The following article appeared in the programme for Racing Club Warwick v Rocester on 26th August 2006.
So what did you get up to during those long summer months since Racing Club last kicked a ball in anger? Here’s another instalment of my football diary of the Summer:
Tuesday 30th May & Saturday 3rd June - Internationals, Old Trafford, Manchester
These games were supposed to be the first internationals at the super new Wembley as well as being England’s final World Cup warm-up matches and Sven’s last games in charge of the national side on home soil. I guess that Hungary were invited on account of their being the first foreign victors in England back in 1953 whilst Jamaica were seen as being the closest thing we could get to Trinidad & Tobago without actually playing them. Sadly the new Wembley wasn’t ready so the games were transferred to England’s next biggest football stadium: the newly-enlarged 70,000 capacity Old Trafford Theatre of Dreams.
My lingering memory of the two matches will be the establishment in the side of beanpole Peter Crouch. You may recall my disgust at previous England games when the cognoscenti booed Crouch when he came on as sub. Football fans can be highly knowledgeable but, annoyingly, that night the majority seemed to be totally bloody ignorant. The media had decided that Crouch isn’t “good enough” and therefore not fit for the shirt. At the same time Sven was getting slagged for not having a Plan B. What was the guy supposed to do? I think that Crouchie represents an excellent tactical substitution and, given the catcalls he received, he has become my favourite England star of the moment – eat your words critics! On the Tuesday night, substitute Crouch scored a sweet final goal as England ran out 3-1 winners against the not-so-magnificant Magyars. Against Jamaica, with Crouch in the starting line-up England were 4-0 up before half time. By the final whistle, with England steam-rollering Jamaica 6-0, Crouch had secured himself a hat-trick and had time to miss a penalty too as his outrageous chip sailed high over the bar. The tabloids were suddenly full of Crouchie’s robotic dancing and perhaps, not surprisingly, nobody was questioning his presence in the team any more – what a fickle bunch fans and media can be! And so off we went to Germany for the little matter of the World Cup Finals not, you understand, that I had tickets for any of England’s matches. No. I had tickets for four other games and, with hindsight, I had a ball which might not have been the case had I secured tickets to watch Sven’s boys.
Monday 19th June – World Cup, Volksparkstadion, Hamburg
Finally I was there! Avid readers of this column will know that I applied for tickets for the World Cup over 18 months ago, well before the draw was made. At the turn of the year I learned my fate. It was to be Saudi Arabia against Ukraine in Hamburg. A mouth-watering prospect! Well OK perhaps not but, as it turned out I was treated to an absorbing display by the Ukrainians who, having been stuffed by Spain in their opening game, knew they had to basically win their two remaining games to be sure of qualifying for the knock out stages. The Saudis were one of two squads drawn entirely from their country’s domestic league (the other was Italy fact fans) and they were distinctly unimpressive. By half time Ukraine were 2-0 ahead and out of sight thanks in part to Sergei Rebrov, Tottenham’s white elephant of a few years ago. Early in the second half and Chelsea’s new signing, a certain Andrij Schevchenko, scored another and it finished 4-0 to the Ukranians.
Hamburg’s Volksparkstadion (literally the people’s-park-stadium) was a treat. Situated some distance from the centre of Hamburg in a public park and the home of Hamburg SV, the arena enjoyed a full house of 50,000 that made for a superb atmosphere. On the day of the match we did the sights of Hamburg including the world-renowned Reeperbahn before heading out for the match. The Reeperbahn? To me it was as seedy as such places tend to be but, if dildos and vibrators on open display in sex shop windows is your thing then I recommend a trip (Rob). More or less at the end of the Reeperbahn was the Heiligengeistfeld (easy for you to say), home of Hamburg’s World Cup Fan’s Park. Big screens, plenty of food and drink, marquees flogging football related merchandise and a party atmosphere meant a good time for all. And right next to the Fan’s Park stood the tiny ground of Hamburg’s lesser known other club, St Pauli who ply their trade in Germany’s lower leagues. St Pauli are an interesting club in that they are very well supported but operate from a central but fairly decrepit ground. Their team badge is a Jolly Roger-style skull and crossbones and there’s a left-wing revolutionary feel to the club, you know the kind of thing: Che Guevara tee-shorts in the club shop and quiche on sale in the club house. I would have loved to have spent more time in Hamburg but we had to leave to make the 450 mile journey to Munich for our next match.
The final instalment of my summer of soccer will appear in the programme for our next home game including tales of Brazil v Japan and the end of the Road to the Westfalenstadion. See you next time.
Keep the faith!
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