Old Habits Die Hard

In the heat of battle, sportsmen employ ruthless, choleric tactics to manufacture the most minuscule advantage over their opponents, but no-one could ignore the events that unfolded on lap sixty-five at the Hungaroring, overshadowing what had been a truly enthralling Grand Prix.
The harsh, cold light of day has hit Michael Schumacher hard during the season heralded as comeback time for, statistically, the greatest Formula 1 driver in history. Deep down past his steely nerves, Schumacher must know his time is up. His teammate Nico Rosberg sits on 94 points to Schumacher’s 38, hard evidence of how far the The Baron has fallen from grace. Conspiracy theorists may highlight that Rubens Barrichello recently dethroned "The Stig" from his pinnacle on the Top Gear lapboard, thirteen months after Stiggy removed his helmet to reveal his true identity as, yep, Herr Schuey himself. While Top Gear portrays about as much serious motoring advice as Pineapple Dance Studios, the issue of ramming adversaries into concrete walls at 180mph is no laughing matter.
Like Monaco 2006, Jerez 1997, and Adelaide 1994, Schumacher still toils to apologise or admit transgression. He is clearly a passionate, ruthless competitor whose hunger shows no bounds, but even the most fervent Schumacher fan would struggle to refute his seemingly inherent malevolence. For that reason, it was warming to see Barrichello finally wrestle his way past the inexorable Mercedes GP driver as retribution for five years of faithful service as Schumacher’s back-marker at Ferrari.
In contrast with the nauseating events of Hockenheim the previous weekend, Ferrari’s current darling Fernando Alonso produced a solid drive characteristic of his profound raw talent, which merited his second place finish and thwarted a Red Bull rout.
Despite team director Christian Horner’s sustained proclamations of calm and civility between his duelling drivers, the body language of Sebastian Vettel towards his teammate suggests otherwise. While Mark Webber’s victory saw him vanquish the championship lead from Lewis Hamilton, Vettel apparently lacks the experience required to devise an effective racing strategy when all the tools at his disposable have proven fruitless. Conversely, Webber possesses such knowledge in abundance, and has the car and mental strength to take the championship flag. He is one of the good guys - one accolade that Michael Schumacher will struggle win.

Open Championship 2010: Oosthuizen victory signals new democracy

The man they call “Shrek” could easily have been mistaken for an impassive tourist on the West Sands such was the humble level of ostentation radiated by the South African on Sunday evening. Louis Oosthuizen’s Open victory at St Andrews represents more than a tournament condemned by certain quarters of the media as “boring”, and it would be foolish to underestimate the feat of Oosthuizen’s achievements. The South African’s performance over the four days were characterised by his infallible composure, in direct paradox to the wild gales that battered the Fife coast. Had it been Tiger Woods in Oosthuizen’s shoes, the entire planet would be genuflecting reborn beguilement for the World Number 1. Woods’ delusion was evident in the aftermath of the Open, as he mewed: “I played well, but I didn’t make any putts”, as if to insinuate that putting doesn’t constitute any part of ‘playing well’.

While it is difficult to condone that Woods’ has been very much the architect of his own downfall, his fall from grace is not unprecedented. The lesson of St Andrews, it seems, is the lesson of Pebble Beach, Bethpage, Hazeltine and Turnberry, four recent majors that produced unexpected winners. Professional golf is a more democratic arena these days - anyone can win – and that makes it all the more endearing.

The sport is struggling in traditional heartlands, such as the UK and the US, where golf club membership is down significantly, but in Asia its popularity is growing. China, South Korea, and Thailand are countries to which the European Tour, and increasingly so, the PGA Tour are looking to in the search for sponsorship.

Professional golf is therefore encompassed by a period of flux and uncertainty, headed by a roll call of major winners that caught everyone by surprise.

This is the post-Tiger Woods era, and I welcome it.

