Semi Final: http://www.backpagelead.com.au/soccer/1845-world-cup-2010-blog-spanish-masterclass

Quarter Final: http://www.backpagelead.com.au/soccer/1807-world-cup-2010-blog-german-flair

Niggly, cagey, unambitious, nervy. All the typical synonyms for “absolute dog shit” have been bandied about by the press in the post mortem.

But between seeing Nelson Mandela pre-game (shame for my mate, who went to get a pie at that point) and Iker Cassilas hoist the famous gold trophy in the aftermath (which I also almost saw hijacked just minutes before kick-off), I didn’t really care.

It was still a momentous occasion, and with Spain taking the trophy, it was another chapter in football’s history.

Was it a fitting result?

Yes.

Spain, after an early hiccup, were a model of professionalism. They stamped their own distinct style on the tournament, if they haven’t already done enough to define this era as their own, and raised their standards game by game, peaking for the semi, before showing mental strength to overcome the combative Dutch. Their squad depth defies belief, and their production of talent ought to be a model for the rest of the world to aspire to.

Was it a fitting match?

Yes and no.

No, because both sides abandoned their qualities to fall into the trap of niggling. The Dutch were the main culprits, but I suppose the fact that the Spanish struggled to keep the ball with their usual consistency means the Dutch’s plan worked. But they abandoned their strengths – Dirk Kuyt and Arjen Robben out wide, being supplied by the class of Wesley Sneijder. Instead, they teamed up with Mark van Bommel and Nigel de Jong to butcher the Spanish and their focus diverted from their own genuine ability. It was a shame, because a pure football match would have been fascinating, but the Dutch probably knew it lengthened their odds of winning.

The African World Cup didn’t deserve a final with such turgid tactics.

But I also argue yes to the earlier question, because both sides packed their midfields and were very tough to breakdown.

That reflects the tournament.

Look who succeeded:

Germany via Schweinsteiger and Kadira.

Spain via their roll call of midfield stars, but defensively, led by Busquets and Alonso.

Holland, with Du Jong and Van Bommel (who ruined his tournament with a violent final performance).

And Uruguay – with a collective pack that worked, harried, hassled and kept space compact.

Who failed?

Diego Maradonna left Javier Mascerano exposed on his own in midfield (how on earth was he supposed to deal with the Germans running at pace, with Di Maria, Rodrigues, Messi, Tevez and Iguain all offensively minded), Fabio Capello was let down by Gareth Barry (or vice versa, perhaps) and Brazil’s midfield imploded with disciplinary problems that ultimately proved fatal. Even look at the Aussies, who competed magnificently once the mobile pairing of Valeri and Culina teamed up.

In a tournament where the superstars failed to shine, it was team work, mobility and midfield strength that ultimately prevailed.

Many pundits have bemoaned the quality of the tournament – and while I agree it pales compared to Germany 2006, I don’t necessarily think teams had negative tactics.

I think that teams were damn well organised, and the best coaches found a way to penetrate. They found a way to both contain, and attack.

Marcello Lippi, for example, failed to break down New Zealand, Paraguay and Slovakia’s stingy defences. Arivaderchi, then.

Vincente del Bosque (granted, he had more tools at his disposal) had to re-think his strategy after Switzerland, and while he stuck to his guns by maintaining all three of Alonso, Busquets and Xavi, he tinkered. He moved Xavi further forward, and shifted from the directness of Torres-Navas against Honduras to his final preference of the width of Iniesta-Pedro. It worked.

Besides Paraguay v Japan, the knock-out matches were fascinating. From goal line technology via Frank Lampard (at least England contributed something to the tournament), to Joachim Lowe’s dynamic youngsters, through to Luis Suarez’s devilish tactics, the narrative is filled with incident and talking points.

What was missing was the emergence of a true star to define a generation. A good final would have put Sneijder or David Villa on that pedestal, but instead, Diego Forlan emerged from the pack as the deserved Golden Ball.

A truly classic match also was not to be seen – the best we got was probably the Brazil/Hollland/Uruguay/Ghana double header, but more for the drama than the quality.

But in the end, the top 20 goals and top 20 saves are worthy of being replayed forever, and while the big guns failed to fire as a collective, the stuttering of the likes of France, England, Italy and even Spain and Germany initially, made the group stages as “live” as the later stages.

You know it’s been a great month when the bread and butter of league football looks all a bit mundane, especially having seen how dismally all the Premier League (not just the English) players fared.

In the end though, perhaps the word “vuvuzela” will be remembered long after the word “Jabulani” is forgotten.

