As of Friday, August 12, the AFE (Spanish Footballers’ Association) union resolved to strike for at least the first two matchdays of the Spanish professional football season.

Their reason is  a crisis in Spanish football related to the credit bust that, thus far, has left at least 200 players in First and Second Divisions owed €50 million in wages.

Furthermore, the players are standing against the increasing incidence of their colleagues’ wage payments being delayed, sometimes for months. What’s more, they are demanding stricter oversight from Spanish football governing bodies to prevent such situations from occurring.

The way they see it, Spanish football should be looking more in the way of countries such as Holland or Germany, where club team spending is much more controlled. They even point to the Premier League, where a team like Portsmouth, declared insolvent, is punished with relegation.

In contrast, in Spain football teams have been juridically ignored regarding their spending and labor practices. To highlight the situation: Zaragoza owes its players millions from last season, yet have already signed eight new players, one of whom cost €8.6 million. Players, bound to contracts, are unable to escape the situation, and, furthermore, since there are no legal provisions to punish the nonpaying clubs, are forced to stay on since they haven’t been paid and their only hopes of getting payed are by staying put.

While many have mocked the idea of football players being slaves, one can also understand the bad positions that teams often put players in. Imagine, a young man gives up his schooling with the idea of being a professional footballer. He does so with the idea of building a career, and focusing every bit of energy on it. Yet the shelf life of an average player is shorter every season; the reality is that football is only a solid career until one’s early thirties, when the body gives out.

At this point, the situation for Spanish players is such that there is no guarantee that they will even get the financial benefits of that career. What’s more, the boom in the Spanish football industry, parallel to the boom in the economy firmly tied to real estate speculation and excessive spending, has seen teams spending exorbitant sums on players–many of them quite bad–from all over the world. The past 15-20 years have seen a global expansion in the game–via TV rights and merchandising–that has favored cosmopolitan teams with universal appeal.

Now, with the burst of the bubble and the drastic slashing of banking credit (not to mention the possibility of increased regulation), many teams are beginning to look like sinking ships. Very expensive ships with no life rafts.

What’s more, since credit has dried, very few teams are able to get any, and we could have guessed that those with that luxury are Real Madrid and Barcelona. Both teams continue to sign players left and right, paying high wages and enjoying the profits of their all-encompassing appeal in every corner of the world.

In many ways, it’s becoming a two-horse race; a look at revenues in Spain, compared to similar charts for league titles in the last ten years, shows that there is one Real Madrid, one Barcelona, and a field full of also-rans.

In a Spain (and a Europe) in which the common people are being forced to swallow “austerity measures” (cuts to social spending and increased taxes), that makes the idea of the football business somewhat more ridiculous. While small and medium businesses in Spain, still a strong economic force, are finding their credit to be cut, they see a sector of the Spanish economy not bound to the same basic rules. Solvency, spending what one can afford to pay, paying one’s employees.

And yet, the press, while highlighting the strike (though not so much its financial implications), still warms up to the idea of the start of the new season, not to mention the Fabregas saga. The nationalistic Madrid-based papers (especially AS and Marca), as well as the Catalan dailies (such as Sport),  have also given these lastly mentioned stories much more prominent attention.

At the same time, as the 15-m movement against the austerity measures continues to be vociferous in Spain, El Pais also featured an article about former Sporting Gijón footballer Javi Poves, who quit the sport for “ethical reasons,” motivated by his anarchist political beliefs.

The 15-m, short for “15th of May,” protestors have been staging nonviolent protests since May against what they view as governmental and corporate irresponsibility in the economic crisis. They demand, among other things, accountability and the upholding of workers’ rights.

And interesting bedfellows the two groups, footballers and protestors make, at least in terms of our discussion here. As the football season approaches once again, so do we get closer to finding more about the true depths and consequences of the global economic crisis. Football, more than ever, parades the fantasy that all is well, that the world is in order, and that the best team wins, again and again.

The match was noteworthy in contrast to the previous set of friendlies played by Spain since the World Cup.

In a maneuver of perhaps unconfident foresight, the Spanish federation (RFEF) scheduled three friendly matches against Mexico, Argentina, and Portugal—all of them being played as the visiting team.

