Graham's Blog

Running right alongside Brazil 2014, this is my day-by-day story of how Spain won the last World Cup. You can catch up on previous posts.

These stories are from Spain: The Inside Story of La Roja’s Historic Treble, by Graham Hunter

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Two Days until the World Cup semi-final

The further this bunch go, the more relaxed they are. Perhaps the joie de vivre which settles on Spain’s Potchefstroom retreat stems from an octopus named Paul. Pulpo Paul in Spanish.

England had woken up to the oracle powers of the Octopus Vulgaris much earlier in the tournament thanks to the fact that the star pupil of the Oberhausen Aquarium, although a native of Weymouth, tipped Germany to beat England in the last 16.

The deal is that Paul’s keeper places him in a tank which has two see-through plastic boxes with a piece of food in each. Each box is decorated with a flag of one of the two nations about to play. Television stations around the world love it.

So far at this tournament, Pulpo Paul (who made a damn good job of Euro 2008 in tipping four of Germany’s six matches correctly) has got every single German result right, including a shock defeat by Serbia in the group stages.

Ahead of the semi-final, Pulpo Paul plumps for La Roja.

 

Running right alongside Brazil 2014, this is my day-by-day story of how Spain won the last World Cup. You can catch up on previous posts.

These stories are from Spain: The Inside Story of La Roja’s Historic Treble, by Graham Hunter

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Three days until the World Cup semi-final

The morning after the night before, there is always a hangover. Puyol took the ball smack in his face making one block against Paraguay; it was so bad that he temporarily lost full vision. Fàbregas has shoulder damage and will need an X-ray; Ramos took a boot to the head and his eyebrow has been stitched. As for Torres, intuition tells him he is going to be dropped. In fact, he knows it.

Fernando Torres: “There are better and worse times during a tournament and I was never going to make being left out a problem.”

However, away from all these trials, Andrésito Iniesta, a tormented soul just a few weeks ago, is currently the man of the tournament. He was the light in the darkness against Switzerland, creating his team’s best chances. Against Chile he helped create and then score goals of velvet smoothness to win Group H. Iniesta’s darting run and pass produced Villa’s winner against Portugal. Then, when Paraguay resisted for 83 minutes, he danced past three tackles to give Pedro the chance to start the woodwork bonanza which ended with Villa scoring again.

David Villa: “Iniesta is a genius.”

Xavi: “He’s Spain’s best player, no doubt. By a distance. He’s been through so, so much suffering this season and it’s done us all damage to see that. He’s respectful, quiet, a great professional, he’s earned his stripes – it’s just a joy to play with him.”

Back at base, it is back to basics. First-teamers have the day off, but Casillas trains. The night session is mostly based around intense, small-sided matches aimed at keeping those who have the fewest competitive minutes sharp, thinking quickly, fleet of foot and with a feeling that their moment might be just about to arrive.

In Pedro’s case, it is.

Running right alongside Brazil 2014, this is my day-by-day story of how Spain won the last World Cup. You can catch up on previous posts.

These stories are from Spain: The Inside Story of La Roja’s Historic Treble, by Graham Hunter

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Pepe Reina is a fanatic for detail. The keeper will study striker after striker on DVD, particularly their one-on-one finishes and their penalty taking. Óscar Cardozo’s Benfica have been knocked out of the Europa League quarter-final by Reina, Fernando Torres and Liverpool this season, but only after the Paraguayan striker scored two penalties in the first leg. Each of them was tucked away firmly to the goalkeeper’s left. Having experienced that and seen the DVD compilation, Reina mentions to Casillas pre-match that if Paraguay get a penalty, or if the match goes to a shoot-out, then Cardozo’s default action is to shoot to his right and the goalkeeper’s left.

Paraguay get their first corner in in the 56th minute; Piqué dozes for a split second, Cardozo gets free and the Catalan hauls him down to the floor. Penalty.

Xavi thinks: ‘If they score this, we are practically out.’

Villa thinks: ‘Iker will save this. I’m going to be ready when he does.’

But Casillas is not working alone. Reina is up and jigging about, trying to get his colleague’s attention. Reina roars at Casillas: “Remember!”

Then, just like in Vienna two years earlier, he leaves him be.

Casillas, a demon card player according to Xavi, runs through the percentages in his mind.

