Speyer – The Longest Pitch
Report by Lag Supremo, James 'Bondscoach' McCabe
Fri 03 June: RIGHTS
I have spent the last months studying the religious wars that sprang from the Wittenberg Declaration of 1517 and am delighted to see that Speyer epitomises that pivotal moment in European history – large Protestant and Catholic cathedrals dominate the skyline – along with a low-flying Boeing 747 which guides us to our base for the weekend, the Hotel am Technik. Like those brave zealots of 500 years ago the Lags are here for one reason – to assert their right to the Logica World Cup against the all conquering Italians whose power has shown no signs of waning even as their LogicaCMG world has collapsed into turmoil around them. Although it is proper to note that only a few of the current Lags took part in those momentous struggles.
The Lags assemble, as Lags do, for our 2100 kick-off meeting. I stand at the bar with Spence and talk Scottish football as no-one else turns up. Some Lags have failed to foresee the organisational chaos and there is no bed for them. Others have better things to do. I have learned my first lesson as Supremo – never organize a Lag.
Eventually we drift off to town where I begin the rigorous dietary program devised by Lag ScienceTM with a delicious meal of black pudding ravioli and several pints of hausbrau bier. Leisure shirts dominate the conversation. Rumours abound of something special on the strip front – last year's itchalotTM strip is consigned to the dustbin of history. New Lag blood is carefully assayed. How will it react to Legend Sidaway's legendary gagfest? The traditional humiliating substitution early doors? The football fields of Speyer will be their crucible.
At midnight, to bed, safe in the knowledge that I have one.
Sat 04 June: WRONGS
Hearty breakfast with Grassie and Spence leads to more discussion of Scottish football. That peculiar style of football with its inability to score goals is the subject of much hilarity in the salons of Lagdom. Selection thoughts weigh on my mind. Hard decisions need to be made.
Lag Leisure and sporting wear is unveiled to the keen Lags before we head promptly 20 minutes late to the stadium. What we see takes our breath away. The largest pitches ever to feel the tines of a groundsman's fork stretch into the far horizon. Garish gold goal posts glittered in the morning light waiting for exhausted footballers to wash on their shores at corners and by-kicks alike.
Football re-acquaintance sessions are planned; however these are sabotaged when it turned out that only the Supremo had brought a ball. Shamefaced, mumbled excuses from various discredited ex-Supremos do not comfort me as I humiliatingly beg the Pups to lend a ball from their vast selection. Worse is to follow as our two balls are immediately passed over the 15m high fencing around the training pitch into the surrounding fields densely covered in metre-high vegetation. Search parties are belatedly dispatched and fortunately two balls are found – although they appear to be different from the originals. Lag Legend and qualified FA Coach (lest we forget) Sidaway is dragged away in a cunning ploy by the organisers before we can complete a warm-up session.
The new blood looks promising – Dan Orteu, Martin Woodward, Josh McWilliam and Tony Meeuwsen. The selection for the first match against our Speyer hosts is announced with no fanfare: Sinnige, Oliver, Meeuwsen, McCabe, Orteu, Dickie McWilliam, Grassie, Josh McWIlliam, Reeves, Abbott, Spence. We'll play 4-4-2, Mitch as midfield anchor, Reeves as creator – it was all recorded in my PDA.
HAMMER BLOW
GROUP D: ENGLAND LAGS 0-1 GERMANY (LOHNERT)
Scorers: None
Our first match is on an artificial pitch for which most Lags are ill-prepared in terms of footwear. On the other hand it is the smallest of the three pitches. A cagey start sees the Lags dominate in midfield and the team begins to gel. Passing is clean and we football from box to box. Josh McWilliam's tournament is cruelly ended within minutes as the pitch grabs his foot, twists, and leaves him prostrate. Enter McHattie in left midfield. We're playing well and Abbott plays Spence in to shoot just over. Half-time arrives too quickly.
The second half starts with Martin Woodward in for Dickie McWilliam. We're still on top but not creating chances. A corner gives McCabe a clear chance a metre out but he fails (agonisingly of course) to connect. As the match trudges on, Germany win a corner. The ball is cleared and spins out to an on-rushing German (allegedly reveling in the name of Alex 'The Hammer' Conrad), who from 30 meters connects with the sweetest, most perfect moment of his footballing life. The ball thunders into the top left hand corner. Sinnige has no chance. The Lags are momentarily taken aback. Supremo McCabe leaves the field, Grassie takes over as sweeper, Woodward moves to anchor, Spence to right midfield and Sidaway enters the fray. It's all Lags now and Sidaway hits the bar with a header. But it's time up – the 30 minute match leaves no time for recovery. 1-0 to the hosts and the Lag campaign is on the back foot.