FIFA World Cup 2010: Spanish sun keeps on rising

No amount of smoke and mirrors could disguise the 2010 World Cup Final from what it was – the clash of two footballing pioneers garrotted by a tactical battle shorn of blood and thunder. It was fetching that a tournament so concerned with unity and concord should bow out in such an rancorous manner, but ultimately, eloquence conquered pragmatism as the Spanish were deservedly crowned world champions. Victory against Brazil proved that the Dutch were capable of playing their native Total Football when it mattered, but against Spain the Netherlands sacrificed beauty for brutality in hope of subduing their illustrious and superior opponents. Van Marwijk deployed his destructive midfield duo of De Jong and Van Bommel, who set about the Spaniards with tenacious bone-juddering challenges, while Howard Webb worked overtime to keep temperatures below boiling point. The cynical Dutch tactics paid off as Spain operated hurriedly and wastefully, in fear of being chopped down by the orange scythes, only for Arjen Robben to squander two golden opportunities to put Holland in front. After the half-time interval, Spain re-emerged to play the mesmerising, captivating passing game that spectators across the globe know and love. This was the pivotal moment when the Dutch accepted their dream was dead. The famous Holland squads of 1974 and 1978 did not believe in their own ability to succeed; the team of 2010 believed in themselves too much. No one can condone that the Dutch were somewhat inferior to the craft and guile that oozes from every sector of the Spanish team. The two central defenders have been insurmountable throughout the tournament; Sergio Ramos bombs forward and tracks back with equal panache, while Pique safaris up-field and pings a multitude of flawless sixty yard passes towards the predatory David Villa who lingers on the left flank, before incising deep for the kill. The king of the team is undoubtedly the Catalan colossus, Carles Puyol. He is a defender’s defender, magnanimous to his colleagues and biblically unceremonious, often playing on a knife’s edge of what one would deem legal in the rulebook. It is Puyi whose thunderous header edged Spain past the stoical young Germans in the semi-final, most likely the last of his three international goals as he ponders retirement to concentrate on club duty.
However, Spain’s showpiece comes in the form of their midfield quartet, which also holds the key to their triumphs. As the raw Sergio Busquets continues his apprenticeship by efficaciously protecting his back four, Xabi Alonso becomes the heartbeat of the team. Xavi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta interweave in the final third while Alonso supplies the imperative yet seemingly innocuous short passes to them from his deeper holding role; he is the conductor to the orchestra, the drummer of the rock band: less glamorous than those around him, but provides the cadenced spine of the team’s operations.

Total Football’s prodigal son, Johan Cruyff, castigated his countrymen for playing hermetic “anti-football”, stressing that Holland still lost despite their coarse tactics. The Dutch betrayed their heritage, and it gained them nothing. For the good of football, one hopes the victors stay loyal to their beautiful passing philosophy, because nothing can halt the ascendance of this Spanish sun.

FIFA World Cup 2010: The future's bright - the future's Oranje

The veneer of objectivity is never strong among Scotsmen when their eternal foe is slain in battle. However, after the England team palpably fell on its own sword at the hands of Germany, I couldn’t help but watch with glee as the Barmy Army lambasted the pitiful performance of their heroes.
The derogative amblings expressed by Franz Beckenbuaer may have riled the English players prior to the conflict, but once again the Kaiser was proved right. As journalists and fans alike aimlessly castigate their way through one scapegoat after another, from Uruguayan linesmen to FA grassroots coaching, there is no masking the hard facts. Throughout the World Cup, Capello confided in what was, unmistakeably, ‘kick and rush’ football. England deservedly reaped futile rewards for persevering such an ineffective strategy, and exited at the hands of a youthful German side.
One feels deluded towards believing we have witnessed the contrasting performances of an omnipotent German team, rather than an astonishingly sub-standard England side.
In fairness, this chimera has some substance. Germany’s current crop of players boasts an average age of 22, while captain Phillipp Lahm is already chasing his second World Cup semi-final at 23 years old. South Africa has been the proving ground for Joachim Löw’s arsenal of raw, but abundantly talented young sorcerers, namely Mesut Ozil and Thomas Müller. While the immortal utterance by Alan Hansen of “You don’t win anything with kids” is somewhat obsolete, achieving the correct balance between youth and experience remains as paramount as ever. But when kinder play with such precipitant effervescence, allowing youthful impatience and ignorance to flourish ahead of fear and caution, the world should bask in their glory. South Africa has been the first world cup of recent memory where the German side relinquished its ubiquitous, clichéd stereotypes. Terms such as “ruthless” and “efficient” were replaced by “adventurous” and “spontaneous” – qualities one would have expected from Brazil or Argentina. As such, an identity crisis emancipated among the elite European nations; while Germany played fast, free-flowing, counter-attacking football, Spain stumbled and scraped their way past opponents in an uncharacteristically pedantic manner. The exception was their semi-final victory over Germany, where the Spaniards finally reported for duty, flaunting the passing master-class that won them the Euro 2008. The omission of El Nino Fernando Torres notably revitalised the Spanish heartbeat, overwhelming the obstinate Blitzkrieg of their opponents. One hopes Spain carry their revitalised verve and elegance into their first ever final, although it remains to be seen who Paul the physic octopus predicts as victors.

