Argentina  1  Bolivia  1

The Iguazu Falls in the far north-east of Argentina on its border with Brazil have just been declared one of the seven natural wonders of the world,  along with the Amazon jungle,  Table Mountain in South Africa and some interesting and unusual rivers and islands in east Asia.

My own vote went to the bird pond on Wanstead Flats in east London but my campaign,  for some reason,  didn’t seem to catch the public imagination.  

The Argentine people are proud of the award,  as though they’d played a part in the construction of the falls. There are bits of the complex that feel like a watery DisneyWorld but in general the authorities look after it very well.

Iguazu - One of the Wonders.

My only complaint is directed at the Brazilian side where they allow helicopter trips over the falls,  pissing off the wildlife and drowning out the “Ooohs” and “Aaaahhs” of the tourists on the Argentine side.

The award however should have gone to the Argentine national football team. There’s enough natural talent and an overdose of wonderous skill in the legs of Messi,  Higuain,  Di Maria and Aguero to beat the Komodo national park in Indonesia into eighth place and out of the reckoning.

But it’s not happening. After that disastrous 1-0 defeat away to Venezuela in the second qualifying game for the 2014 World Cup,  the boys in sky blue and white were served the best possible dish with which to regain their footballing appetite –  the weakest side in the group,  Bolivia. They’ve replaced Venezuela as the whipping boys,  the Bradford Park Avenue of South America. They’re ill at ease with the thicker oxygen-laden air we breathe at or near sea-level,  generally unable to wear down their opponents as they do when playing among the clouds of La Paz where the llamas and the mountain goats roam.

And what’s more,  this was at home,  in River Plate’s Monumental Stadium in Buenos Aires where Argentina would have a passionate crowd behind them,  or so the theory went. The commentators bombarded us with statistics…something about the hundreds of World Cup qualifying away games Bolivia have played over the years of which they’d drawn only a handful and won just one – against Venezuela.

This was Messi,  Higuain,  Mascherano etc – the cream of the European leagues against a bunch of guys generally playing for Bolivian teams like The Strongest,  Destroyers and Blooming or the also-rans in the leagues of neighbouring countries.

It all started to go horribly wrong for the home side before the kick-off. I was near the stadium about forty-minutes beforehand to pick my son up from school and saw a few fans strolling nonchalantly towards the ground. There seemed to be little in the way of expectation or anticipation. I imagine there was a greater buzz at Brisbane Road as Leyton Orient keyed up for the their FA Cup tie against Bromley.

Bolivia - The Strongest?

Just 24,000 turned up on a sunny afternoon in a stadium that can hold more than 40,000 and many of them were raucous Bolivians.

The men in green scurried and passed and played like a team. Those in sky blue and white pranced around and preened themselves like the prima donnas many of them are. Their manager,  Alejandro Sabella,  has the face of a deputy head at a girls’ school who’s not quite got to grips with the discipline problem.

Sure,  the Ecuadoran referee should have played the advantage and let Higuain’s first half goal stand after Messi was fouled on the edge of the penalty area. But he didn’t and true professionals would have shrugged their shoulders and moved on. This was only Bolivia don’t forget.

Then at the start of the second half,  Martin Demichelis did some kind of keepsy-upsy thing near his own penalty area and lost the ball to Marcelo Martins who still had some work to do to before slamming it home.

A silence enveloped Argentina during which I thought I could hear the crashing of water at the Iguazu Falls several hundred leagues to the north. First Venezuela then Bolivia!!

The crowd,  needing a culprit,  turned against Demichelis,  booing every time he touched the ball. Unnerved,  trying to hold back the tears as he watched his international career floating away over the rootops of Buenos Aires,  he only made more mistakes.

And someone needs to tell him that you can get away with a ridiculous haircut when you’re 22,  going out with a top model and playing at the peak of your career. But as you start to fade,  that Ashley Cole-type pomposity starts to look just a tad ridiculous.  

Argentina’s motto seems to be:  “When in doubt,  give the ball to Messi.”  Never mind that he’s being marked by three defenders and is in no position to receive it. Ezequiel Lavezzi came on as a substitute and equalized with his first touch of the ball. A partial sigh of relief. The home side huffed and puffed like they were playing at altitude. But a draw was a fair result.  Bolivia was ecstatic. Argentina face Colombia away on Tuesday.