The football was fascinating, but this World Cup was about so much more.

Who would’ve thought we’d say it, but Brazil has a tough act to follow …

Yes, this was a month that was meant to be about football.

But this tournament was about so much more.

Given the debate on the actual quality of the play, 2010’s World Cup will be remembered as much for the event itself as its football legacy.

This was Africa’s World Cup.

There will never be a tournament quite like it.

From the very first “Africa United” billboard in the airport, to the newspaper lift outs, fan parks, vendor merchandise and general chatter on the street, this tournament united a nation. You could not escape it, whether you were in Jo’burg, Cape Town, Durban or any other city.

This tournament brought the world images of dancing spectators, colourful outfits, unbridled passion, African song and of course, the vuvuzela.

The vuvuzela was a crazy noise – it swamps your thought, your speech, your head. If you’re not going to bed dreaming of it, it’s because you can still hear someone blaring it in the street.

It was all part of the fabric that made game day unique to the African world cup. Sure, each continent brought its own flavour, but the vibe and excitement (and traditional food stalls! Good to see FIFA didn’t ban them too, from outside the grounds) was all part of the match day experience that was unique to this tournament.

I don’t know how it scrubbed up on television, but in the midst of it all, the event as a whole was truly magnificent.

We spent the opening day crammed like cattle into Sandton’s Fan Zone, where South Africa’s diehard fans came in tens of thousands to watch their beloved Bafana Bafana. And we were there for the final whistle, where 84,000 were privileged to watch Iker Cassilas hoist the trophy.

While Sandton danced, sung and lived and breathed every kick of the ball, most of those passionate fans were priced out by FIFA. The most passionate fans tended to serve us our food, or drive us to matches. Instead, we watched the final with those who probably know goals to be worth three-points, and were already talking up the prospect of the Tri-Nations being held at Soccer City later this year.

That was a real shame, but the point is still that the World Cup provided four weeks that united South Africa.

From the wealthiest compounds in Johannesburg to the most primal, basic townships across the country – the people truly seized the moment.

And they know what the tournament has given their country.

Not only will tourists report home with positive stories about their time on tour, but FIFA (despite the criticism for ruling with an unbearable iron-fist – to the extent of having eager eyes looking for rival brands entering the stadium, even simply on plastic bags) has left legacies beyond potential the much criticised white elephants.

For a country that lacked infrastructure, there was only one major incident – the parking debacle at Durban airport that saw commercial airliners left circling the skies while private jets hogged the runway on the night of the Spain/Germany semi-final.

Otherwise, Durban’s beach front received a spectacular modernisation; roads and highways across the country were finally fixed; Sandton became a true hub for Johannesburg and a world class city centre; Cape Town now has a modern train station. And they’re just the things I encountered personally, there are surely more.

If Sydney 2000 was Australia’s showcase to the world, the 2010 World Cup was South Africa’s excuse to get its act together. To do it for themselves, as much as anything.

Now, the warm and affectionate locals who embraced us and looked after us are left with a gaping hole.

“We are so sad to see you going, we have had such a great month. South Africa will never forget it”, we kept hearing, as we said our goodbyes to the staff or shop keepers we visited during our 35 day stay.

But once the backslapping in the newspapers runs dry (there’s only so long they can keep churning out the “Spain takes the trophy, but South Africa are the real winners” story), what is going to happen? As a friend from Johannesburg told me: “this is all we’ve been thinking about for six years, what the hell do we do now?”

As I left Johannesburg in frighteningly cold and depressing weather on Monday, traffic had cranked back up again as school returned. Newspapers have already begun fretting about the potential resurfacing of xenophobic attacks by South African workers, looking for “revenge” against those neighbouring foreigners who took up the increased work available during the past month.

Can the country maintain the goodwill? The government has urged locals to keep their flags waving from their cars and offices for at least another month, but what about deed, rather than symbol.

What will happen when the excessive police presence disperses?

How will the economy utilise the GDP boon from millions spent over the past five weeks?

It might sound like rhetoric, but it is true. If South Africa can put its energies into its future, as it did into staging the tournament, then 2010 will be a turning point.

We had the time of our life. The highlight was the “fan walk” from Cape Town’s fan zone to Green Point Stadium, which was a 2.4 kilometre bottle neck of colour and excitement ahead of the Germany v Argentina quarter-final – all under the awesome shadow of Table Mountain. We’ll never forget jumping on the African bandwagon, dissecting the matches with passionate locals, or the hours upon hours spent travelling across the country to get a glimpse of the world’s very best. Crime exists, you can’t deny that, but for a month, we felt comfortable and welcome.

