Local lipdub

200 out of the 396 inhabitants of Herreruela, a small community close to Toledo, perform a very Spanish version of Waka Waka.

'España, entera, se va de borrachera'

La marea roja, rojos mareados, toda España a arrojar!

It's all over now...for another four years. The super-talented favourites have won, a result that was as much a relief as a joy to behold. How could we ever have doubted them? Even Alan Hansen appeared deliriously happy with Spain's laboured victory. Todos al ritmo de Shakira.

It couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch of people really. For now at least it will be 'crisis what crisis?' across Spain. It's probably also no exaggeration to suggest that this will be the most unifying event in that nation's history over the past hundred years.

We watched some of the pre and post match coverage on Spanish TV. A Dutch couple who were married yesterday in A Coruña were handed an orange shirt by the priest with the player name Van Aperder printed on the back!

Later we watched a gathering outside a seaside cafe in that same city watching the final on a large plasma screen. When Iniesta's goal went in a passing waiter threw his tray and all of its contents up in the air.

The final itself will be remembered for the Shaolin Soccer approach of the Naranja Mecánica. I lost count of how many Dutchmen hadn't been booked at the end of what was one of the most cynical tactical displays in the history of the finals. A stand out moment in this nervy match was Van Bommel running up to English ref Howard Webb after he'd just dished out another yellow card and gesticulating wildly as if to say 'that's enough, OK???!'

I will also always remember how Casillas broke down in tears after the deadlock was finally broken. One of those cynical Dutchmen even whacked the ball up from the half-way line towards the goal of the apparently stricken keeper in the hope of spoiling the fiesta before it had even really got started.

It was a good thing too that we had a few hours of football nonsense to keep us busy yesterday because it was the grimmest day of the year here in La Antigua...the grimmest of any year quizás.

It perhaps hasn't been the very best Mundiales. There weren't that many great goals, there wasn't a classic match (the third place play-off was bizarrely the most exciting) and, with respect to the undoubtedly wonderful, tweeting, golden-bollocked Diego Forlán, its outstanding star was a cephalopod. And we're surely going to be stuck with those blasted vuvuzelas for a while yet.

I've certainly had my fill of Guatemalan football commentary. Those guys just don't know when to shut up. It's as if they're commentating for radio: when not describing events on screen that viewers are perfectly capable of perceiving themselves ("balón que llega...") they're engaging in embarrassingly uninformed debates on collateral matters and often enough miss the build-up to an actual goal. And, worst of all, they're not even in the stadium, they're just watching it on TV like the rest of us.

If the commentary on BBC and ITV was ultimately superior, the punditry back in Blighty was persistently annoying. I'm not sure I'd really swap Alan 'I've been to the townships' Shearer for all those 'black continent' remarks across the Guatemalan coverage. Or indeed ITV's presumption that we all wanted Ghana to beat Uruguay for Canal 3's presumption that the reverse result was conspicuously preferable.

Anyway, after the match Iker Casillas did the customary interview with his reporter girlfriend Sara Carbonero. She'd taken some of the blame for Spain's upset against Switzerland in the first group match ('distracting influence'), but each time they subsequently come face to face for a post-match chat, they'd both been unshakeably professional. But last night we witnessed what Marca.com has hailed as 'el achuchón más famoso de la historia.'

During the match yesterday every time Princess Letizia spotted herself on the big screen she looked as if she wanted to jump up and wave, or even scream "esto es la oooostia!" much to the apparent discomfort of her husband.

We're watching la Roja arriving at the Palacio de Oriente right now, all looking a bit the worse for wear. The cathedral bells are tolling in Madrid. (PS: even the little Infantas can hold the cup, so the argument that it can't be solid gold gains credibility.)

Spain v Germany

Well, I was wrong to imagine that once again the Europeans would fail to thrive outside their own continent; though I was perhaps more on the money when I picked the Dutch as my dark horses.

The Latin Americans flattered to deceive in the early stages of this Mundial. They were playing the more exciting attacking football (Germany excepted), but none of them had actually overcome higher ranking opposition before they were eliminated.