In their last match, Paraguay went through in a penalty shoot-out against Japan and Cardozo shot to his left, beating the keeper’s right-handed dive. But his favoured style is to shoot to his own right and the keeper’s left.

Cardozo will know I saw the Japan penalty, so he is thinking about changing sides. In all the tension, he may have forgotten that Reina saw two of his penalties up close this season. I’m going left.

He does, he saves and when the ball is heading back up the field Reina is applauding his friend, and Casillas points over at him with both hands: Your good call.

Villa is ready. As play flows upfield, the striker gets in front of Alcaraz and wins Spain a penalty when the defender bundles him over. Xabi Alonso buries it, but Carlos Alberto Batres González does not even see the net bulge. The Guatemalan referee has been watching the edge of the penalty box. Three players appear to encroach but the Guatemalan believes that the furthest forward is a Spaniard, Cesc Fabregas.

Before the match Paraguay’s legendary keeper José Chilavert said of Batres: “He is the worst referee in the history of Guatemala and it’s shameful that he has been given this quarter-final.”

While Spanish bodies pile on top of the jubilant Alonso, Batres is blowing his whistle. Alonso must take it again.

This time the Spaniard knows he has not hit it properly and he’s doing a jerky little hop and skip with his arms stretched out before Justo Villar has even dived to his left to palm the ball away, as if his whole body is screaming: ‘Oh no!’

However, this time Fabregas has not encroached. He is first to the rebound. He gets a touch to take the ball past the dive of the goalkeeper and Villar takes him out. If you look in the Oxford English Dictionary for the definition of the word penalty, it will read: Cesc Fabregas. Minute 63. Spain vs Paraguay. World Cup 2012. But Batres has something in his eye, possibly a symphony orchestra, two Mini Coopers, a packet of Penguin biscuits and a horse, because he doesn’t see it.

Twenty minutes later, Andrés Iniesta hypnotises the Paraguay defence. He beats two defenders and draws another two toward him, the question marks visible above their befuddled heads as he cedes the ball to Pedro, one-on-one with the goalkeeper.

After all that has happened here, and all the history that has perennially prevented La Roja from progressing past the quarter-finals of any World Cup, all of Spain knows that even with the game tied at 0-0, Pedro must score or they will surely lose – to another penalty, an offside goal, a shoot-out or a dog running on to the pitch and dribbling the ball past Iker Casillas. That is how it goes with Spain and World Cups.

They think of Italy’s Mauro Tassotti elbowing the face of Luis Enrique in 1994. They think of Garba Lawal of Nigeria trickling a shot past Andoni Zubizarreta in 1998. They think of the Egyptian referee, Gamal Al-Ghandour, disallowing Fernando Morientes’ header in the 2002 defeat by South Korea on the false premise that Joaquín’s cross had gone out of play.

Pedro must score.

But Pedro hits the post.

Hold on a minute, though. The ball rebounds right to the feet of the tournament’s top scorer, the Golden Boot winner from Euro 2008, the most reliable striker Spain have ever had. David Villa.

Thirty million Spaniards breathe out in relief, cut short their curses and prayers, and they wait.

Villa opens up his body shape, strikes coolly with the inside of his right boot and the ball implacably seeks out the opposite post to the one Pedro just hit and rolls obstinately along the goal-line.

Twenty four hours earlier, in the middle of Potchefstroom’s Fanie du Toit rugby ground, Villa sat in front of me, with that very ball in his hands. He looked at the printed insignia: Jabulani, Kick-Off, Match 60, July 3, 2010 Paraguay vSpain. Ellis Park Stadium, Johannesburg, and held it up to the camera.

Asked to dedicate a couple of words to the fans back in Spain he said: “I got the winner in the last match and, tomorrow, I hope to score with this football to put us in the World Cup semi-final.”

And just as it reaches the post, which is still shuddering from Pedro’s initial shot, the Jabulani clips it and rolls over the line – Spain’s quarter-final jinx is dead, buried and gone for ever.

Adios Tassotti, adios Garba Lawal, adios Al-Ghandour.

Spain are going to the World Cup semi-finals for the first time in their history.

Paraguay 0 Spain 1

Paraguay: J Villar, Verón, Da Silva, Alcaraz, Merel, Cáceres (Barrios 84),

Santana, Barreto (Vera 64), Riveros, Valdez (Santa Cruz 72), Cardozo

Spain: Casillas, Ramos, Piqué, Puyol (Marchena 84), Capdevila, Busquets,

Xavi, Alonso (Pedro 75), Iniesta, Torres (Fabregas 56), Villa

Goal: Villa 83

This summer I got the tip-off call while trying to negotiate no excess baggage charges for our cameraman’s huge bundle of equipment in Curitiba airport, en route to Rio. Manchester United had got their man.