Needless to say, the World Cup triumph was a physically and mentally exhausting effort for the Spanish players in 2010. Coming off a big win in Euro 2008 as well, there was the inevitable sense after the 2010 win that the team had won all there was to win.  Indeed, they did win all that they could that mattered to them (they didn’t win the 2009 Confederations Cup—a tournament criticized by clubs and pundits as being an unnecessary intrusion on the summer before a World Cup).

Thus, the friendlies, played towards the beginning of the 2010-2011 season, had a sense of unimportance about them, which was projected by the players. With the Barcelona-Real Madrid clásico only a short time into the season, and with a heated race between the two teams for first place, it was clear that the minds of the professionals were on competition rather than exhibition.

While tying with Mexico, Spain was drubbed by both Argentina and Portugal in contests that were much more important for the teams that had something to prove. And yet, their opposition was still contemplating the wake of the World Cup victory.

While attention was moved to the eternal Real Madrid-Barcelona rivalry, in the previous months, the national team had overtaken all other news, even displacing the spiraling economic disaster and relegating it to less important spaces on cover pages.

This came at a time when tensions between the Spanish government and the opposition, the democratic subjects and their bureaucratic democracy, were approaching boiling points due to the economic agony of Spain. In the days surrounding the Cup, the chords of disunion were chiming in various regions, especially with the polemic of the Catalan constitution (which curiously featured then-Barcelona president Joan Laporta as a provocative spokesperson for the cause).

Of course, the Catalan independence cause continues to be a thorn in the paw of Spanish constitutional democrats who wish to maintain the union despite certain liberties granted to the autonomies. If anything, because of Catalunya’s deeply rooted capitalist heavyweights, who loom in the background as potential financiers of a functional breakaway state. This, in contrast to Basque nationalism, to name the other notable example, which has seen the continuous efforts of the Spanish state to associate the most ardent nationalists with the terrorist movement, from kale borroka street violence to the coffers of ETA.

As such, the Spanish media’s rhetoric, despite the constant association of Basque freedom and terror, conveys a greater sense of fear about Catalunya’s claims’ legitimacy. The question that Catalanism promotes is one that goes directly to the core of the political system: can democracy oppress itself?

On July 26^th, Catalunya banned bullfighting, a gesture largely (and understandably) regarded as provocative by the national press in Spain. In the end, though, in the national media, the more enduring images were focused on the national football team, a far better sell in a football-charged nation than images of Catalans celebrating their gesture of difference and defiance.

Ironically, this championship football team had a most Catalan backbone, combined with a solid pillar of their Real Madrid rivals. The style of their play, however, was a direct product of the Barcelona school; a brand of total football in which all players press hard, in which possession is used as defense, and in which creativity is employed with controlled artistry to attack the other team.

The World Cup celebrations, enjoyed by millions of people all over Spain, were treated to the image of Spanish players such as Puyol and Xavi wearing their Catalan flag, their senyera, on the field after the match. In the post-game jubilation, even Queen Sofia was compelled to break all known protocol and go directly to the dressing room to shake the players’ hands.

As the surprised protagonists of the grueling match with Holland exchanged greetings with Her Royal Highness, Carles Puyol—a Barcelona captain and symbol of the made-in-Catalunya philosophy of the team—emerged from the shower clutching nothing but a towel to his waist. Desperately holding on to it with his left hand, he extended his right when the Queen offered him her hand.

Almost a year later, the friendlies now forgotten and a team still basking in World Cup glory, not to mention Barcelona’s success in Europe (they won the Champions’ League—the most prestigious European tournament of football for clubs), the two against the USA and Venezuela came, at the end of the 2010-2011 season.

Over a month earlier, during a 4 week period in which Real Madrid and Barcelona played each other four times (in the Spanish Cup final, the Champions’ League semis, and the Spanish league), the sports press in Spain, most notably the nationalist Marca and AS, became obsessed with whether the tensions between players from the two teams would affect the selección. The series of clásicos was marked by clashes between Spanish teammates—in one match Madrid’s Arbeloa stomped on Barça’s Pedro—as well as insinuations and accusations from both sides.

However, the season having finished, the successful friendlies seemed to erase any of that tension between Spain’s players. Interestingly, Del Bosque used one of the games to hand Barcelona’s Victor Valdés—one of the nationalist sports press’s favorite targets for anti-Madrid accusations—his second start for the team, relegating perennial starter Iker Casillas to a substitute appearance. In that same match, two Athletic Club Bilbao players started as well,  in addition to a total of 5 Barcelona players and two from Madrid.

