The strangely compulsive pleasure you get from watching players stand for the national anthems was heightened by the sight of Kim Yung-Woo, the only South Korean player who feels the need to salute. There’s a tasty bit of previous between the two coaches. Huh Jung-Moo aggressively man-marked Maradona when the two countries met at Mexico ’86, Maradona saying South Korea’s brand of football closer to tae kwon do than anything (see above). Both players scored against Italy in the group stages too. The Koreans are a much better footballing side than that mauling mob of Mexico but Yeom Ki-Hun, who plays for the delightfully-named Suwon Bluewings, was quick to put in a rugby tackle to assert their physical intentions.
I hope it won’t be construed as lazy racism if I admit I can’t get my head around Korean players’ names. There’s that many Kims, Lees, Jungs and Parks… it’s like the English team sheet reading:
1). Mark John Steve
2). John Steve Mark
3). John Mark Dave
4). Steve Dave John… with a cheeky wildcard thrown in, like;
5). Steve Emile Micah.
They (or rather I) can’t decide which way the names are supposed to be said either, not really knowing whether Ji-Sung Park or Park Ji-Sung is leading the team out. He has J-S PARK on his back for (lower case to denote unimportance) man utd but he’s got JISUNG on his back at this World Cup (and now they’ve done away with the hyphens!)
Come on, South Korea… Sort it out!
They had a lot to sort out on the pitch after an unlucky own goal off the shin of the oblivious Park Chu-Yong (or Chu-Yong Park) and a poxy downward header from Higuain which the keeper should’ve clawed away. The Argies deserved their lead, though, controlling the pace, successfully getting Messi into the game and working hard when required, as illustrated by Tevez’s rabid pitbull-style chasing after giving the ball away, eventually wrestling back possession and managing to successfully shield the ball from two Korean players whilst down on all fours. A bit like a pitbull, really.
Just as the overhead wire-cam had picked out all the litter and rubbish on the pitch, Argentina, or specifically Demichellis, gifted South Korea a rubbish goal, prompting a pigeon-worrying cat to briefly emerge and have a bit of a prowl during half-time. That turned out to be the only fault you could pick with this performance, as they notched two more goals from rapid counter-attacks stemming from defence of their own goal, Higuain tapping-in a hat-trick thanks to Messi’s positive industry to become the tournament’s top scorer. A very convincing start from Los Gauchos Del Diego, first team to win both games and looking like a decent bet at the 7/1 I got.

There were a few wayward, seemingly over-hit passes in this game which led to more boring discussion about the Adidas Jabulani ball. I wondered if it wasn’t the pitch’s surface making what seemed to be reasonably-weighted passes skimming away from intended recipients and out of play. I haven’t seen any evidence of it swerving erratically but that doesn’t stop commentators blabbing on about it, which they do at every single World Cup. Adidas supply a different new-and-improved ball every time and here’s a fascinating history of those very balls. Viva el Tango..!

Official World Cup Match Balls

Nice to see Lars Lagerback in charge of Nigeria; the only coach named after what I had last Saturday when Gerrard scored and some numpty behind me chucked tepid Carlsberg everywhere. If Nigeria do poorly at this World Cup, you’d hope their headline-writing newspaper editors aren’t as pun-happy as ours; with a Shittu and an Odiah (pronounced ‘oh dear’) playing at the back, they’d have field day. They started well enough; Kala Uche’s arching free kick into the ‘danger area’ of legend boinked straight in, as the keeper seemed to jump out of the way of the ball. Possible headline: Uche Coochie Man Seals It For Super Eagles. Greece couldn’t really get any worse than the way they played in the first game and were helped massively when Kaita, off the field after contesting a throw-in, aimed a needless studs-up kick at Torosidis, who dropped to the floor, made the requisite meal of it, then got straight back up again once Kaita had been dismissed, walking off in shame with his green shirt covering his face, making him look like a spooky African tribal mask approximation of the Incredible Hulk.