Though I was asked not to bust all the details, I was told that United and Athletic had sorted out how any excess tax would be paid on the buy-out clause move for Ander Herrera, that funds had been switched between bank accounts and that a programme of press releases had been agreed between the two clubs and intermediaries.

Athletic would speak first. There was a flutter of understandably misjudged media speculation when they announced that they’d turned down a bid from United. Instead of this meaning that the move, which I had written would happen, was off, it was a message from Athletic to their members: the player was wrenched away, against our will, at maximum price. Buy-out clause. Or else he’d not have been able to leave.

Ander then gave his first MUTV interview, willing to show off his English right away, and devoured the tour of Carrington – buzzing from an immediate introduction to Sir Bobby Charlton.

A number of years of scouting had come to fruition: first by Sir Alex Ferguson’s team, then by those working for David Moyes, and finally with Louis van Gaal’s express approval.

These constitute the interesting points. Transfers like this are immensely complex, involving negotiations comparable in size to those around the purchase of a major building or a corporate takeover. It’s not for the unwary or the inexperienced and it was a pending task for a man like Ed Woodward, United’s executive vice-chairman, to complete effectively and efficiently. This he has done.

Secondly, I’m not as interested in the player United have bought – anyone who has paid attention to Spanish football over the last five years should know Ander’s talents and personality inside out – as I am in the player he may become. There is something special in this footballer: brains, organisation, technique and a will to win. I don’t think he hit a plateau at Athletic but now, just short of his 25th birthday, is the time for a growth spurt in his career.

Louis van Gaal is more than capable of teaching him new things, squeezing the absolute maximum out of his talent and making him a winner. Let Ander be himself, let him have time to adapt and grow, as David De Gea was given, and let him become the player he threatens to be. United fans, naturally, want wins and confidence from the start. The rest of us can afford to sit back and watch the relationship between Van Gaal and Herrera and hope that the former bestows some of his greatness on the latter.

Attached here is a piece I wrote for ESPN last month, analysing how it was that this move came together and the role David Moyes and I had in saving United several million Euros. No commission, thanks.

Gx

Running right alongside Brazil 2014, this is my day-by-day story of how Spain won the last World Cup. You can catch up on previous posts.

These stories are from Spain: The Inside Story of La Roja’s Historic Treble, by Graham Hunter

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Ellis Park is dilapidated in places. Inside the stadium, where I meet Del Bosque as he waits to go into the press conference, there is a part of the access tunnel where wires hang down, a bit of hardboard covers a gaping hole and the lights do not function fully. The Mister and I have finished our brief interview in a nicely lit and furnished television studio. He and I lean against the corridor wall and chat while we wait for what transpires to be a long Cesc Fabregas and Gerard Piqué press conference to finish.

The coach tells me: “Cesc’s pretty pissed off with me. And he’s got every right to be, too.” Del Bosque goes on to emphasise the importance of having a mix of young bucks and experience on the bench. Each of them, for slightly different reasons, stays ready for the chance to come on and play well enough to grab a start the next time.

Del Bosque surprises me a little by quizzing me about what the apartheid regime was like – growing up under Franco, Spain was not the place to be for freedom of debate and information, or liberal points of view. Slightly startled at having been put on the spot, I refer to what various South African friends have told me about their lives before and after apartheid.

In due course, while we mark time, I get my customary urge to bring all football chat back to 1983, the year my team, Aberdeen, beat Del Bosque’s Real Madrid to win the European Cup Winners’ Cup in Gothenburg. I ask the Spain coach where he was on May 11 that year.

He does not know. He is highly amused to be told that I do. He’d just failed to make Alfredo di Stefano’s squad for the final in which Aberdeen added to Madrid’s miserable season, when they lost five trophies either in finals or on the last day of the season.

“How many of my team can you name?” he challenges me.

By the time I have rattled out seven names, the doors of the press conference hall are opening and Fabregas and Piqué are emerging. “Here, you two,” shouts Del Bosque. “Come and speak to someone who knows something about football.” It’s not the worst moment of my World Cup.