With the backdrop of the national “15-M” sit-ins—the acampadas, camp-outs in most Spanish cities protesting the political state of Spain in the economic crisis—the Spanish team’s performance was a symbolic moment of synthesis in which the “different” Spains came together to a successful end. In Barcelona, on the eve of the Champions’ League final, Catalonian state police—the Mossos D’Esquadra—violently beat the peaceful protestors, who refused to move from the Plaça de Catalunya.

Their reason for the police charge was to clear the plaza in anticipation of a possible celebration by Barcelona fans; the official story was that the acampadas posed a public safety risk in such a situation, especially as the need was seen to “clean” the plaza of objects that could be used as weapons by Barça fans.

Nonetheless, the actions of the Catalonian state police unwittingly served to echo what would happen with the Spanish national team friendly matches, becoming an unlikely statement of unity with the Spanish political establishment in the face of popular discontent. Similarly, the national team’s success played out the powerful symbolism of the football narrative, painting an image of unity and imperial dominance in the Americas.

This, an image strikingly at odds with the internal, structural realities of both Spanish football and the democratic state. In the recent nationwide municipal elections of the 22^nd of May, the ruling socialist party, the PSOE, was dealt a severe blow as the traditionally conservative PP gained major ground all over Spain, and in many cities where the PSOE was well-grounded. At the same time, abstention was on the rise and a focus of the national news media, while in the Basque Country, nationalist party Bildu—claimed by its critics to be directly linked to ETA via its outlawed political wing—had an astonishing turnout, taking second in the voting overall, despite having been banned and subsequently reinstated only days before.

And in two football matches across the Atlantic, La Roja played as a squad oblivious to this, almost incredulous in its own effortlessness in thrashing their less adept rivals.

The Bouncing Babes of Univision

In this past month of World Cup football, I have seen my facebook stream lit up by “friends” claiming that they are loving to watch coverage in Spanish. In many cases, these friends speak Spanish as a second language; I even have friends who don’t speak Spanish well at all, yet watch the Spanish coverage because they claim it is more dramatic.

It always strikes me that American football/soccer fans always seem to be drawn in by the aura of American Spanish-language channel coverage of the sport.

The perspective of this type of fan looks down upon the English-speaking coverage one finds in the USA. Typically, the formula goes as follows: a dry, serious, and knowledgeable British announcer, plus one American with some (often tenuous) connection to the world of soccer.

The formula has varied slightly over the years, though in 2010, ESPN has stuck faithfully to it, adding in color commentary in the postgame, pregame, and halftime slots. This year, the coverage has been particularly good, featuring analysis from such legends of football as Steve McManaman and Jürgen Klinsman, and some current figures such as Wigan coach Roberto Martínez.

While I am occasionally annoyed by the (virtually inevitable) stream of stereotyping, clichés, and general lack of knowledge of the commentators (Alexi Lalas is often guilty of this, in my opinion), I am overall pleased with how far football coverage has come in the US since I was younger.

When I was little (we are talking up to the mid-90′s), it was literally impossible to watch many tournaments such as the Copa América, the European Nations’ Cup, or the Champions’ League. By the time I was a teenager, we were luck to live near a bar in Arlington, Virginia named Summer’s that had a ridiculously expensive satellite system (one of only two in the nation, they claimed). There we were able to watch Euro ’96 and many other contests, surrounded by a packed restaurant full of fanatics in their team colors.

With the steady growth of Spanish-language television in the USA, soccer became more and more present. At the beginning, the Spanish-language commentary seemed infused with a true sense of passion enhanced by the novelty of it. Not that the sport was new to the audience, but rather that the means of communicating it was new (a Spanish-language channel in an English-speaking country) and the audience was increasingly new.

These early commentators were best represented by the legendary (and aptly-named) Andrés Cantor (we could call him Singing Andrew), whose extraordinarily long “GoooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOooooool” cry became legend, especially in contrast to the dry “gringo” commentating on the ’94 World Cup. Cantor became symbolic of the “Latin passion” for football, though by 1998 he appeared to me as a caricature of himself, the kind that might sing an opera for the most meaningless goals and appear clownishly disconnected from the drama of the game.

This World Cup, I have been watching much of Univisión, mostly because I get the best digital cable signal from their channel to record matches. Regrettably, I find the commentary to be much like this clownified version of the original Cantor: theatrically-inclined blathering that often does more to distract than it does to enhance the match.

