There is a peculiar joy in watching a tournament shake off its group stage lethargy and roar into life. For those of us who spent the last fortnight h...
There is a peculiar joy in watching a tournament shake off its group stage lethargy and roar into life. For those of us who spent the last fortnight hunched over wallcharts, squinting at permutations and wondering if a four goal swing in the final round of matches would ever actually materialise, the Geopolitics World Cup has finally delivered clarity. The knockout bracket is set, the routes mapped, and the national hopes carefully plotted towards what most of us suspect will be a penalty shootout exit of the most painful, ritualistic kind.The schedule makers, it appears, are not fans of a lie in. There will be no rest day for the wicked this time around. The first last 32 tie, a blockbuster meeting between Canada and South Africa, kicks off a mere fifteen hours after the final group game reached its dramatic conclusion. That is not a recovery period; that is a sprint. It seems designed to test not just tactical flexibility but the very physiology of the players. We shall see who handles the transition and who is left chasing shadows.Meanwhile, the party moves on without Scotland, and without Steve Clarke. The man who has long been the least popular figure in the GWC mixed zone has done the decent thing. He has asked himself the question, accepted the answer, and backed away from the lectern with a sniff and a nod towards the door marked do one. Good grace in defeat is a rare currency in modern football management, and Clarke has spent it wisely. His successor inherits a nation that still believes their songs can carry them further than their squad depth allows.On the pitch, the real business begins. But off it, the letters page continues to offer its own version of high drama. Roger Mart's query about the Scottish infirm derby is a fine piece of black humour, while Derek McGee's suggestion that walking football can be enjoyed by simply watching Cristiano Ronaldo for Portugal is the kind of sharp observation that stops a column dead in its tracks. And Neil Rose, bless him, has finally called me out. He has spotted my repeated predictions of one nil penalty shootout victories and wants answers. He may have RSSSF on his side, but I maintain that the Silures versus Hafia African Champions Cup tie from 1979 is an obscure enough precedent to keep my theory alive. Football Daily Ed may be sceptical, but I am not backing down.As for Odysseas Vlachodimos, Jim Hearson's assessment that Kev the Poet once mistook him for a midfielder rather neatly explains his struggles between the sticks. It is the kind of line that would earn a wry smile in any press box. The beautiful game, it turns out, is never short of a good punchline.