He’s already received 1,000 death threats in Nigeria, via email, in amongst the usual messages pleading for the loan of your bank details to help some deposed African prince or other. Kaita said; “I am not worried about it. Only god decides who lives and who dies. Everybody has their own destiny on this earth.” Sorted. No need to worry then.
Things then got worse for Nigeria when Salpingidis’ 20-yard shot clipped off a defender’s heel and looped in over the keeper. In the 2nd half, after a great point-blank save from Nigeria keeper, Enyeama and the ref allowing Nigeria to play on after a reckless Greek lunge, Obasi found himself spearheading a quick 3-on-1 counter attack, fed Yakubu, whose shot was palmed back into Obasi’s path but he inexplicably slotted the ball wide of the empty goal.
Greece snatched it with 20 minutes to go when Torosidis followed in to prod home after Enyeama had RobertGreen’d a fairly weak Karagounis strike. It was unlucky on the keeper, who’d performed well in both games but must’ve felt his heart was being strangled as he looked up at his own disheartened face and the unnecessary close-up & zoom-out of his guilty goalkeeping glove being cruelly beamed on the stadium’s big screen.
A surprisingly engrossing game though and that shakes the group up again.

After such a limp performance in their opening game, France’s display in their 2-0 defeat to Mexico threw up even more questions of the ‘What the hell is wrong with them?’ ilk. Another toothless and strangely disinterested showing from the French that had you suspecting, unpopular and universally-disliked though the coach is, deeper problems must be at the root of all this; Raymond Domenech looked steely and distant throughout, exuding apparent indifference to how poorly his players were performing, leaning against the dug-out with an air of blasé apathy too palpable even for a Frenchman, while the substitutes warmed up behind the goal, so they could have a good old gossip.
What’s emerged since has confirmed what everyone suspected. Renowned sulkypants, Nicolas Anelka told Domenesch at half-time to ‘go fuck yourself, you son of a whore’, supposedly in response to being asked to keep his position upfront and stop dropping deep, and has since been sent home from the tournament. The players have now rebelled and come out in support of Anelka as a counter-swipe to the Domenech-supporting French Football Federation, whose vice-president said; “If those exact words were said, I can’t understand why he was still on the practice pitch on Friday, he ought to have been expelled straight away… he can’t be continuing in a France jersey.” Oh dear, trouble at t’mill, or rather ‘difficulté à la moulin’.
Patrice Evra, who tore off and threw down his captain’s armband at the end of this game, then had a row with their fitness coach who, in turn, dramatically threw away his stopwatch and FIFA accreditation badge as the players refused to train and then sent Domenech out in front of the cameras to read the statement they’d collectively cobbled together on the team coach. I bet poor Ray can’t wait to get home, leave the post he’s held against the French people’s wishes and let incoming coach Laurent Blanc sort all this petulant nonsense out.
As Gary Lineker quipped on the BBC; ‘Good news for England… we’re not France.’

The French media are also saying Domenesh was tactically inept in choosing not to play Malouda in the first game (which led to another angry training-ground spat) and for playing the out-&-out pacy winger, Franck Ribery in a central playmaking role not conducive to exploiting his best qualities.
Ribery was this week unfairly included in a photo-shopped studio audience shot of random ugly people that The Sun put together to illustrate a story about how Simon Cowell is trying to ban mingers from the X-Factor audience. Unfair because Ribery’s facial disfigurement is as a result of two huge scars he got when involved in a serious car accident when he was only 2 years old. Interestingly enough, he’s also converted to Islam, as his wife is a Muslim, and has taken the name Bilal Yusuf Mohammed. You could say playing him in centre midfield isn’t a very good ‘yusuf’ his footballing skills…! ‘Yusuf’… ‘use of’… Geddit?!
Sorry, but I was determined to end on a terrible pun- as France look to end their terrible run.
That one was better than the ‘Mohammed, Allez!’ I was gonna use.