The Germans go into today's semi-final with even their famous psychic octopus having deserted them. (Joachim Löw still has his lucky blue sweater though.)

Spain were the tournament favourites a month ago, but a succession of teams have demonstrated how easy it can be to thwart them simply by staying in their own half.

Therein lies the problem for the Krouts, who have reached this stage by counter-attacking against reckless teams with suspect back lines; and in the case of England and Argentina, teams without a professional defence in the normal sense of the term. Surely the same set of tactics won't work against the European champions?

This match has the makings of a classic. As for the final, those of us hoping for a blood and guts encounter are probably going to have to hope the Germans triumph today.

My earliest World Cup memories are of the latter stages of the 1974 tournament which were graced by the wondrous Dutch team of Johan Cruyff et al. Then, heartbreakingly, total football was taken down by the Germans in the Munich final.

Four years later the Dutch lost again in the Buenos Aires final to an Argie team that shouldn't even have been there: the junta led by Videla is widely believed to have bribed the government of Peru to make their team lose 0-6, thus permitting the hosts to advance to the final on goal difference ahead of Brazil. Cruyff didn't even turn up to that World Cup, in protest against the dictatorship and its practice of chucking people out the back of aeroplanes over the South Atlantic.

Now they've made it to the final once again, quite against the expectations of their own FA who have been desperately seeking new hotel accommodation this week. It's not a particularly loveable Holland eleven: they tend to win ugly as the Americans say. Indeed, in doing so they also tend to play ugly and in a number of notable cases, even look ugly. But with that win over the last of the Latins in the semis, Holland has now set a new record of 14 consecutive World Cup victories through qualification and the main event.

A Germany v Holland final would be tasty because of all the historical baggage, both on and off the football pitch...a proper hate match along the lines of Brazil v Argentina or indeed, Guatemala v Mexico.

Two years ago the Germans almost thwarted the Spanish in the final of Euro2008. On that day the Spanish needed Fernando Torres playing at his best to break the deadlock, something they are unlikely to be able to count on tonight. Their best hope is that the Germans refuse to imitate the approach of the other bus-parkers they've come across in South Africa and give them an open game in which their midfield can ticky-tack the ball around joyfully until David Villa pops up to score one of his super goals.

Holland are often referred to as the greatest footballing nation never to have won the World Cup, though the Spanish might disagree with that. In my lifetime the competition has only been won twice by a team that wasn't a previous champion: Argentina in '78 and France in '98, both host nations. Enough has been said about how the Argies achieved their first victory. The French didn't cheat, but they had some spectacular luck along the way. It would be nice to have a new name on the list of world champions next Sunday evening, but if the Germans end up winning, you'd have to say that they've done so on merit.

Técnico berrinchoso

Diego Maradonna has made a number of press conference appearances he ought to regret, but perhaps none more so than this one which took place earlier in January this year when Argentina were due to meet Germany in a friendly.

Here we see Prima(er..Mara)donna walking out on the event because he considered the presence of Germany's — admittedly rather young — new star Thomas Müller to be an insult to his puffed up Argie self-esteem.

He apparently mistook the midfielder, who ran circles around his own players on Saturday, for a ballboy.

Technology to the rescue?

It's not really clear that the result in Bloemfontein would have been any different had Frank Lampard's equaliser been allowed to stand. If England had come on in the second half and not had to chase the game, they might not have resorted to a that suicidal Chilean-style formation with almost all ten outfield players stuck somehere between midfield and the German back line.

On the other hand, most English people are being realistic: our team were pants across all four matches in this World Cup, and would more than likely have still been suckered by the Germans' well-conceived tactic of defending very deep before racing out in deadly counter-attack.

In contrast Mexico were surely robbed last night by the team led by the man my Bulgarian friend calls the 'hairy meatball'.

