal pride instead of believing the shite turned out by the media and the BNP.

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