Juxtapositioned and playing the “German way”, ironically, are the Dutch. Rather than aspire to the “Total Football” philosophy pioneered by Rinus Michaels, Holland have been staid and restrained in their unyieldingly pragmatic approach. The attacking trio of Arjen Robben, Dirk Kuyt and Wesley Sneijder utilised for harrowing and shadowing their opponents into surrendering possession. Not since Iceland supermarkets sacked their bright saleswoman, Ms Katona, have individuals played as close to the white line as Kuyt and Robben. Nevertheless, the Flying Dutchmen find themselves in only their third World Cup Final since 1974 and 1978, and victory would be the perfect send-off for Giovanni Van Bronckhorst. One thing though. If the Netherlands win on Sunday then Ryan Babel will retire with more World Cup medals than Johan Cruyff. Think about that.

FIFA World Cup 2010: England in-fighting leaves campaign in tatters

As Rose highlights in the hit American sitcom Two and a Half Men, “schadenfreude” refers to feeling pleasure at the misfortune of others, which is exactly how I felt when I got wind of John Terry’s latest solecism. There is no denying the murmurings that have emerged from all quarters of the England camp regarding Fabio Capello’s unyieldingly strict regime, which has ostensibly eroded team morale. Sundays’s press conference began with Terry defending his manager in an archetypically loyal fashion, which is something of a regularity for him at Stamford Bridge. By the time the conference concluded, Terry had painstakingly dismantled the armoury of Capello’s authority and personally promised to challenge the rules put down by his manager. The fact that the players and staff were allowed to drink beer following the draw with Algeria suggests Terry may have dealt Capello a formidable blow. However, it is notable that the other squad members were unhappy with their ex-captain’s decision to elect himself as their spokesman, and revealing intricate private details about the team. Yesterday, Capello retorted that the centre-half had made a “big mistake”, forcing Terry to lumber out in front of the press with his tail between his legs and issue a somewhat futile public apology. Clearly, the relationship between Capello and the Chelsea stalwart has soured since Terry was humiliatingly stripped of his captaincy four months ago. As a result, the plight felt in the England camp is now only a wayward Jabulani away from descending into the infantile anarchy that engulfed France’s impalpable stay in South Africa.
As of 5pm this evening, I expect to be feeling more “schadenfreude” as Mr Capello finds his reputation thoroughly extirpated at the hands of Slovenia.

FIFA World Cup 2010: "If Carlsberg did team selections..."