The team to fear in this qualifying group is little Uruguay. World Cup semi-finalists,  Americas Cup champions and now top of the table with seven points from nine. Liverpool’s Luis Suarez put four past Chile.

The Argentine newspapers are full of analysis,  criticism and suggestions. I could pick eleven players from the current pool of exceptional talent.  But eleven players,  as everyone except Alejandro Sabella seems to know,  does not a team make. 

The seven natural wonders of the world? We’re naturally wondering what in the world Argentina needs to do to start playing as we all know they should be.

 

Argentina  0  Germany  4

Argentina is now going through the same post-World Cup dejection thanks to German superiority that England suffered last week.  The destruction was remarkably similar – early German dominance converted into goals, followed by solid defending and swift and ruthless counter-attacking.

The absence of vast chunks of both the England and the Argentine defences was noteworthy. Another likeness was the failure to seriously challenge the German goal, although England were hindered by dodgy Uruguayan refereeing.

Argentina v Germany

Argentina v Germany

England, led at great expense by supposedly one of the best managers in the modern game, failed to respond to German tactics. Argentina, led at great expense by a man widely recognised as being a useless coach, failed to respond to German tactics. So further similarities there.

But what are the differences between the two losing sides? Which should feel the most dejected?

England, let’s face it, really only have one player who, if he were Argentine, could claim a place among the albicelestes. If Wayne Rooney doesn’t perform then England can’t beat Algeria.

Argentina on the other hand, have roughly twenty million men who can kick a ball in a straight line. I must exclude from that list Pablo, who sells newspapers outside my local train station, since he only has one leg. But he can catch a ball better than most English goalkeepers.

There was much debate in the Argentine media before the World Cup about Maradona trying out over one-hundred players. But he’s got more than one-hundred players who are worth considering. More than one-thousand Argentine professional footballers ply their trade abroad – those in Italy, Spain, France, Holland, Portugal, Germany and England we know about.

But they’re also performing in the US league, the Greek, the Thai. They’re scoring and stopping goals in Russia, Mexico, Ecuador and Brazil.

And their own Argentine league ain’t half bad either. Argentina churns them out like the Japanese and the South Koreans produce cars. And like the Japanese and South Korean motor industry, there is no great secret.

Argentina simply boasts a well-run, enthusiastic, knowledgeable network of football schools. They ensure that talent is spotted early and nurtured. The other thing to be said is that they play a lot of football.

My point being that even with Messi not doing for the national team what we’ve seen him do for Barcelona, there are plenty of others willing and able to pick up the slack. Carlos Tevez for one. Then there’s Higuain, Di Maria, Milito, Heinze and Pastore. OK, so they didn’t do it against Germany.

The Nation Awaits...

The Nation Awaits...

But Argentina can look forward to a bright future since they’ve got a huge pool of talent and a new generation coming off the conveyor belt. They’ll have that clever little midfielder at Argentinos Juniors, some nifty left-winger playing in Belgium and, if he could get someone to mind his newspaper kiosk, Pablo from outside my local train station.

You don’t see that many kids kicking tin cans around on the street of Buenos Aires. Instead, they play on indoor pitches of which there are many. But just try booking one! I’ve played at 10pm and when I staggered off an hour later, there were always two teams keen to move into action until gone midnight.

It was suggested that England’s players were tired after a long season. Pathetic! Most of the Argentine selection plays in Europe for those same hard-working European teams. The difference is that when their country calls them they’ve got to jump on a long and arduous trans-Atlantic flight to Buenos Aires and then, quite possibly a connection to Quito or Caracas. And Buenos Aires to Quito or Caracas is not the equivalent of Heathrow to Berlin or Budapest.  Europe could fit many times into South America and still leave ample room for Cristiano Ronaldo’s ego.

Then there’s that old chestnut ‘the pressure of a nation on their shoulders.’  Take that pressure that the expectant England fans put on their national team and double it. Treble it, if you like. Then you might get some idea of the expectation, the hopes and dreams that the 40 million or so Argentines pile onto their players’ shoulders.

My mum, for instance, would recognise Wayne Rooney and David Beckham if she saw them drinking coffee in the town where she lives in rural Hampshire simply because their images have transcended the world of football. But she, and millions like her, would fail to recognise Frankie Lampard, Ashley Cole and Stevie Gerrard even if they knocked on her door selling insurance. And who knows? It sounds like they might have to if the mood over there is as bad as the British press would have me believe. I won’t even mention Gareth Barry or James Milner. OK, maybe I will.