Second Lesson not learned – 30 minute football is like 20-20 cricket, I noted in my PDA.
READING BLANKS
GROUP D: ENGLAND LAGS 0-0 READING B
Scorers: None
Our second match is played on the German steppes – pitch 1, as wide as it is long. Reading B have lost in the last minute 3-2 to Inter-Essex and look a reasonable outfit. Ultimately they finish last in the tournament. Second match line-up: Sinnige, McCabe, Meeuwsen, Clarkey, Pete Donnelly, Dickie McWilliam, Grassie, Readie, Reeves, Abbott, Sidaway. Again its 4-4-2.
The match is a drudge, comparable to Scotland versus anybody. Little happens of note. Substitutes at half-time – Oliver for McCabe, Woodward for Clarke, Spence for McWilliam, Orteu for Read means re-organising. Grassie goes to sweeper, where he stays for the rest of the tournament, Spence plays in from the right. We are in complete control of the game but chances are few. After 5 minutes we win a corner. Supremo in a supremely egotistical moment pulls Oliver and goes back on for the corner. As the corner swings over McCabe wins the ball but the header is cleared off the line. The match deteriorates and Sidaway, Donnelly, McCabe and Grassie get caught up in handbag allegations. Thirty minutes have gone and the match ends 0-0. The Germany – Inter-Essex result goes our way as it also ends 0-0. It seems that we are in the Group of Dearth this year.
The Lags face the unpalatable truth that having failed to score in their first two matches they now need to win by two clear goals from Inter-Essex to qualify from the group stages. It is a Scottish moment for the Lags. Before the tournament I had considered our forward line to be a little short on pace but savvy enough to ensure that goals would not be our problem. I asked myself: "What would the greats of yesteryear do – Mcleod, Vogts, Brown and Roxburgh?" Lesson 3 is clear – Sid tells me our transition factor is below norm. I make notes in my PDA.
We need to change.
SEVEN UP
GROUP D: ENGLAND LAGS 7-0 INTER ESSEX
Scorers: Abbott(3), Sidaway(2), Reeves, R.McWilliam
I spend the period before this deciding encounter keeping up with the Scotland – Moldova match. Of course I learn nothing there and so I revert to the traditional formation with which I have won two World Cups: 4-3-3. There is no need to fire up the Lags for this one. All are keen to ensure that Reeves remains the only Supremo to have failed in the group stages. So the line-up for this critical game: Sinnige, McCabe, Meeuwsen, Grassie, Orteu, Woodward, Dickie McWilliam, Reeves, Spence, Sidaway, Abbott.
It's a goal fest. Fullbacks are under orders to run till they drop to support the attack, the midfield clicks at last and chances appear. The first goal is eventually scored as Sidaway clinically dispatches a one-on-one, and finally the Lags are playing. The Supremo epitomises the offensive outlook, the defender reaching the bye-line to lob a cross which Abbott dispatches lethally on the volley. The Lags have their desperately needed margin of victory before half-time.
We pick Inter-Essex apart with fast inter-changing of passes using the full width of Pitch 1. The relief and rushes of adrenalin from Oliver, McHattie, Zurawski, Donnelly, Clarke make telling contributions. Reeves tucks home a parried Abbott shot, the latter adding a neat fourth after being played in by the former.
Abbott performs a muscle threatening scissor-kick to make it five, and Dickie McWilliam rifles home a blistering shot from the edge of the box. But then a fateful moment – Spence, tireless architect of all that is good in football – crumples in a heap, clutching the back of his thigh. A needlessly elaborate lofted cross from Abbott that has the Scotsman stretching too high is blamed. Almost a criminal offence with the Lags six goals up.
But after the pain, the ecstacy. A move of sweet, crisp passing emerges from deep in the Lag half, and the ball is fed to Sidaway on half-way. A moment of sublime extrasensory synergy follows as Abbott just knows what is about to happen next. Sidaway duly executes the most flamboyant of dummies, sending at least four opponents into the next field. Abbott is already latching on to the rolling ball as defenders stand mesmerized, taking it in his stride and climaxing possibly the most beautiful goal in World Cup history with an elaborate feint to round the keeper and slide home.
We end 7-0 winners and I'm relieved to qualify from the group stages when in truth we should have comfortably won every game.