As John Barnes vexingly preaches: “You got to hold and give but do it at the right time. You can be slow or fast but you must get to the line”.
It seems Signore Capello has been fortunate enough to avoid Mars pretentious marketing campaign (for the duration of the World Cup all Scots will disassociate themselves from Carlsberg, Mars, and their partners in crime, Kasabian). England fans forever regard their national team as the perennial, gritty Underdog at every major tournament, which is fair enough. But the persistent attribution of Wayne Rooney’s scatter-gun aggression and John Terry’s reckless tackles to the fatuous “island race” label would cause Winston Churchill to sorely regret making that famous speech. The Scots, Irish and Welsh constitute the same “island race” and they didn’t even make the final tournament. Although Fabio Capello is unquestionably the ideal tactician to guide England to success in South Africa, his personnel choices for the final 23-man squad are somewhat perplexing. No one can refute that the squad selection process presented anything other than a conundrum for the Italian, one that will likely prompt journalist to switch their current optimistic tone to one of sanctimony after England bow out before the semis.
The principal concern for England supporters, at least momentarily, is of course the omission of Theo Walcott. I didn’t heed Gordon Strachan’s plight at the last World Cup so now I have a yoghurt in the fridge that needs eaten (it is an apricot Petit Filous so you can understand my distress). Capello has opted for Aaron Lennon and Shaun Wright-Phillips in the position that many felt Walcott and his supersonic pace fitted like a glove. Following his hat trick against Croatia, an element of complacency has shrouded Walcott’s season. Combine this with his injury problems, and it becomes apparent why Capello opted to leave him behind. His positional adversaries Lennon and Wright-Phillips may not get to the by-line quite so sharply, but both have seen more first team football this season than you can shake a vuvuzela at. An added impetus in choosing Wright-Phillips comes in the shape of the diminutive winger’s stepfather, the grinning ignoramus that is Ian Wright. While “Live from Studio Five” may portray Wrighty to possess the same level of intellect as Dappy from N-Dubz, he carries enough weight in the British media for Capello to appreciate that leaving Wright-Phillips at home would constitute a PR suicide.
As for the other casualties, Darren Bent and Michael Dawson should rightly feel disappointed at missing the cut. Bent’s seat on the plane is occupied by the maladroit behemoth that is Emile Heskey, who is under no delusions that his sole purpose will be to feed on scraps in order to supply saviour Rooney. Although Heskey may well be more effective as a second striker, Bent has scored 25 goals this season while Heskey hasn’t hit the net since February. If selection should be dependent on fitness then Capello could just as easily have omitted Ledley King instead of Dawson but picked the former on the basis that he is the more gifted player. Stephen Warnock has played only 90 minutes for England since 2005 but regained the position following Leighton Baines’ desperate performance at left-back against Japan on Sunday. Capello is a man too astute and experienced in world football to make rash decisions or perilous gambles regarding his playing personnel. However, it remains to be seen if his choice to hold back Walcott and Bent bears fruit, and if the decision to give Wright-Phillips and Heskey a place on the plane backfires, like I hope Carlsberg’s ostentatious advertising does.

Don't Teach The Old Dog New Tricks

Less than half a season gone and the Formula 1 World Championship is already beginning to look conclusive. Sound familiar? Exactly twelve months ago, Jensen Button was well on his way to championship title after more than a decade on the grid, playing an integral role in the fairytale that encapsulated Brawn GP’s maiden season.
After Mark Webber strolled to victory at Monaco last Sunday with his team-mate Sebastian Vettel in close pursuit, a number of his rivals lamented that the Red Bull team are simply too technologically advanced for the other teams to compete. In contrast with the Brawn GP, who succeeded on a shoestring budget overseen by the parsimonious guidance of Ross Brawn, Red Bull receive abundant financial backing from billionaire owner Dietrich Mateschitz, who demands his team take the championship flag this season. It is too soon to foresee which driver will take the championship crown but the Red Bull team, astutely marshalled by Christian Horner, must be the favourites. Following a piquant opening to the 2010 campaign, the prodigal young German Vettel has been transcended by Webber, ten years his senior, who has utilised his experience, wisdom and raw ability to ruthless effect. The rest of the field, led by the Ferrari of Fernando Alonso appear perplexed and left stranded in the Red Bull slipstream. Other heavyweight contenders for the title such as Lewis Hamilton and Jensen Button of McLaren have been made to look somewhat languid as they struggle to overcome the reliability problems that have plagued many of the grid forerunners this season. The one-time insuperable titan Michael Schumacher has toiled throughout the season as it becomes ominously apparent just how far the seven-times world champion has fallen from grace. Nevertheless, Schumacher provided a glimpse of his vintage characteristic guile as he audaciously leapfrogged Fernando Alonso on the final corner of the Monaco circuit just as the safety car pulled into the pits. It is refreshing to observe the potency with which less fashionable drivers such as Kubica, Rosberg and Sutil all drive, seemingly incited by the failure of their leading adversaries to pull away from the rest of the grid. A repeat of the 2008 season finale, when Hamilton was crowned World Champion only after the final lap of the final race of the campaign, is every neutral’s wish. While Red Bull hold an undoubtedly large lead, it is one which is most definitely assailable, as Jensen Button proved last year when the championship fate was decided with one round to spare. I hope Webber maintains this early momentum to take the championship which the old dog so thoroughly deserves.