He can't understand why they even bothered staying on the pitch after ugga-wugga caveman Carlos Tevez's blatantly offside header was replayed on the big screen (accidentally and against FIFA regulations it seems). For a moment the officials looked conscience-stricken, yet were still unable to right this wrong under the current rules of the game. Mexico had been bossing the play up until that point and quite obviously went to pieces after it.

Now I've said here that controversy is part of the habanero-munching nature of the pleasure of watching international football, but some of the decisions at this Mundial have been just so completely bizarre (USA's disallowed winner, Kaká's red card etc.) that the competence of FIFA to run a tournament of this size and significance has to questioned.

The Guardian's Sean Ingle described FIFA as "football's answer to the Amish, but without the killer beards." They ignored all the calls for decision-assisting technology after the Henry handball saw France qualify for this World Cup at the expense of Ireland. But with this level of renewed public interest in the issue, can Sep Blatter really hold out much longer?

One thing is clear however (and can be resolved quickly and without technological aid) Mick Jagger should be kept away from all future England and USA fixtures.

Of my favourites only Chile and Japan remain. The latter might just make it to the quarters with their super-skilled pin-up star Honda, but you have to fear for the temerarious Chileans against a fully-reinforced Brazil today. Half the Chilean team is missing too thanks to the equally swashbuckling efforts of the ref in their last match against Spain.

It's not enough merely to win

Yesterday, on the Guardian's World Cup Daily pod Paolo Bandini put his finger on the reason Team USA tends to wind the rest of us up so much every four years: if they win, they gloat, but if they lose, they don't really seem to care.

Still it was an American (and former resident of La Antigua) Gore Vidal who — though I'd hesitate to suspect him of being a soccer fan — came up with a sentence that surely encapsulates the essential thrill of the World Cup: "It's not enough merely to win, others must lose."

Thinking ahead to England's potential exit tomorrow in the last 16 stage, I'd have to add that it's not enough merely to lose, others must NOT win.

Anyway, if the USA does overcome Ghana today (cue gloat) it will apparently be the first time that they have won back-to-back World Cup fixtures since 1930.

Ghana clearly didn't expect to make it even this far because their government has had to announce the imminent repatriation of a thousand fans whose trip to South Africa they'd financed. But now, with the group stages completed, the budget has run out, and so West African support tonight will be somewhat depleted.

Owing to bandwidth issues it has been easier to me to follow the BBC's World Cup feed live online than ITV's. Several of my mates back in the UK have observed that ITV has come up with livelier pundit panels and better coverage all round.

Perhaps even more excruciating than Guatemalan commentators' persistant referrals to Africa as 'the black continent' (and to the Nigerians as 'the black eagles': they are in fact the Super Eagles) have been those little video reports on the 'real Africa' which the BBC has insisted on showing once the likes of Shearer and Hansen have worn themselves, and everyone else, out.

Ghana, however, really are known as the Black Stars.

Sit down, stand up

England might well have won the next game against Slovenia, but things weren't much more comfortable on the bench...especially for Capello's assistant Stuart Pearce, once known to fans affectionately as 'psycho', but here thoroughly out loco'd by his boss.

Pass the #%&# ball!

England's manager Fabio Capello here expresses sentiments we were all feeling during the match against Algeria, but with some rather Italianate gesticulations.

Wimbledon's 'infinite' tennis match

It finally came to an end this morning, having lasted 11 hours and 5 minutes; the fifth set alone went on for 491 minutes. Between them Isner and Mahut had served 215 aces.

Mahut looked a little distraught, but then Tim Henman appeared an handed him a commemorative prezzie in a fancily wrapped box. Isner also got one. (No Frenchman was available apparently. They must all be in hiding.)

It was the least the All England Club could do as this marathon encounter has given The Championships a higher profile at a time when everyone — except the H.M. the Queen apparently — would rather watch the footie.

I suspect that when Henman himself is long forgotten, they will be bringing this particular match and its stats up during the summer broadcasts.

Elizabeth II missed it as she'd had more than enough tennis watching Andy Murray in her first visit to SW19 at this time of year since her Silver Jubilee year of 1977.

