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 So where did this year's World Cup gathering in Germany leave the once-capable soccer capital of Brazil in the overall 2006 team standings? Well, as the old Beatles song so fondly recalled for us, "Nowhere Man," down and out in Frankfurt, and not even qualified for the semifinal round in Munich's Olympiastadion.
Doubtless, this was not the first time Brazil's upward surge was halted in midstream by more determined and formidable foes - think of previous unsuccessful efforts covering the years 1974 through 1990 and, of course, the disreputable 1998 disaster in Paris. In point of fact, though, this was a more than unusually hot-tempered tournament for all concerned - and I just don't mean the torrid weather conditions. Full of promising match-ups and highly anticipated encounters, there were major upsets galore not only for the embarrassed Brazilian side but for other famed footballers as well. One of the most glaring omissions was the early ouster of supposed top contender Team USA. To be honest, no one seriously expected the United States of America to get very far along in their Don Quixote-like quest for a first World Cup championship, and certainly not to the actual final round itself - for that, there were other, far hungrier foreign teams out there, prowling about the turf in search of their day in the Teutonic sun. No, the U.S.'s terrible team showing against such nonentities as Ghana and the Czech Republic, as well as a bitterly fought contest with perennial powerhouse Italy - an all-out brawl that led to three red cards being brandished, including one for Italian player Daniele De Rossi for flagrantly elbowing USA member Brian McBride - did not ingratiate the hapless America, a one-time host nation in '94, to their disgruntled supporters. Time to tune out, many spectators thought, which would not have been bad advice considering what followed next: the Orangemen of Holland, for example, was one of those illustrious Old World names that could traditionally be counted upon to provide a reasonably good showing - but not this time. They merely fired blanks at the much smaller but resolute Portuguese squad, in what could only be referred to as one of the most vicious qualifying matches in memory. Russian referee Valentin Ivanov lost control of a game that was never much in control to begin with. It tied a World Cup record for most yellow cards issued (16), and went on to break another (four red), for various assorted infractions and exceedingly un-sportsman-like conduct from both ends of the playing field. Not a banner day for the Dutch - nor for the Portuguese, for that matter, who would in turn be the unlucky recipients of rougher play to come. Surely, with such an esteemed soccer nation as Argentina being done-in by penalty kicks, and with the hometown German war machine likewise running out of fuel, that left the Forza Azzurri of Italy, a three-time winner, and the upstart French, seeking a second title shot, to go at it alone in a frequently seesawing final battle that, true to this quadrennial event's contemporary form, was low-scoring and dull - and controversial to the last. It ended up in exactly the same manner that too many World Cup matches have been decided of late: that is, by those irritatingly inconclusive penalty kicks - never a true test of a team's abilities on or off the pitch, no matter what FIFA may have to say in their defense. The biggest shocker of the day, however, came when an egregiously mind-numbing foul was committed by visibly shaken French team captain Zidane, who lost his head, as it were, inside the chest of blue-shirted opposing player Marco Materazzi with only minutes left in second overtime play, after being pilloried with insults by the Italian defender that were reportedly aimed at the veteran midfielder's closest kin. Earning a red card for his efforts, the dejected Zidane was sent off to the showers, thus depriving Les Bleus of one of their most reliable shooters - he had earlier been responsible for his country's lone goal after Materazzi was singled out for allegedly dropping a French attacker in the penalty zone (so much for innocent until proven guilty). The culprit himself went on to score a fabulous header a bit later in regulation play that subsequently tied the game at 1-1, leading to a scoreless and exhausting double overtime play, and inevitably setting up the dreaded penalty kick situation in which Italy found itself on top, much to everyone's surprise. Zidane's retaliatory act was only one in a long list of outlandish displays that had so marred this and other World Cup clashes. Through it all, the local police did a splendid job of maintaining order in the stands and on the streets, along with quelling the potential rowdies and rioters that have cropped up every so often in past European entanglements. The same could not be said for the playing field, where most of the shenanigans took place and where the brutality was unavoidably transferred. At times, such actions proved counterproductive to the spirit of the games - and, as it turned out, became more the rule than the exception, yet reflective of our violence-prone society as a whole. Particularly offensive was the impulsive, crotch-stomping incident perpetrated by England's 20-year-old star forward Wayne Rooney, a veritable gorilla of a man, against downed Portuguese defender Ricardo Carvalho. This, too, resulted in another stunning second-half ejection, this time for the rampaging Rooney, whose ruddy-faced complexion took on the fiery aspect of the referee's flashing red card. With English team captain David Beckham incapacitated by leg injuries, culminating in his tearful withdrawal from the rest of the match, and a non-scoring exhibition by the six-foot-seven-inch substitute striker Peter Crouch, these series of unfortunate soccer events took the wind out of the waning