What’s more, this year’s coverage features the illustrious José Luis Chilavert, no stranger to violence and controversy in his day. The instigator of many an on-field brawl, his commentating has been along similar lines.

Among other things, he has slandered not only referees, but the nations they come from–his verbal assault against Guatemalan Carlos Batres was an insult to the entire national of Guatemala, as he dismissed their referee as a disgrace to the game, claiming he does not even come from a place that knows a thing about soccer.

In another rant, the Paraguayan went on a stunning (and unexpected) tirade justifying one of his other famous incidents, in which he doused Brazilian fullback Roberto Carlos with a generous spray of his phlegm. “Chila” claimed that Roberto Carlos had called him an indio (an Indian, ie. indigenous American) after the win, “as if he were a blond-haired, blue-eyed German.” The surprising explanation from the Paraguayan seems to reveal a certain disdain for Roberto Carlos’s own racial “composition,” insinuating that the fact that the Brazilian is of a “lower” race would make it more contemptible to insult his own race.

This is not to justify Roberto Carlos’s provocation, but considering that indio is a word tossed around pickup games like a water bottle where I play (mostly with Mexican and Central American immigrant players), the response of Chilavert is telling regarding the idea that the Spanish-speaking world is somehow magically united. Ironically, the same commentator, talking about the possibility of a Spain-Holland final, voiced his attitude towards Spain: “I was in Spain for a few years as a player, and all I can say is that the Spanish treat Latin American players badly… they are all racist.” Moments before, his co-commentators had said they were going for Spain, being the last Spanish-speaking country in the tournament.

We could immediately pounce on the sublime ignorance of his statement–not that there is no racism in Spain; we could certainly find examples of racism anywhere in the world. There is the obvious mistake of turning racism around and perpetuating it: to that tune, many of the Univisión forums feature posts from Latin Americans who are defending the Spanish based on their experiences there.

Even more, we could speak about how, in voicing his support for Holland, Chilavert is utterly unaware of their own very “rich” history of colonialism. Even in football terms, Holland have always had great black players, yet even in the national team racial division has been fingered as a principal reason for their failures–in the past, such great players as the mythical Clarence Seedorf and Edgar Davids have spoken about tensions divided along “color” lines. Let’s not even get into Holland’s own sociopolitical issues with racism. And that’s not to mention that word Apartheid, a direct result of Dutch colonialism and institutionalized racism that so disgracefully defined 20th century South Africa. Perhaps Chilavert would do to lift his head from out of his book of rage.

More importantly, the presence of such a quasi-populist character as Chilavert truly is can be traced to the network’s idea of finding some idyllic “Latino” medium to appeal to its supposedly unified audience. Take the character of Chilavert, long outspoken figure of footballing counter-culture, self-proclaimed defender of the oppressed football nations, and herald him as a symbol of “nuestro fútbol.” Step one in upholstering an already loosely-defined identity.

The next step in the formula which has most gotten my attention has been the peddling of sexual ideals via the Univisión World Cup coverage.  Some of it is “universal”, ie, the constant shots of ostensibly attractive women in the crowd, which we could counter with the obvious: endless shots of ostensibly attractive “alpha males” (how many close-ups of every Cristiano Ronaldo expressions are there in comparison to the trademark grimaces of Carles Puyol). These kinds of things are, of course, a part of global marketing culture, not unique to the network.

Of more interest (or concern?) is the exclusive coverage that Univisión provides a myriad of scantily clad (usually in short shorts and cutoff team shirts), skinny, large-busted women, whose only job appears to be bouncing up and down and wiggling while screaming meaningless cheers without ever trying to say anything intelligible. Without fail, this comes before, after, and during every game.

For a channel that purports to be a voice for all Spanish-speakers (all of their award shows use the word Nuestro/a in some way, implying that this is our, the viewers’ award), I am quickly alienated by this “coverage” of the sport that I love. It is not to say that the women are unattractive, or repulsive, or even necessarily degrading themselves by bouncing during the World Cup on Univisión.

It is more a sense of alienation of message. Am I supposed to be, in some way, turned on by these women? Should I revel in their self-expression, their liberation from loose-fitting clothing (not to mention the incessant jumping)? Should I, as a Spanish speaker, or Hispanic, or Latino, be jumping up and down with them, joining in their fake fútbol-joy Or am I too uptight to enjoy “quality entertainment?”

