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

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...

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.

La Bombonera - a ground of three thirds

Boca Juniors 2  Argentinos Juniors 2

Well, I thought it was worth waiting the extra week for the Argentine football season to begin. The players were fitter, leaner and hungrier. Not a single nil-nil draw and plenty of surprises.

The Argentine season is very short, just nineteen games. So if you get off to a poor start that’s it, no time for a late surge or any chance to emerge refreshed from the Christmas break.

We start the 2009 Apertura season with the last chill of the southern hemisphere winter and will end it in late December with the Christmas tinsel wilting in the early summer sun.

I went to the Bombonera, the home of Boca Juniors for the visit of Argentinos Juniors.  It’s an imposing yellow and blue concrete hulk which sits on the edge of the working class dock area of La Boca. It’s a shrine, an icon, a Mecca in a country where football is pretty much a religion. It’s also bloody difficult to get into, even if you’ve got a ticket.

And the reason is the abundance at every turn of pompous, officious, uniformed bastards whose sole aim in life is to make things difficult for the paying customer.

Life in Latin America can be sweet. A little money helps but the key to long life and happiness is to stay clear, whenever and wherever possible, of anyone in a position of authority. Latin Americas’ many military dictatorships and oppressive police forces speak for themselves.

Foreigners will tell-tales of hours lost in cavernous government buildings in the search for official residency papers. Locals talk through gritted teeth about epic visits to the cable TV, telephone or electricity companies to get things repaired or to correct wildly outrageous bills. No-one that I know has ever spent less than an hour in the bank or post office. I once paid a two-hundred dollar bribe and spent six hours at the customs office to retrieve something that was mine and they had no right to be holding in the first place.  And I was shushed and then ignored for a good ten minutes by staff at the place where they issue ID documents because they wanted to watch the end of the local Big Brother.

My generously sympathetic theory is that these poorly-paid, ill-trained staff are treated abysmally by their superiors and the only joy they can retrieve from an otherwise dismal life is to be obnoxious to defenceless punters like myself for the short time they have us at their mercy.

I was polite and respectful to all of the fifteen or so policemen, women and ground stewards I asked directions from outside the Boca ground. They sent me in at least fifteen different directions. And it was only when I’d returned to the same one for the third time that their veneer of pure spite began to crack and they showed me a modicum of sympathy. Or it might have been when I slumped to the ground sobbing in anger and frustration.

I made it to my seat about two minutes before kick-off by which time I didn’t much care about the football. Or global warming, the dry rot in the living room or anything else for that matter.

But there’s nothing like a good game of football to take your mind off of your problems. And this was a good game of football. Boca Juniors looked tired and disjointed. They are back under the command of Alfio ‘Coco’ Basile, a man with a voice so deep and gravelly the ground shakes when he speaks. The last time he was in charge, Boca simply couldn’t stop winning. He had to go because the carpenters couldn’t build new trophy cabinets quickly enough. But he didn’t do so well as the national team coach and Boca didn’t do so well without him. So he’s back.

The visitors, Argentinos Juniors, who last season finished last, were sprightly and imaginative. They had a goal disallowed for handball. That only works if your name is Diego Maradona and you have a special relationship with the Almighty!

But then Gabriel Hauche on the half-hour and Nicolas Gianni on the stroke of half-time put Argentinos two up. This looked like being a shock of shockingly shocking proportions.

Marino Boy

Taking a leak at half-time, the old fellow mopping the floor told me that Boca had made a couple of changes. He mopped with one hand while holding a radio to his ear with the other and spoke with authority. I imagine that a man with a keen ear who mops the floors at Boca Juniors must learn a thing or two and is worth listening to. He may have just cleaned the Boca changing room floor or emptied Coco Basile’s spit bucket for all I knew.

And so it came to pass. There was a strange rumbling in the concrete structure which I put down to the half-time dressing down that Basile gave to his lacklustre players. One of the new men he put on was Guillermo Marino who neatly put the ball into the visitor’s net twice in five minutes to level the score.

That’s the way it stayed. A fair result in a game of two halves and one that Argentinos Juniors will be more pleased with than Boca.

The big shock came elsewhere with humble Banfield beating Boca’s big rival, River Plate 2-0. The current champions, Velez Sarsfield, won their opening fixture 1-0 away at Colon and lumbering, slumbering giants, Independiente lost at home to Newell’s Old Boys.

Football is back as an intrinsic part of the fabric of Argentine life. She’d been gone for far too long.