With all this idle chit-chat about the Final - will it be Italy, will it France, will it be mind-numbingly boring - we're in danger of losing sight of another all-important weekend duel. That's right, I'm here to preview the Clash of the Also-Rans, the third and fourth place play-off: Germany vs. Portugal.
COME ON PORTUGAL!
Oh, alright, I don't give a shit about the third/fourth place play-off. There doesn't seem to be much point of it, and I'm sure most of the players involved would rather be on a beach somewhere than suffer a 90-minute reminder that they lost in the semi-finals of the World Cup. There are, of course, notable exceptions to this:
Well, actually I can only really think of one. Miroslav Klose. Now, barring an Henry hat-trick in the final, Klose is already guaranteed at least a share in the fabled World Cup Golden Boot and thus an ascension to the exclusive World Cup pantheon alongside the likes of Eusebio, Lineker, and Salenko (pictured receiving the award at USA '94).
However, you've got to think that Klose's mind is three steps ahead of the game - he's not interested in any boots, golden or otherwise; he is after the fat man's crown.
Klose's World Cup tally stands on ten at the moment, five behind Ronaldo. Now, if Klose just tries really really hard against a Portugese defence without Carvalho and dreaming of, well, Portugal, then surely he can bag at least another one or two... which would leave him heading to South Africa (qualification pending) in a Ronaldo-circa-a-month-ago position, although presumably in better shape. Once there, all he'd need is one or two easy teams in the group - and let's not forget that he plays for Germany, so the odds of one or two easy teams in the group are roughly 1 in 1 - and a few more tap-ins (or a Salenko-like five-goal haul prior to first round elimination) and he'll be regarded as a World Cup great.
See? I come on here desperate to prolong what has been a pretty shoddy World Cup experience, completely aimlessly... this is what happens when you begin a post without really knowing what you're going to write about. You end up knocking off two paragraphs on Miroslav fucking Klose. I feel unclean and must take a long shower forthwith.
Well, not just yet. First I want to experience some pain.
I met up with a mate yesterday who I hadn't seen since before the tournament began, and we talked about it for the whole afternoon over a few pints. It was the first time I'd been able to properly discuss England, rather than just turning away and saying "I don't want to talk about it" (incidentally, some people have thought I've been joking, before laughing and carrying on regardless. These people are scum; I've deleted their numbers from my phonebook and their faces from my memory) and it was pretty painful. We dwelled on the most agonising moment we could recollect, perhaps trying for some kind of mutual therapy. Not Rooney's sending-off (although we spent more than a few sentences on that, too) but the moment where Petit sent Portugal's third penalty wide, and England were briefly ahead in the shoot-out..... all prior notions of certain failure were suspended for the briefest of brief moment of elation and hope - then up stepped Stevie.... Then we moved onto the subject of Carragher: if he'd only been told to wait for the whistle (or used his initiative), his top-corner penalty would have stood and we'd have been in with a shout. oh god, oh god.
Why? WHY?
It feels like I've turned on the gas ring and my match has gone out.
Time for that shower.
Yes, I look forward to our similar pint, mike. In a sadistic kind of a way. Yes. Oh, shit. Carragher - he was brought on not to win it, but to lose it. Don't you see? Did we even have a fifth taker lined up? No. You can trace the line from Pearce to Southgate to Batty to Vassell and to Carragher. The lineage is purest tryer: honest, hard-working, won't shirk anything, stiff upper lip, etc, but, with the possible exception of Pearce, DEVOID OF THE FINESSE, and even the INTELLIGENCE to be able to reliably come through in a situation such as a penalty shootout. But the thing is - you can't criticise them, can you? They are pure british tryers. Never let you down. 110%. It was set-up both to emotionally blackmail us ("Carragher you fuck! No, wait, I can't criticise Jamie Carragher. It's Jamie Carragher, isn't it?") and to act out the footballing equivalent of catch-22: You have to be mad if you think England can win the World Cup; but if England win the World Cup you WILL ACTUALLY GO MAD. So to avoid this we have to keep a balance - it is the Carrghers and the Battys who are rolled out to make us stay where we belong, footballing Yossarians, forever teetering on the edge of insanity and the most ecstatic, lucid, i-can-change-the-world rationality that I can bet bloody Brazil fans never experience. Or German fans. Do you think, after Thursday, they have felt such glorious pain like we have all this week? Have they bollocks. Ha. So, I don't quite know whether I'm bitter about this deliberate imposition and admission of our intrinsic lack of skill yet eternal surplus of heart, or just happy to be an England fan - I guess I am the latter. So long as once, just once, we do fucking win the thing. And I don't mean the Tournoi.