In the end, I can only conclude that such coverage of soccer, coming from such a channel, can only be for those who may less the true fans, and more those who are looking for an identity represented by Chilavert, by the pantomime blathering of the announcers, by the bouncing women, by the feeling that this is ours and not theirs (they, I supposed, are the non Spanish-speaking other). I realize I am not one of them, and find myself regretting that I do not have a more comprehensive cable package; my inner self begs me as I watch the World Cup: ¡en inglés, por favor, por Dios!

A brilliant piece on the “First African World Cup!”

This article from the Guardian highlights the extent to which the French football crisis is becoming one of international proportions, now being taken up at the highest levels of the French government.

At first glance, one might think: why should politicians have any role in talking to a football coach?

To begin with, the coach, in the end, amounts to a sort of indirect government appointee. France, like most nations, has a federation of sport that oversees association sports in general. In most cases, heads of football federations are appointed by the federations of sport, whose heads are in turn appointed by ruling political parties.

Perhaps even more importantly, the Domenech crisis is bringing to the forefront the role of football in creating a national image that has repercussions not just politically, but economically and socially. The French are now struggling to cope with a backlash stemming from this “tarnishing of the French image.”

One did not have to look far to see the impacts of the unprecedented discord and ultimate failure of the French team. From Facebook to the printed news to ESPN, the headlines orbited around the idea of the spoiled, whining French who put their egos before the team.

While Domenech may have been a horrifically bad manager (and he was), what got the attention of the world was the attitude of the players, performing (or not) on the biggest stage in the world. The extraoirdinary airing of the French dirty laundry will go a long way to create overwhelmingly negative images of France throughout the world. We don’t need to list all of the bad stereotypes that will be vastly reinforced by this whole incident, but one can imagine the repercussions, whether it be in marketing or even day-to-day identity creation.

In the end, however, Domenech will be only a scapegoat, held responsible for the actions of many, as well as his own. As Laurent Dubois shows in his book, ’98 was an opportunity in which a positive ideal of Frenchhood could be presented, despite its detractors. While it did not last forever, one would be hard-pressed to deny its impact on the national imagination and how it continues to endure. With this latest, disastrous chapter in French football history, one would hope that things are fixed as quickly as possible in order to restore the lustre on a global image that has been more than slightly tarnished.

Fascinating piece from the Guardian echoing my recent sentiments on FIFA becoming more like the WWF than a legitimate sporting regulatory body. With the organization spiraling for decades now into its demagoguery, recent World Cups have showcased farcical refereeing and an intangible idea of fate or destiny which is viciously guarded by FIFA. The unquestionable referees, the dodgy decisions made by institution and on-field actors, the politics hidden behind a curtain of secrecy; things like this make one wonder just where is the game going. With all the rhetoric about “preserving” a game that is unrecognizable in comparison to its 19th century institutional origin, the idea of the global market is an all too obvious inspiration that architects FIFA policies. Cue the group of female Dutch fans, arrested and held in a special FIFA court for wearing a number of similar orange dresses, accused of being guerilla marketers, unwelcome invaders in the FIFA dictatorship.

Not only are Spain joint favorites with Brazil, but the tournament needs the Spanish team like a fish needs water. After one of the drabbest opening rounds in memory, fans everywhere are looking for reasons as to why things are so awful this time round. The long European season, the austral winter, the security concerns and the stress it creates, the ultra-defensive attitudes, and the worst ball in history that was still round: the Jabulani. Thanks, adidas, for a World Cup with no shots on goal.

The prospect of the Spanish team being true to its image, thus, serves as a necessary riposte from the otherwise disappointing level of play seen so far. The Spaniards seem to be on the rise, even considering their incredible record winning and unbeaten streaks, as well as their scintillating win at Euro 2008.

Having seen the Brazilians struggle to beat North Korea 2-1, the Spanish side brings a promise of a real jogo bonito. The coach, Vicente del Bosque, seems more than likely to be faithful to their image of artful prodigies of world football. Despite coming off the success of 2008, the 2010 squad is one that is still tremendously youthful and not bound to the stereotypical cynicism associated with defending champs who refuse to sacrifice anything in their bid to retain. With enough talent to build two squads, it is easy to forget that Spanish football itself is defined by its strict divisions, often with its bitter political roots.