South Africa is vast and varied. The disparity and interaction between the people was eye-opneing.

It left a lasting impression on me.

Let’s hope the World Cup leaves a lasting impression on their country and South Africa never turns back.

Who feared the World Cup might lull once Bafana Bafana was eliminated? The tournament just keeps getting better and better.

I’m now in the more intimate surrounds of Cape Town’s city centre, where amidst the trendy stretch of bars and cafes on Long Street and quirky alleys and markets, the flair and colour of the World Cup is firing. Johannesburg might be the Games’ hub, but the people of Cape Town are revelling in the excitement under the shadows of Table Mountain. Lines run for hundreds of metres outside the Fan Zone on Game Day. Markets brim with vuvuzelas, African crafts, World Cup paintings, Bafana Bafana jerseys, national flags and until now… no shortage of Ghanaian jerseys, flags, hats, socks, face paint colours for the locals to adopt.

For a moment, Ghana belonged to everyone in South Africa. Crowds went ballistic at the Africans’ every half chance, every Richard Kingson parry and every Uruguay mistake.

And the city was ready to erupt as Asamoah Gyan turned for his run up.

Everyone in our bar stood arm in arm. This was Africa’s Cup, after all.

The locals – either still in their Bafana Bafana yellow, or draped in some Ghanaian paraphernalia -and foreigners included, were expectant.

Then we slumped. Together, we all slumped.

It wasn’t supposed to be.

Now a country that could not beat Australia four years ago is in the World Cup semi-final.

Gyan was a brave man to step up and take the first penalty in the shootout; if the Ghanaians were as flat as the crowd, their powerful striker’s redemption was the only way they could get themselves back up and revved for the shootout.

But that still wasn’t enough. The Uruguayan’s (despite losing to us five years ago) are icemen.

In the end, they’ve cruised through to the final four without really being pushed by a big country, and in a World Cup that has rewarded team work, mobility and organisation, Uruguay has been a yardstick. Stingy for five games straight.

Despite the lull in the room, the absent party in the street, and the realisation that Uruguay – Uruguay!! – is a shot of making the World Cup final – last night’s match was an absolute cracker.

They will now struggle without Lugano and Suarez – two crucial players in their spine – but they are organised and shrewd enough to cramp, stifle, harry and niggle the Dutch and destroy the tempo of the match.

And in the end, they have Diego Forlan.

We were left waiting for Kaka to arrive four hours earlier, but Forlan has been the South American superstar. With him in their line up, anything can happen.

Until you’ve watched football with South Americans – let alone at a continental derby – you haven’t really seen how it pains to see a misplaced pass, how a sweeping move reflects a national obsession for beauty or how to lose causes disgust, sometimes anger. While they dance, bang drums, throw paper and curse their opponents, amidst the party and banter, they also have a minimum expectation.

No Brazilian fan I have spoken to outwardly embraced Dunga. They tolerated him, because he got the results. He was building a machine. It wasn’t Brazilian, but if it won the World Cup, they would take it.

But on Friday we saw the beauty of the World Cup.

A side that showed glimpses of invincibility with the ball against Chile and in the opening half against Netherland, suffered 15 minutes of madness.

And it was all gone.

15 minutes of madness. Dunga will now be punished for a lack of magic, and in the end, a machine that fell apart.

Should he? It’s probably unfair. Until an extraordinary defensive blunder, his rearguard looked all-conquering – led by Lucio, surely the best defender in the world. Their ability to scramble to crowd the edge of the box was legendry.

Offensively, they looked to be peaking, led by swashbuckling interplay between the front four, with the likes of Lucio and Maicon chiming in from deep. Leaving out Ronaldinho, Pato and Diego, amongst others, seemed to have worked.

But when their brave opponents came charging on Friday, Brazil wilted.

So what about the Dutch?

A big tournament is never won in the first week.

The Dutch will tell you that. They know it better than anyone.

As recently as Euro 2008 they have come out all guns blazing, only to momentarily falter at the key moment.

In World Cup 2010, the Dutch had not sweated one drop more than they needed to until Friday.

After four relatively soft matches, their World Cup was going to be all or nothing. Led by a rampant Arjen Robben, they stuck to their guns. A lesser team would have capitulated before half time under the duress of a Brazilian master class, but they help their shape.