British sail, thus setting up the near-miraculous shootout victory for the roughhouse gang from Portugal. In the end, some sort of commendation (!) was in order for the intrepid display put on by Portuguese goalkeeper Ricardo: his unprecedented three penalty kick saves and superb technical acumen on goal landed the underdog Lusitanian forces a long-awaited semifinal spot (with France) for the first time in 40 years of aborted title attempts. The "Big Phil" Factor for Portugal Indeed, not since the great African-born national team member Eusebio's last World Cup appearance in 1966 (in England, of all places) had such a single-minded group of raucous native combatants been featured in all-important semifinal play. It was as if the entire population of the Dão region was hard at work, laboring valiantly to reclaim on the field what it had so long ago lost on the high seas: their zest for world conquest. Credit for this accomplishment likely went to the source of all the misplaced show of emotion: their constantly gesticulating coach, that showboating, eye-rolling Brazilian-born técnico, Luiz Felipe Scolari, or "Felipão" (Big Phil), as sports columnists have so endearingly dubbed the colorful sideline figure. A veteran of several crowning soccer achievements, to include Brazil's 2002 comeback in Korea-Japan, and a berth for Portugal at the finals of the 2004 European Championship with Greece, not to mention a perfect 12-game World Cup winning streak, the Dr. Phil-like drill-instructor was the de facto cabeça (mastermind) behind the overly enthusiastic Portuguese response - indeed he would have to be, now that Brazil was plainly out of the picture. Would Big Phil's fired-up team members, among them veteran Luis Figo, key offensive playmaker Deco, and 21-year-old superstar-in-the-making Cristiano Ronaldo, lead their heroic troop past the seemingly unstoppable French? Would they be able to accomplish on the playing field what the shame-faced Brazilians had grievously failed to do with their hugely expensive arsenal? Would Felipão become the first coach in history to win a World Cup title for two different national teams? Not quite, for try as they might Portugal lost the engagement 1-0, thanks to the unbeatable combination of a taut French defense topped by Zidane's flawlessly executed penalty shot. Giving away a huge height advantage to France's much taller players, the spirited but punier Portuguese always came up "short," so to speak, on potential goal-scoring opportunities lobbed into the penalty area. Still, their unheralded field campaign and reckless air of abandon drew raves from newfound fans, particularly the baffled and disheartened Brazilian press, who, with nothing positive to report about their country's World Cup chances, proudly proclaimed Portugal's prowess to one and all. "I feel satisfied and glad with the way things have turned out overall," Big Phil was quoted as saying. "At the end, even by ending on a loss, we're still one of the best four teams in the world. That's a sort of title for us." Which was more than one could say for five-time winner Brazil at that point. Along with Meira, Maniche, Miguel, Postiga, Valente, Costinha, Simão, Nuno Gomes and the rest, they made a believer out of me and my family - and many others, I'm sure, as we screamed our heads off at their brash, go-for-broke antics. Finally, we cried, there was somebody out there worth rooting for. Not intimidated in the least by any country's so-called clout, the Portuguese had nothing to lose by gamely taking on all comers - and truly giving it to the Dutch, the Brits, the French, and even the Germans - while fouling opposing players like I've never seen a team foul before. Inconceivably, they displaced the lead-footed Brazilians in the hearts of disappointed soccer patrons when they were needed the most. Despite some of the poorest officiating in the annals of World Cup record-keeping history, despite the sheer number of cards given out, the questionable calls and randomly made decisions, the obviously fake dives and the horrendous lapses in judgment, it was still quite an exhilarating experience staged by the FIFA organizers. There's no doubt in my mind, though, that soccer has become - and will continue to be, for the foreseeable future - a strictly European running game. And with the majority of Brazilian players still living and working on the Continent, they would be well advised to stay right where they are for the duration of Europe's long, hot summer - or, as my journalistic colleague John Fitzpatrick so cleverly put it, Brazil's "winter of discontent." Well said, John. If the name "Ronaldo" can be associated with someone other than a shaven-headed, overweight, over-the-hill Brazilian prima donna, then there's hope after all for the efficacy of World Cup competition: "I may not be the Ronaldo you know, who beats three or four players, but I'm fulfilling my role," boasted Cristiano Ronaldo to the Associated Press. After that declaration, what is there left to say except to quote from a recent Jornal da Tarde headline, which, I believe, put the finishing touches, and the proper perspective, to how soccer-minded Brazil really feels about its team's participation in the world's most popular sporting event: "Thank you, Big Phil. At least one Brazilian fought with courage at this World Cup." A naturalized American citizen born in Brazil, Joe Lopes was raised and educated in New York City, where he worked for many years in the financial sector. In 1996, he moved to Brazil with his wife and daughters. In 2001, he returned to the U.S. and now resides in North Carolina with his family. He is a lover of all types of music, especially opera and jazz, as well as an incurable fan of classic and contemporary films. You can email your comments to JosmarLopes@msn.com. Copyright © 2006 by Josmar F. Lopes
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