But pretty much everyone in Argentina, even those who say they’ve got little interest in football, know their Messis from their Tevezes, their Higuains from their Di Marias and they know which clubs they play for and in which position. They know their wives’ and girlfriends’ names, their shoe sizes…OK, OK! You get the point.

They might discuss tactics, they might disagree on selection, they might think Diego looks better in a tracksuit than in that suit and tie, but this a nation firmly behind their team. And I don’t mean just when they’re winning.

The pain and disappointment being felt in Argentina is enormous. There will be a post mortems on every street corner, at every workplace, in every bar and cafe. But Argentine football is still strong.

They need to find a new manager, someone who understands the modern game and can mould some of the best players in the world into a team, someone who knows how to play Messi. England, on the other hand, needs to find a whole new generation of footballers, a whole new system, a whole new way of doing things.

Argentina will be challenging for the cup in 2014, I doubt that England will.

Argentina  3  Mexico  1

It’s now just one step away from official – almost nothing else in Argentina matters now apart from the World Cup quarter-final game against Germany on Saturday July 3rd at 11am Buenos Aires time.

The front-pages of even the serious newspapers are now dedicated to the football, people talk about little else and no plans for the weekend or the days beyond are made without a quick glance at the fixture list that we all carry in our wallets.

The one good thing to come out of England’s dismal defeat to Germany is that I can now put my support firmly behind Argentina. I would of course have been 100% behind John Terry and the boys in the always unlikely event of a quarter-final clash against Argentina. But in the meantime, my loyalties and my frayed emotions were split two ways which made Sunday a very difficult day indeed.

Hung out to dry!

Hung out to dry!

We left  early for Matt’s place in Palermo to watch both games and it meant packing England and Argentina shirts for myself, my wife and the kids. We had to find both the England and Argentina cardboard cutouts from the Tiki Tiki football magazine, read team reports from both camps and prepare ourselves emotionally for possible convincing victories, crushing defeats or mind-numbingly dull draws followed by extra-time and excrutiatingly painful penalties for two games fuelled only by as much beer, cake and hamburger as we could shove down our throats in the short break between matches. I’d also risen early to prepare a German potato salad to show there were no hard feelings for 1914, 1939, 1970, 1996 etc. There’s still plenty left and we’re feeding it to the cat. Or I might wrap it up and send it to the Uruguayan referee’s association.

It ain’t always easy being a football-loving expat in a football-mad country like Argentina. Especially if your first-choice team would have had trouble matching Accrington Stanley in the first round of the FA Cup, never mind a German counter-attack that moved more swiftly and decisively than Ashley Cole’s agent on speed.

The hundreds of thousands of Paraguayans, the tens of thousands of Chileans, the many Uruguayans and the smattering of Brazilians who live in Argentina still have much the same problem that I, thanks to woeful England defending, am now free of.

The weather is pretty nippy so it’s not a bad idea to wear two football shirts here at the moment. But we’re not doing that any more. The England shirts are in the wash then they’ll be placed carefully in the cupboard where they’ll stay until 2014.

Belief is growing in Argentina that they can win this cup. But alongside that belief there is also growing pressure on the team and the danger of complacency setting in.

No other news.

No other news.

Commentators in Buenos Aires and South Africa are saying how relaxed and happy Diego Maradona is these days. Perhaps even normal? But his team is winning. It’s easy to be relaxed when you’re winning. We’re all waiting to see how he performs under pressure and we’re still living with the promise, or was it a threat, that Diego made at the start of the tournament to run naked around the obelisk in the centre of Buenos Aires should Argentina bring the cup home.

I think that’s just something we’re going to have to live with since I’ve not seen a team that seriously looks like challenging Argentina – and the albicelestes haven’t even started playing their best yet! Messi is taking his time getting warmed up but when he does, with those around him already in their stride, I think we’re going to see something special.

The trouble with being surrounded by so much football waffle and gobbledegook is that it’s easy to lose sight of the ball. Someone once said, while the balance of their mind was disturbed, that ‘it’s only a game.’

Not here it’s not, amigo! Not here!