In the case of this current squad, there is a strong base along the Real Madrid-Barcelona line, with as many as 9 starters featuring from these two banner teams. At the same time, there is also a significant infusion from other Spanish teams such as Athletic Bilbao and Sevilla, not to mention the small but brilliant British contingent in Torres and Fabregas. It is a team filled with Catalans and madrileños, with Basques from Guipúzcoa and Vizcaya, with stars from La Mancha and the Canary Islands.

This diversity of linguistic-ethnic groups has long been associated with an underperformance of the Spanish national team at big tournaments. However, Euro 2008 showcased a side that seemed to be driven much more by professional, global ambition, than by regional differentiation. The team was able to assembe around a single footballing language that made sense not only to them, but to the world.

Laurent Dubois, an avid football fan and historian at Duke University, speaks about the idea of football and the French empire in the 20th century, his study Soccer Empire: The World Cup and the Future of France culminating with a discussion of the impact of the World Cup triumph of 1998 on society and politics. Among other things, the triumph (and the run) of the epic ’98 French team generated a maelstrom of political and social debate that went down to the bone of French identity.

The fact that the team was composed of an unprecedented mix of ethnic backgrounds, mostly descending from the French colonies, was a source of contention during their famous run. At the same time, the French victory created a platform for unification, in which the idea of France gloriously embraced post-colonial realities. A once homogeneous identity became multicolored, and under its figurehead Zinedine Zidane, son of Algerian immigrants, realized the possibilities of a truly race-less society.

And yet, Soccer Empire also brings up the question of how long such a feelgood moment lasts before society reverts to its previous patterns, moving on to other, perhaps more immediate concerns.

In the Spanish case, it would be fascinating to see how the politics of autonomous communites play out alongside the progress of the national team. What would happen to the vociferously separatist contingents from the Basque Country and Catalonia? More importantly, what would happen in terms of the public opinion of the masses who follow football, whose opinions are not always represented by their most vocal politicians even in areas with anti-Spanish nationalist ambitions?

Unification seems like a naïve ideal, especially in the context of what many will consider merely a sport, a diversion. Nonetheless, one cannot negate the reality that this sport is a phenomenon resulting from innumberable cultural conditions, and is an important part of the social fabric, occupying not just stadiums, but imaginations and everything that derives from that. Ideas about masculinty, sex, discipline, beauty, violence, and so forth, pass through and are perpetuated by the global game.

For the Spanish team, while we cannot predict the impact they will have on politics and society in general in Spain should they do well, we can certainly know for sure that a deep Spanish run will certainly bring the footballing public a great deal of joy.

1. The Germans are cold and efficient (but not artful) football machines and they always win in the end

If their opening game against the Socceroos is any indication, than this myth is probably not going to last much longer. It has been a while since they have won the World Cup (1990; they won the Euro in 1996). Their last winning team had many vestiges of this stereotypical view of them, summarized by their ’96 European Championship-winning team.

However, by 2010 things have drastically changed, and the team also reflects societal changes. Once a homogeneous team of ethnic Germans, the team now has a myriad of players from different backgrounds: Polish, Bosnian, Tunisian, Ghanaian, Turkish, Nigerian, Spanish. Not only that, but these players are crucial members of the team who are redefining the German style of play, and influencing their fellow teammates to shift the national team style to a fast-paced, creative, and powerful one. The demolition of Australia, while aided by an unjust red card, showed that the Germans are no longer strangers to jogo bonito, and judging from their two major finals in the past 8 years, one can conclude that these Teutons are not afraid to lose.

2. African teams are very athletic yet extremely disorganized and chaotic

One of the favorite stereotypes of pundits and neutral observers alike. Perhaps rooted in a disdain for postcolonial upheaval, and regarding the subsequent political turmoil in ex-colonies as the fault of the colonized rather than the colonizer, this is one we hear on the broadcasts year after year. Even the Univisión commentators can’t stop going on about how “athletic” and physical the Nigerians or the Ghanaians are; no matter how different those teams are (and they could not be much more different), one could easily interchange the commentators’ descriptions of them.

Quite to the contrary of what the commentary tells us, a team like Ghana’s goes sharply against the myth; against Serbia–a very professional and seasoned team in and of itself–they proved to be more than equal. Organized to the point of being hermetic defensively, their biggest defect was a lack of opportunities, finishing, and creation on attack. Normally one would reserve such a critique as typical of the old dogs (we think of Italy, for example). Nonetheless, their focus and determination defeated any old associations and they ended up the wily winners thanks to their quality.