Mark Van Bommel and Du Jong played their finest matches of the tournament patrolling Kaka and intercepting countless Brazilian raids, while Dirk Kuyt and Robben kept their width. The more Maicon and Bastos tried to assist, the more the Dutch profited from the extra space. All the while, their front six showed the benefits of the modern fit, mobile football side: hassling from the front.

History beckons for the Dutch, either way.

Their history might pull the noose and choke them when they have a guilt edged shot at making the final.

Or, after decades of being one of the proudest teams not to have reached the summit, this squad will never have a better chance to make their mark on football history.

Let’s just see how it goes. I’m sure it’ll be fine, man. Be cool.

In a way, it seems to be the African mentality – a bit chaotic, disorganised and erratic.

In a competition where five of the six African teams have bowed out, despite reeking of talent, physical prowess and technical gifts in a tournament on their own continent, they might come to rue the similarly shambolic organisation that riddled their campaigns.

Nigeria, Ivory Coast and Cameroon made hasty, last minute coaching changes, bringing in high profile, but middle rank, conservative European coaches. Were Lars Langerback, Sven Goran Erikson and Paul le Guen really going to successfully infuse their tactical ideas with their team’s natural physicality, flair and desire to run and attack – at such short notice?

It was a combustible combination.

Langerback was panned by fans for his conservatism with Nigeria, especially for leaving Obafemi Martins on the bench, Paul de Guen disastrously isolated Samuel Eto’o on the right for Cameroon and while Erikson got an unlucky draw with Ivory Coast and had little time to change things up, they never really went for it in the crucial tie with Portugal. Africa mourned the performance of Nigeria and Cameroon, especially.

Bafana Bafana, meanwhile, excelled, but were being driven through Sandton on an open top bus in front of 180,000 fans the day before their opening game, while having to deal with the expulsion of Benny McCarthy, one of their highest profile players, in the lead up to the tournament.

It felt like the African nations believed they had a divine right. Let’s leave it to the lap of the gods. We are the host continent. The host country never gets knocked out. We will all be fine.

In the end, Africa has been the biggest disappointment in a tournament where success has been spread around the globe. Until their governing bodies get their act together, it will probably remain as such.

Algeria was the unlucky exception. They defended quite well against three good sides and were quite well organised.

The united support behind the African countries has been touching. Vuvuzelas ramp up when one of the continental brothers is on show; the newspapers and radio hype up; the crowd milling outside the stadium has an extra kick in its step.

Now, everyone is united behind the one cause. Ghana. And the draw might have opened up quite nicely.

Their pulsating match against the USA shows what might be if these African sides play like Africans – not like Africans trying to listen to a European manager.

The Ghanaians ran with energy, went toe to toe with the Americans physically and played whatever forward pass they felt was on. Both their goals were direct, embracing their quick, strong, technical players. What a game it was.

The continent and most neutrals here are behind Ghana. They might be a handy bet for a semi-final place.

Going by tonight’s showing, they’ve got more than a divine right on their side.

But that just about summed up Italy’s campaign. A lot of huffing and puffing. Not much else.

That 2006 campaign seems a long, long time ago.

For all the teams I’ve seen at this tournament, Italy’s first half against Slovakia was, without exaggeration, probably the worst display given.

We arrived to enjoy the free booze our premium tickets entitled us to, thinking we’d need it as Italy scratch their way to the top of the group with a typical 1 or 2 nil win.

But the Slovaks were having none of that.

Instead, we witnessed one of the tournament’s historic results.

The defending champions’ back four could not cope with Robert Vitteks’ pace and physical presence, and could not figure out how to deal with Marek Hamsik, who kept winning the ball in between Italy’s midfield and defence, torturing the Azzuri with his vision. Chiellini and Cannavaro – the new and the old in Italy’s rearguard – simply had no answers; gaping space between them, confusion, and forget about the option of controlling the game by playing out from the back. Seasoned pro Gianluca Zambrotta was not much better.

The midfield was nigh on diabolical. Daniele De Rossi might be a superstar in the Seria A, but at this World Cup, the only success he’s had as a box to box tyro was with a pathetic dive against New Zealand. Italy could not play through him as his passing was not up to scratch.

Marcello Lippi took much of the blame in a brutally honest press conference. He failed to prepare his side, he declared. That might be so – his young front four showed signs of promise against Paraguay with their movement and mobility. But it seemed to be a false glimpse that, going by Lippi’s stinging assessment, he might have failed to get the best out of. Riccardo Montelivo and Simone Pepe made no mark on the tournament; Alberto Gilardino proved to remain a crock at this level; Iaqinta and Cambrionese are cumbersome and one-paced, while Antonio Di Natale – the leading scorer in the Seria A with Udinese – looked sharp, but failed to make an impact from his role behind the target man.