Argentina  2  Greece  0

I called the repair company three weeks ago, as the Argentine winter chill was beginning to bite and well before the World Cup kicked off, to ask them to fix the gas heater in the living room.

Juan Carlos rolled up on his motorbike and spent five hours grunting and swearing before he managed to produce a flame, then he sped off into the night, 300 pesos richer.

I inspected his work and found the control dial in the wrong place and when I tried to relight the heater there was no spark. So the next day I called the office. And the next and the next and the day after that. Every day a polite elderly lady either told me that Juan Carlos was on his way or would call later. He never did.

Everything Must Go.

Everything Must Go.

I kept my cool since it doesn’t pay to lose your temper in these kinds of situations in Argentina. Three weeks later, at ten o’clock on the morning of the Argentina v Greece match, I called again. “He’s on his way,” I was assured. But of course he never showed. When I phoned later that evening I was told that he’d gone home early because of the match.

“But you told me at ten this morning that he was on his way,” I bleated. “The game didn’t kickoff until three-thirty.”

“You’re a foreigner,” she told me, sounding very haughty. “You simply wouldn’t understand.”

“That,” I replied, “is a racist comment.” I was about to go into 1966 and all that when she put the phone down on me.

While my wife and kids watched the match wrapped in blankets, I was downtown. I walked past Plaza San Martin where the big screen has been set up while Uruguay were playing Mexico. The hillside was decorated with Uruguayan flags.

But the rest of Buenos Aires was sky-blue and white. Although it hardly seemed possible, yet more sellers of sky-blue and white hats, horns, flags and shirts have sprouted on Florida, the main pedestrian shopping street. There are even shops now dedicated to the sale of similar but slightly better quality items.

I watched the game in the Richmond – all leather armchairs, oak panels and tea with milk served with proper pots and strainers. It’s more English than Stanley Matthews’ baggy shorts, John Terry’s jock-strap – you get the picture.

It had a big screen and miserable waiters – the kind who pride themselves on memorising the orders in what is a paperless restaurant. We were six and ordered a variety of beverages and cake. I was convinced that our man, with his Hitleresque moustache, would screw up. But no! Teas, coffees and cheesecake all arrived in front of the person they were meant for in time for the kick-off.

This little patch of oak-panelled England in the heart of Buenos Aires very soon became pure Argentine as the ‘albicelestes’ pushed on the Greek goal.

I think they’re getting better with each game, playing like a team and not relying overly on Messi. Two crucial goals have been scored by defenders, Heinze against Nigeria in the first game and the opener against Greece by Martin Demichelis, perhaps confusing his opponents with his Greek surname.

The Richmond - two sugars, please.

The Richmond - two sugars, please.

Of course, Argentina cheered that one but they cheered even louder for the second goal, tapped in off the rebound by Boca Juniors’ Martin Palermo. He’s big, he’s strong, he’s courageous and he plays his club football in Argentina. A goal from Messi would have been nice and it will come. But the day after the game I heard the word ‘Palermo’ everywhere – on the street, on the radio, from the bloke who delivered our soda siphons at 7.15 in the morning. The World Cup is all anyone talks about.

A fine example of how desperate the Argentine media is to fill its special World Cup TV programmes and newspaper supplements was an interview with Juan Sebastian Veron’s mum revealing that while her son was born in Argentina, he was in fact conceived in Greece. Fascinating! Did that little tidbit have a bearing on the game? Was that the reason Diego didn’t play him against Greece?

After the game, I walked back to Retiro train station, up Florida, against the tide of supporters leaving the Plaza San Martin. This was a nation content, a nation smiling. There is plenty of discussion about selection and tactics but one thing is clear. The Argentine people are fully behind their team.  And win, lose or draw, they’ll stay that way. I doubt you’ll hear booing from the terraces or see players swearing into the camera.

The next morning, as I settled down at home for the England v Slovenia game, England shirt on, England team cardboard cut-out on top of the tele, Rooney poster on the wall, blankets and hot coffee at hand, I heard the putter of a motorbike outside. It was Juan Carlos come to fix the heater, finally.

“Who you backing then?” he asked. I could have told him Burkina Faso and he’d have believed me. “African teams not doing too well,” he’d have said. He fixed the heater and rode off before Jermain Defoe had put the ball in the net.  I dare not touch it. I want to stay warm at least until Germany have knocked England out on penalties.