While Nigeria did itself few favors in terms of the myth, there are other African teams out there that might. Ivory Coast is a fascinating team that exhudes quality, and Cameroon has a couple of world class players to add to a bunch of seasoned pros playing all over Europe.

3. Brazilian joy and jogo bonito

Another of the favorite stereotypes, not helped by the many Brazilians I’ve met who insist their nation is one of sea and samba, dancing and prancing, and overall beauty and happiness. While this was hard to swallow when I was down there (in the middle of the big São Paulo gang wars of 2006), I can understand to some extent this sort of national identity creation. However, after having experienced the most miserably boring World Cup final in 1994, I find it hard to see this in the game of the selecçao.

As a youngster back then, all of the expectation of my first (intently followed) final was burst (or better: slowly impaled) by 120 scoreless minutes of football. Throughout the tournament, the Brazilian style was one of tight control and efficiency, not artfully explosive play or creativity. And this, having on their side one of the best forward lines ever in the clever Bebeto and the inimitable Romario, who had the touch of an angel in the penalty box; never did the devastation of a goal seem so beautiful as when it was put into the goal by the diminutive Cupid of football.

2002 did some justice to the stereotype, in a team featuring the magician Rivaldo, a budding Ronaldinho, a resurgent Ronaldo, and rampaging fullbacks Roberto Carlos and Cafu. However, teams such as their ’98 and ’06 team showed a more repetitive current in their game, one that reflects the reality that most of their national teams are based in Europe, in stark contrast to the days of Pelé, Garrincha, and company. Solid, committed, and talented professionals, who know what the task at hand entails, and how to get it done.

Perhaps no player epitomizes this globalized work ethic than the industrious Dunga, himself an immigrant journeyman in his playing days, who made his mark by taking no prisoners, and implementing his order upon the field. Alongside holding midfielders Mazinho and Mauro Silva, his ’94 team sapped all of the life out of opponents, and the Brazilians needed few opportunities thanks to their deadly finishers.

The 2010 team, with Dunga as coach, represents this new identity of the Brazilian game. Omitting such creative players such as Ronaldinho and Alexandre Pato, the message was clear that he will take dedication over magic any day. Expect to see a style repeat of ’94, though we would love to be proven wrong.

Truly the dullest opening match in my memory. No upsets, no good football. Sloppy stagnant stuff, not to mention the maddening drone of the “vuvuela,” one invention that I wish I’d never heard of. When the crowd caught its collective breath, one was subjected to the asinine commentary of American television (we switched back and forth between Univisión and ESPN). What stands true from this first match is one thing: the MUTE button shall be my best friend this summer.

National Anthem Rating

These are certainly not going to make it out of the group stage. Both were rather flat and forgettable. While the Mexican one was accompanied by their national salute–a dark-army karate chop to the chest held taught through its duration–even this touch of implicit malevolence was scarcely enough to make it memorable. Both teams seemed confused as to the actual lyrics of their respective hymns–though that might just have been the vuvuzelas drowning out the band

Politically Correct Team Pick for Good Honest Liberals

Certainly, this will prove to be one of the closest calls of the tournament. Two nations with much in common: rampant corruption, a severe divide between wealthy minorities and vastly poor masses, histories of  official and de facto racial segregation. The focus in the news has been on the violent crime in South Africa these days; notwithstanding, Mexico is not to be outdone in that department, with news pouring in from south of the American border of daily atrocities. We’ll call this one a draw.

When I hear the word uttered on GolTv, on ESPN, even on the Fox Sport family of networks, it quickly becomes clear that the depth of this conspiracy is not that evident to those whispering its sinister name.

The Barcelona blog totalBarça is one of the few sites out there with a good run-down of the theory. To make a long story short, the Madrid press, spearheaded by Marca and their trusty rival/adversaries at AS, have perpetuated the idea that the past six years have witnessed a vast, secret plan by RFEF (the Spanish football association) President Ángel María Villar to damage Real Madrid and boost Barcelona by influencing referees.

The theory goes that because Barcelona’s President Laporta, notorious target of the Madrid press, supported Villar at a time when he was being pressured to step down by a number of big teams, including Real Madrid. The reward for Laporta’s support is the favoritism of referees, disciplinary committees, scheduling, etc.

