a hollywood final

In the 22nd minute, the Forces of Evil tap one of its most trusted agents, Mark van Bommel, to put an end to the beautiful game. Van Bommel accepts the mission and furiously tackles Xavi from behind. Five minutes later, his partner in crime Nigel de Jong flies with a karate kick aimed at Xabi Alonso's chest, and the match goes definitely underground.
The good Spaniards almost die a couple of times but never give up. They look for space, they search for the light, and every time there's a respite—at half time, at the end of the 90 minutes and at the end of the first 15 minutes of extra time—you can see them encouraging each other and you can almost hear a voice telling them to march on, to fight on, to look for the strength within, etcetera.
The sorrows are countless, but in the 116th minute, when everything is about to end, the innocent hero, the pure of heart, Andrés Iniesta, steps up and saves the beautiful game with a championship goal.
Spain 1 - Holland 0.

forlán

The third-place match is guaranteed entertainment for all. It's an invitation to a late lunch at the neighbours on January 1st.
Today, they served five goals and, with the final whistle, a free kick to the goalpost by Forlán.

technological advances

The tv analysis that employs a frozen image and a darkened strip to illustrate the offside zone is a misleading artifice. The truth can't be found there.
The intention is to show the instant in which the ball leaves the passer's foot, but if this World Cup is any indication, producers tend to choose an instant that not even Superman could pick up during the run of play. Much less the very earth-bound assistant referees. If the producers chose a later frame, they would show something truer to what is perceived on the field.
I also dislike the angle of the offside replay. The viewers should see, in the replay, whatever the assistant referee sees. The shot should be as close as possible to the assistant's perspective. That would be a real technological advance because all of us would be closer to the field. What's in place right now takes us farther away from the soccer that's played on the field.

the jabulani by xavi

At last I get to the much discussed Jabulani. Here's Xavi, giving it an almost final kick in an interview with Luis Martín of El País.

Luis Martín: The sense is that the ball isn't helping.
Xavi: It doesn't move well, it does weird things, doesn't take the spin, it has no flesh. The whole World Cup I've been saying to myself: "That was a good pass." But phiuuu! It takes off. And you think, "What's going on?" It's harder to weave anything with it. Every time you get it, it goes up. The other day, it went straight to the goal, but I wanted to control it and then pass. I couldn't. It went up and I kicked it... you want to spin it, it goes phiuuu! and it takes off. It's a disaster. But I guess I'm not the only one having this problem. Many have it, so I have to adapt...

You can read the entire interview (in Spanish) here.

And since I've brought up the maestro, I'll put in writing what I've been saying all month long: that Ronaldo may be flamboyant and Messi may be genius and Robben may be electric, but Xavi makes time stop.

someone, something

Last Friday, at the end of the second half of extra time, Ghana attacked like a great team. They had Uruguay by the throat with a brilliant display of physical strength and technique, and managed to get a free kick near the box in the last minute.
The penalty that came about seconds later, from Luis Suárez’s handball on the goal line, has been thoroughly discussed in the last few days, but I still can’t understand how the portuguese referee Olegario Benquerenca was able to organize it so quickly.
A penalty given in the last second of a quarter final game that’s tied 1-1, with a red card given to one of the star forwards of the tournament, should’ve created at least several minutes of chaos.
That was not the case. In the blink of an eye, Suárez left the field, the teams lined-up behind the box and Asamoah Gyan and Fernando Muslera took up their places.
There has never been so much speed in organizing a penalty. Unfortunately, nobody had the sense to protect Gyan.
Ghana’s last minutes of play had been so fabulous, so out of the ordinary, that all the players were surely flying. Someone in the team should’ve thrown himself to the ground with a cramp or seen a camera gone wild behind the goal or asked the referee something stupid, I don’t know what, but something should’ve been done to allow Gyan’s head to cool down a bit.
Half a minute would’ve been enough. The penalty would’ve turned into a goal, the best of the two teams would’ve won and not much would’ve been said about Suárez’s ethical standards.
Ghana went out of the tournament because its players didn’t get theatrical when they had to.

a funny 0-0

I start watching Paraguay-Japan in the second half. There's a nice rhythm, a fast pace, and the two teams are playing honestly. There are no tricks, no diving.
The minutes pass and both sides show fear of having to leave the tournament. But there's also, weird as it may sound, a comedic quality in the match.
The ball rarely lingers in midfield. It rolls frantically from one box to the other, bringing about disorder and restlessness and stimulating all kinds of useless stampedes.
There are so many bodies bumping into each other, crashing, and falling down that they resemble routines.
Shots to the boxes aren't kicked back, they simply ricochet off the defenders' shins and torsos, adding to the confusion.
If two players jump for a ball, one of them will surely end up curled in the ground.
A Paraguayan forward has to duck and lift his hands to protect himself from an unexpected pass.
Endo stares ahead and conspires with a half-dormant eye every time he takes a free kick for Japan.
Gerardo Martino, the Paraguayan coach, can't stay still. He slaps his sides, grabs his hair, covers his eyes, lifts his arms...he seems invented by Molière.
The Japanese coach, Takeshi Okada, standing a few feet away, is a rigid mask of agony.
Both teams have an inept attacking game and that explains the 0-0.
Thank God for the silly tune that played throughout.

poor imitation

The Slovakian defender Martin Skrtel lifts his foot to chin level and the Spanish referee Alberto Undiano calls a foul. Skrtel goes haywire and imitates his coach, Vladimir Weiss, who has spent most of the match shouting at Undiano.
Many coaches think that waging a psychological war against the referees is part of their job, and that's why they're always shouting from the side-line and protesting any decision that favors the other team. They're generally men who have an inflated sense of their place in the game.
Skrtel, then, infected as he is with psychological warfare, forgets the ball, forgets Kuyt, the Dutch forward who's behind him, and lets it all out against Undiano.
The ball is played fast to Kuyt, who gets into the Slovakian box and looks up. Skrtel runs back, but has no time to get to anyone. He's bound to lose.
Kuyt sends the ball to the middle of the box. Sneijder comes in unmarked and scores the second goal for Holland. It's the 84th minute, too late for Slovakia to tie the match.