Meanwhile, I have decided to watch all future World Cup matches shown by ITV on their live online feed as I am getting pretty fed up with some of the Guatemalan commentators, especially that jowly one who uses the term la zaga every few seconds.

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Forza Azurri anyone?

We remember so fondly our Italia 1990 team (indeed one might say that Bobby Robson's boys changed the profile of football in English culture) not because of their mediocre performances in the group stage, their subsequent near-run-things against Belgium and Cameroon, but because of their glorious failure in the semi-final penalty shoot-out against old foe Germany.

For that reason I'm glad England have drawn the Germans again in the last 16, and that, should they somehow overcome them, they could then have to renew hostilities against the Argies (and Diego Armando Maradonna in particular).

Of such fixtures is a Mundial made, not comparatively insipid match-ups against the likes of Ghana, where there's not much more at stake than pride and a prolongation of the footballing fiesta back home.

The World Cup is the greatest sporting event on Earth. And what a contrast it makes with the noble yet ever so pompous and fascistic ideals of its only real competitor, the Olympic Games. For in spite of FIFA's rather tedious 'Fair Play' anthem, we all know that this is sublimated world war, an arena where it is acceptable (in fact downright pleasurable) to express the kind of xenophobic sentiments which would be completely unacceptable in any other circumstances.

It has been fascinating to watch the Americans starting to catch the bug in 2010. For one doesn't have to be a loyal week-in week-out soccer fan (I'm not) to appreciate the naughty pleasures of this tournament.

Of course they still tend to labour under one or two misconceptions, such as the notion that things would be somehow better without controversy (cheating, poor refereeing etc), for these things are surely fundamental to the intensity of the experience. Yesterday when England played Slovenia I chuckled as the Chapin commentators surmised that the German ref was being biased in England's favour, while their equivalents in the UK ranted that the opposite was in fact the case! (Really, a German referee. Only someone over here could imagine the existence of some sort of pact of European solidarity on the football pitch.)

Andrew Leonard's article in Salon suggests that Landon Donovan's late winner against Algeria will help America transcend the culture war which has broken out since the Jabulanis started flying in South Africa. Let's hope not, eh?!

The very idea that international football can somehow foster lets all get on together, multicultural values is of course complete nonsense, and both the left and the right in the US should quickly disabuse themselves of it. It's a silly doctrine that briefly gripped the French after their win in 1998, and just look at them now.

If this was universally understood to be just a 'sport', why would politicians take such a keen interest?

Anyway, Donovan produced one of the great World Cup moments to send the USA through and to the summit of Group C; deservedly so, because they produced a lot more excitement than England across the three games and were denied victory against Slovenia by the kind of 'erratic' decision we love so much.

David Beckham's place in the pantheon was guaranteed by a similar late intervention. England were down a goal in injury time in their final qualifying match against Greece for the 2002 World Cup, a scoreline that would have denied them top spot in the group, and thus condemned them to a play-off. Up stepped Beckham for one last free kick...



Or perhaps it's his sending off against Argentina in 1998 that most grabbed our attention? In the World Cup you're either a hero or a hate-figure (as Wayne Rooney is discovering) and it's best not to wish for the alternative.

Talking of hate-figures, Italy is down a goal to Slovakia as I write and heading for bottom of their group behind New Zealand. Yes, that's New Zealand, whose squad features at least one part-timer who works in a bank. I took this pic of Italian ex-pat preparations for the great spectacle in London last month. How I'd like to be hanging around outside Bar Italia in Frith Street this afternoon; just for a bit of therapeutic gloating, you know. (It wouldn't be such a bad place to be if they make some sort of heroic late comeback either.)

One last chance...?

In search of a new flag

British high street retailer HMV has announced the withdrawl of T-shirts and posters with the slogan ANYONE BUT ENGLAND from its stores across Scotland, reportedly following complaints that they were racist, but perhaps also because they've detected a growing market for this kind of "criminally irresponsible" product across the border in Enger-land itself.

During this World Cup English people don't need to head north in order to get beaten up, because just watching our national team's passing game has felt like being set upon by a rampaging mob of Jocks with wooden clubs.