CHEEK AND HAIR
Exuberant Lags go into their Lag ScienceTM recovery program to ensure aching muscles and limbs can cope on Sunday. Reading A wait in the quarter-final. Suckling pig awaits on the barbeque. Using surgical precision, Zurawski deftly removes all meat from the cheeks as less experienced and ravenous footballers scrape over the bare bones of the pig.
To prevent paparazzi style reports of Lags whooping it up before a World Cup quarter-final the squad dons false moustaches and is able to relax incognito on the Saturday evening. My moustache looks disconcertingly real.
Sun 05 June: NO BALLS
Warm up is constrained as all balls are gone. By the time we've begged the opposition for one its time to start.
READING NICH IT
QUARTER-FINAL: ENGLAND LAGS 0-2 READING A
Scorers: None
As I fear Spence does have a hamstring rather than steel hawser in the back of his thigh and confirms that he's out for the tournament. It's a blow. But we go into the match confident that we can keep up our Inter-Essex form. We stick with 4-3-3: Sinnige, McCabe, Grassie, Meeuwsen, Orteu, Reeves, Woodward, McHattie, Dickie, Sidaway and Abbott.
But a nervous start leads to an early goal conceded. A humped ball forward, confusion in central defence and Reading are one to the good courtesy of Nich Fazel. Lags strive, Abbott pulls out an elaborate back-heeled flick to send Dickie clear, who shoots narrowly past the post. The striking synergy is again on show. Sidaway bounds clear down the right and anticipates perfectly Abbott's dart to the near stick. The low cross is perfect, except that Abbott's elegant swing finds only air. It should have been 1-1.
In the second half, the game remains under control, but we can't create clear-cut chances. Abbott again sends McWilliam clear, but from a difficult angle the shot is again just wide. Dickie then picks up an injury and McHattie comes on. Its worthy stuff but turgid. Then with minutes remaining, Reading break to score a second, the appeal of raised arms on the edge of the box emphatically (and correctly) declined by linesman Read. For Lags, the World Cup is over. Although we had the possession, Reading were more dangerous, took their chances, and narrowly deserved to win.
BLOOD TEST
There are apparently more matches to play. As befits Lags I pay no attention to these hapless affairs. We are eighth. On the day it was a pitch too far. The Italians defeat the Germans in the final getting revenge for the many battles that were lost here 500 years ago. The new blood passed the test, the old blood is, well, old. My players of the tournament: Tony, Woodie and Dan. The diary ends here with a few snippets for a future Supremo:
It only remains for us humble hacks to fill in the less than glorious details of the final two play-off games for completeness.
RECURRING PUP MARE
PLAY-OFF: ENGLAND LAGS 0-1 ENGLAND PUPS
Scorers: None
In what is becoming an annual World Cup fixture, the Lags faced up to the Pups. But rather than the hoped for semi-final clash, this was a rather anti-climatic play-off game after both sides had crashed out in the quarters. Despite the collective disappointment, a very good game of football was served up. Seemingly inevitably, it was Pup Banoub who broke the deadlock early doors, thrashing home a ball from 15 yards out after a neat lay-off.
The Lags once again produced a concerted response and dominated the rest of the game as they chased an equalizer. But in a microcosm of their tournament, clear-cut chances were few and far between, and Trovato in the Pup goal in particular boldly came out to claim many crosses to thwart Lag assaults. With implacable referee Spence turning down a seemingly cast-iron penalty appeal from Sidaway, the Lag's best chance came late in the match when Pete Donnelly caught a bouncing ball just perfectly on the edge of the box, only to see the fizzing effort deflect away off Trovato's shoulder with the Pup keeper knowing little about it.
GAS EXPLOSION FINISHES LAGS OFF
PLAY-OFF: ENGLAND LAGS 1-4 CALOR GAS
Scorers: Sinnige
The Lag's World Cup fizzled out in a rather sad capitulation to Calor Gas, leaving them with a rather disappointing eighth place finish. With various legs having fallen off, and others departing early, there were at least few selection dilemmas for McCabe. Abbott volunteered to don the gloves to give Sinnige a romp up front, but a particularly slovenly start in the Lag rearguard saw him concede twice before he had even touched the ball. Keeper turned poacher Sinnige offered some hope of salvation when he neatly slotted home after some wizardic dribbling from Reeves along the bye-line. But the second half proved even more sloppy, and two further goals from the Gas men left the Lags ending the tournament on a decided low.