Less of a blog, more of a ramble

What? You can't blame me for rambling when I've been off work for a week with a broken toe, sustained in a hero's performance for La Liga Division C side FC Riga, and nothing to do but watch Sky Sports Update and ESPN Classic. The latter of which I am doing as I type. I'm sitting through an awesome game between Holland and England which took place in the group stage of Euro 1988. I am finding that I am still willing England to win but the fact is compared to the Dutch side we look woeful. Hoddle has been spraying some nice long range balls around and has looked immacuately composed on the ball but the constant pressure play of Holland has meant he hasn't had time to pick the passes he would ideally wish to play. Bryan Robson has been England's best player, putting Steven Gerrard to shame, he played a tight one-two in the area with Beardsely and with his deftness and speed of touch, dinked the ball over the oncoming goalkeeper. A fresh faced, twenty one year old Tony Adams has looked like an intelligent prospect at centre-half. But beyond that England have nothing. Barnes has been impotent, Lineker has shown how dangerous he can be when the ball is put in the area but without ever really getting even half a chance and everyone else looks decidedly average.







Holland look near on perfect. Every player playing an integral part of each move and that's not to mention the individual and combined talents of their big three: Frank Rikjaard, Ruud Gullit and Marco Van Basten. Once Holland had broke the deadlock, been pinned back, taken the lead through Van Basten's second of the game they went looking for the third, which they found, again through Marco Van Basten's lasered left foot shot into the bottom right corner of Peter Shilton's net. Once Holland go two goals up, once they have that relatively comfortable margin it is like their is a collective deep breath and a gratifying, magical, liberating exhalation. Upon this glorious breath out, the Dutch become unplayable. The reason is that they are finally unburdened from the heavy load of the expectation to play football matches to win, they start playing football matches because they love playing football. They start having fun, they look like fourteen year old kids down the park, knocking the ball around a much inferior set of kids trying to conjure up the most inventive phases of play to amuse themselves. Each player wants to play a part in a wonderful, flowing move almost like eleven (yes, the goalkeeper for Duth sides usually play, effectively, as a sweeper) bakers all wanting to add some of their own marvellous technique and ability to the world's most wonderous cake. If a goal comes of it then that is like just plopping a splendid, perfectly formed cherry on top.



Anyway, I've got to go as I'm about to watch the France vs. Spain Euro 1984 final. I might just have to forget about getting signed back to work and take up a resident position in front of ESPN Classic FOR THE REST OF TIME.