How great we once felt when, having ejected those two incompetent Scotsmen from Nos 10 and 11 respectively, new PM David Cameron declared that the flag of St George would be flying over Downing Street this June...at no extra cost to the taxpayer.

After yesterday's horror show I'm giving serious consideration to the idea of packing up my own flags, sticking a pin in that inflateable hand, and picking a new team to support in South Africa. The trouble is...which one?

Now I like the jogo bonito as much as anyone else, and Brazil were indeed my second team throughout all previous Mundiales up to perhaps 2006, but Dunga's workaday bunch are conspicuously incomparable with the '82 squad of fondest memory lead by the magnificent Socrates. And Kaká appears to be continuing where he left off with Real Madrid last season.

Anyway, as our love affair with our own team fades into indifference (and perhaps even loathing), one of the great hate figures of all time in our national consciousness is experiencing an unlikely rehabilitation. After nearly 30 years memories of the Falklands War and the Hand of God seem to have faded sufficiently for us to admit that Diego Maradonna has brought a certain feckless charm to an event FIFA appears determined to keep humourless.

His strenuous denials of limp-wristedness to the gathered media on Thursday were hilarious. Anyway, here's a clip for all those who, like Don Marco, believe the beautiful game to be intrinsically more "effeminate" than rugby, gridiron, kick-boxing etc.

Could I then contemplate cheering on the Argies? Perhaps....against the Germans or the Italians for sure, but there are still other more inherently likeable teams from this hemisphere in the competition, such as Chile and Mexico (and to a lesser extent, Paraguay.)

And what of Spain? They were my first/second team for Euro 2008 (England having already disgraced themselves before they'd had a chance to subject the country to a summer of misery and disappointment) but they were still the perennial underdog underachievers back then.

This time however, they've arrived as clear favourites, having only lost to the USA in 49 previous matches. Watching them stroke the ball around the midfield in tight little triangles against Switzerland I was immediately reminded of the brilliant but un-loveable FC Barcelona, and was thus rather satisfied when the Swiss did a bit of a number on them.

I still think it highly unlikely that a European team will be crowned as World Champions this time round, and it remains to be seen how many African nations even make it through to the knock-out stages. The Asians are game, but lack the extra quality required, so the Latins do seem like the safest bet still, but I have a sneaking suspicion that those other chronic nearly men, the Dutch, may just make a proper impact in 2010.

At half time during the Algeria match last night we switched over to ESPN where they were repeating the conclusion of Andy Murray's comprehensive defeat against Roger Federer in the final of this year's Australian Open. On one level this was a timely reminder of British sporting over-anticipation and ultimate underachievement.

But then I remembered that Murray is of course a Scot and has made no secret of hanging out with members of whichever nation happen to be taking on England at the time. He probably even has one of those t-shirts and will turn up to Wimbledon on Monday wearing it.

'Never write off the Germans' ?

No European team has ever won the World Cup outside their home continent, and although it's still early days (and those Italians are such notorious slow starters), there's really no sign of that particular duck being broken down in South Africa.

England's off day last weekend now pales in comparison to the slow starts we've now seen from the likes of Spain and France; and Italy needed yet another instance of kamikaze goalkeeping in order to scrape a 1-1 draw against Paraguay.

The Germans had such a lively opener against the Aussies that one German paper declared the next day that 'We're going to blow you all away.' They did seem to have one slightly unfair advantage over the other European teams in that a German firm (Adidas) designed these dodgy Jabulani balls and then gave them to their compatriots to practice with long before everyone else.

Enter the Serbs...and what's this, Germany misses a penalty?!

Meanwhile Klose was sent off just before he managed to equal Pele's World Cup scoring record. He'll miss the next match, which might just be the Germans' last in the competition. (If England want to avoid the old foe in the last 16, it might now be an idea for us to allow Slovenia to top Group C!)

