Welcome to the World Cup, everyone. If you blinked during the opening ceremony you might have missed something rather special, but rest assured, the r...
Welcome to the World Cup, everyone. If you blinked during the opening ceremony you might have missed something rather special, but rest assured, the real drama was saved for the pitch. Wilton Pereira Sampaio, the man in the middle, did not take long to carve his name into the tournament folklore, showing three red cards in a single match. That is the joint highest number in a World Cup game, and for the watching billions, it was chaos of the highest order.The first card came early for South Africa's Yaya Sithole, a booking that was upgraded to a second yellow after a reckless challenge. Then Themba Zwane followed him down the tunnel for a straight red, a studs up lunge that looked dangerous in real time and was deemed indefensible on replay. Mexico, playing on home soil, were not immune. Cesar Montes joined the queue for an early shower after a cynical tug on a breaking attacker. Three reds. Twenty two men started the game. Nine on each side finished it.You have to ask yourself, was it brutal football or officiating with an itchy trigger finger The game was a low block nightmare for Mexico, who could not break down a South African side that knew they were in for a long night. When you go a man down, and then another, and then the opposition lose one too, all structure slips away. This was not a tactical masterclass. This was a rugby scrum played with a round ball. Transitional play became the only currency, because shape went out of the window. Possession was abandoned. It was pure, desperate, end to end stuff.The crowd in the Mexico City Stadium, a cauldron of green, white and red, were left stunned. They came for a fiesta. They got a street fight. Sampaio lost control of the game early, and by the time he had waved his red card aloft for the third time, he had essentially destroyed the contest as a spectacle. For South Africa, this was a grim introduction to the global stage. For Mexico, it was a home game that died a slow, silly death. And for the neutrals Well, it was the kind of glorious, unhinged nonsense that only football can serve up.We are left with a group stage that already feels fractured. Two key players from each side suspended for the next match, and a referee who will surely be sent home to Brazil before the knockouts begin. The conversation should be about the football. Instead, it is about the man with the whistle and the three shades of red he pulled from his pocket. That is a shame for the tournament, but a brilliant story for the rest of us.