Italy suffered a fatal blow when Andrea Pirlo got injured pre-tournament. For the half an hour he was thrown on in desperation, they looked remotely like an international side. Pirlo has a monopoly over the team’s tempo, and an exquisite ability to open up the play by reaching teammates with precision all over the pitch – or play the final penetrative ball if it’s on.

They missed him dearly. But a nation like Italy should have the depth to recover.

Or maybe not? Maybe the performance reveals a worrying theme.

The aging vintage of 2006 endured poor seasons with AC Milan and Juventus.

Inter Milan, meanwhile, conquered all before them with a Portuguese super coach and a starting line up that did not feature one single local player.

Perhaps then, the blame should lie with Lippi for another reason: the omission of three of Italy’s most interesting attacking options for personality reasons. It’s an easy criticism in hindsight, but Antonio Cambiasso might have been the creative remedy once Pirlo withered.

Lippi’s unyielding loyalty to Pirlo is not surprising given their history, but in the end, he left himself with no plan B.

Inter Milan’s Mario Balotelli might be young and volatile, but he might have provided the engines or burst of speed they desperately craved.

Or perhaps, after all this debate, all Italy needed was to send an SOS to Francesco Totti. Still their most likely talisman in the country. They really needed someone there to link the midfield and frontline.

Even further, with the ball pin-balling around the field with little control, Luca Toni might surely have been a safe bet up front, if not to score goals, to bring others into the play.

It all matters little now. 4-2-3-1, 4-3-3-, 4-4-2, 4-2-4. It just didn’t work.

Any Australian or New Zealander in the crowd might have had a sly grin on their face.

Usually, you’d say the tournament is poorer for it after losing such a giant.

Going by their three displays, arriverdercie and go home with France. You’re aging legs are not up to this level anymore.

But try telling that to the morbid looking collection of Azzuri fans waiting for their bus in the shadows of Ellis Park. Tears were spotted, even though the plume of cigarette smoke was even thicker and more deeply exhaled than usual.

Back in Italy, this will be a scandal.

Beautiful.

I can rest easy tonight. The Aussie paraphernalia is packed and ready to go, hopefully, not for the last time. And the 20-hour round trip to Nelspruit is for a campaign alive and well.

Um, well, maybe just alive. Just.

But that’s the least we could ask for.

2010 is not 2006, and as a Socceroo supporter on the trail here in South Africa, the minimum we could ask for was to see the Socceroos score, which we have, and to avoid a dead third game.

It might not be in our hands, like four years ago, and pessimism (or realism) might drown the build up.

But when there is life…

So the time has come to see what Pim will unleash when we have nothing to lose. It worked a treat for Bafana Bafana, who should’ve put 3 or 4 more away with their newfound carefree approach. It’s amazing what happens when you release the shackles. Serbia, meanwhile, might play with the weight of an expectant nation on their shoulders. Or so we hope.

In truth, it is the perfect forum for the Socceroos ‘golden generation’ to bow out on their terms.

But it won’t be easy.

Ghana hasn’t scored a goal in open play. Serbia hasn’t conceded in open play.

What will Pim serve up to try and pull a rabbit out?

In all likelihood, Josh Kennedy will earn his first start up front, and quite frankly, that won’t faze Serbia’s world class backline.

He might have caused havoc against the Ghanaians – but more because of his size, not his form. He is not a shape or size that Captain Vidic hasn’t seen before.

But perhaps there might be a surprise? Verbeek has shown not to trust big Jesus. Could Bresciano or Rukyvystya or Holman lead the line?

Ideally, he should plump for Jesus. If he does his job, he can feed scraps for a ravenous Tim Cahill to feed off.

Emerton will be the trusted right midfielder, as usual, but if Kennedy gets the nod, might Verbeek be tempted to throw Scott Chipperfield into midfield to get ball into him? After all, that is his preferred club position.

Serbia are a physical and technical side. If we pick a mobile “2-3-1″, we should pressure them like they pressured Germany. Frazzle them. You never know.

Either way, we’ve arrived at our ‘Croatia’ moment for 2010. But like most of this campaign, the spirit of 06 has been hard to rekindle. We hope, but we’re realistic. It could all end in a damp squib. Or, if the results go our way and Germany is bundled out, it could be a seminal day in World Cup history.

As a minimum though, all I ask is for a memory. A legacy. Let Australia rejoice like South Africa did today. Then hopefully the rest takes care of itself.