The extent to which the conspiracy theory has been spread is a testament to the massive (and often meddling) influence of Marca and the Madrid press in general. Those of us who have coffee when we are in Spain (that would be 99% of us; the other 1% still go to the café and drink hot chocolate or orange juice, etc) know that there is virtually no watering hole, lunch counter, kiosk in the country that is not dominated by the Madrid daily. They are on the radio, in print, and of course, online, winning the game the most effective way possible: through an unending barrage of content, which always trumps quality in their aesthetic.

Barcelona-based daily, and main opposition (alongside El Mundo Deportivo) to Marca and AS, SPORT, has launched a counter-campaign, featuring a t-shirt that exclaims: “Villarato? What balls!” The t-shirt, pictured here alongside the aptly selected  t-shirt commemorating last season’s 2-6 complete arsewhooping visited upon Madrid’s hide with little to no referee assistance in their own shell-shocked Bernabeu.

Naturally, one great loophole in the theory would be how to explain the atrocious performances by Madrid’s players in Spain and Europe that led to Barcelona running away with the spoils (including a number of drubbings administered by Barça upon their eternal rivals). Another would be that Real Madrid actually won a couple of league titles right after the alleged bust-up between Villar and his enemies.

Beyond the conspiracy theory is this lurking idea of the Madrid media. MARCA has had some truly outlandish features in the past days, including a new video diary by their director, Eduardo Inda, which features him pouting and crying over spilled milk on a variety of topics. Most recently, it has been an anti-Manuel Pellegrini campaign in which the daily has been publishing any possible news to discredit the Madrid coach.

A recent Guardian article points out the obvious: that Pellegrini is and always was a scapegoat at a club where there is a coaching change on average once a year in the past 24 years. Indeed, for anyone who has followed the travails of the Madrid giant in the past few years, it has become clear that role of coach has become one of sacrificial lamb. Even coaches winning titles (Vicente Del Bosque, Fabio Capello) have been axed unceremoniously (Del Bosque for “not fitting the image” of young, cosmopolitan brand during the first Florentino Perez era) after winning the Spanish league. In Del Bosque’s case, he won two Champions’ Leagues and was still fired; before him, Juup Heynckes won their 7th Champions’ League before getting the boot.

In most of these cases, the Madrid press has either heavily campaigned for the heads of such coaches or exacerbated atmospheres in which they were being called in to question. Despite the premise of being “civilians” in the world of football, the press has taken a hands-on approach, destabilizing teams and influencing the politics of the club. Their influence has extended even to the Spanish national team: during the Luis Aragonés era, MARCA campaigned against him, basing their argument on his refusal to call up Raúl González–favored pet of the newspaper–to the national team.

In reality, Raúl’s form had been atrocious in the qualifying campaign for Euro 2008, and it was becoming apparent that his number was up as a top-class player. He did not take part in the run-up to the tournament, yet based on an upturn in his performances near tournament time, this segment of the press rallied for his inclusion. Aragonés held firmly; Raúl was never called up again and Spain won the European Nations’ Cup that summer.

The anecdote of Raúl is a telling one; for years, the Madrid press has put him on a pedestal (at times, deservingly) for his performance, though often the impression one gets is that he is idolized by them for being a symbol of some post-Francoist Spanishness. In his appearance, his marriage to a supermodel who became a homemaker, his manners, he is a classic macho ibérico, embodying masculine traits of loyalty, devotion to the cause, etc. Former players have called him a destabilizing force, even a cancer, in the locker room. Go figure.

As MARCA continues its neo-nationalist quest to destabilize Barcelona with the villarato theory, their campaign to bring down Pellegrini speaks of another defense of “Spanish ideals.” As the Paul Wilson/Guardian article discusses, there is a desperate desire in the coffers of Real Madrid to defend the “Real Madrid Way.” This “way” has recently been to pay overblown prices–exaggerated and sky-high–for top players, cramming them in a team with no regard as to how they will play or developing a system, and demanding instantaneous success. Later, when the project fails, as it has this season, the hundreds of millions of euros are burst like a bubble and the press (and the sporting directors) scramble to find a donkey to pin the blame upon.

With the current economic crisis in Spain, few reasonable people would dare to defend the way that speculators and “investors” exerted control over the now-burst bubble that was the Spanish economy in the past decade or so. However, MARCA proves that there are people out there militantly defending the footballing equivalent of such exorbitant ways.