After the French went down 2-0 to la Tri yesterday, The Guardian's Barry Glendenning declared that to a man they were a 'disgrace to their country'. A bit harsh, because the French had played positively at times, but the Mexicans had just a bit more determination about them on the night. Anyway, Glendenning is Irish and no doubt has a greater sense of the karmic implications of this particular looming debacle.

Slovenia is often described as the Switzerland of the Balkans and right now they seem to be doing a bit of a Switzerland on the USA, who will surely be heading home early if the score stays the same.

Talking of Switzerland, Paul Doyle reported earlier this morning on The Guardian's live World Cup blog that "the marketing team at Swiss supermarket Migros ran a big, patriotic, advertising campaign before the Spain game, promising 10% off everything in store for one day if Switzerland won. The only problem being, they did win. Migros reckon the exercise has cost them CHF5m (£4.18m), though I'm betting that in reality the publicity generated and extra customers brought in have probably made it worth their while."

Next up England v Algeria. We'll see what they're made of now. It does seem that even a manager with an ego the size of Fabio Capello's couldn't face the implications of putting Green in goal again and David 'Calamity' James will be putting on the No1 shirt this evening in Cape Town.

Singing is off this year

Déjà vu

Not a bad result on paper, but it was always going to be more agreeable to American (and Scottish) people.

Expectations for our national team have been much lower at this Mundial, but we were all hoping not to have them met quite so quickly. The problem was that all the known weaknesses of the squad, which we'd kind of hoped would miraculously vanish the moment the competition started, were not only present, but present in near exaggerated form.

And to cap it all our formerly 'lucky general' has started to demonstrate the decision-making prowess of his predecessors.

Significantly, England (or indeed any other international squad) only seem to do well at the World Cup when their guardametas can post a reasonable claim to being the world's best.

Unfortunately, England's recent history on the pitch has been littered with the sort of goal-keeping clangers one tended to associate with our northern neighbours. It began with Seaman's gaffe in 2002. Then England failed to qualify for Euro 2008 largely due to spectacular penalty area cock-ups by Robinson and Carson in the home and away legs against Croatia. In came Robert Green...and like Seaman, Robinson and Carson, a single mistake may have brought down the curtain on his international career.

Yet the alternatives aren't great. There's an ageing David James (aka 'Calamity James') and the young and untested Joe Hart. Many did feel the latter deserved a shot at the No1 shirt in South Africa, but Capello stuck with the keeper he preferred in qualifying.

The one player in Team USA who would have made it into Capello's squad ahead of all of the alternatives was indeed their goalie, Tim Howard.

Aside from Landon Donovan there's hardly another player in the American first eleven who ought to have posed England major difficulties, yet a bloke who's having trouble breaking into the Hull first team helped make our expensive midfield look ragged.

Anyway, all we have to do now is perform better than the Yanks against the likes of Algeria and Slovenia to win the group....an absolute must it now seems, as the runners-up are likely to run into Germany: an option that looks increasingly unpleasant.

(Thanks to James for the pic!)

'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go

0 days to go...

It's certainly all ogre now for any one with a football phobia.

V:"Ya me aburrió el futbol..." and we're only 45 minutes in. For some reason the opening match is often a big snore, but the hosts just scored, so maybe this one's about to wake up.

I thought the Tube poster above was a great example of localised marketing, although the gag might be lost on most of the movie's target audience, and many of the foreign visitors wandering around London.

I also noticed that Tesco is selling large Toshiba flat screen televisions with the promise that anybody who buys one will get their money back if England win the World Cup!

Could be costly for them, but should this highly unlikely event come to pass, they'll also benefit from the orgy of consumer self-indulgence which is almost certain to come in its wake across the southern portion of the British Isles.

Write the Future

I couldn't help but plug this slightly dotty pre-Mundial Nike ad concocted by Alejandro González Iñárritu, director of Babel and Amores Perros.

Amongst other delights it features Wayne Rooney coping with alternative timelines, facial hair and Roger Federer's prowess at the ping pong table.

Shame that Mueludinho has been left out by Dunga and that Ribery isn't exactly a marketers dream at the moment.

50 Days to Go

80 days to go