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.
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