The best match ever? Let's examine the evidence
CLOSE MARGINS: Christopher Nkunku of France wastes a last-moment chance in extra time against Argentina. Picture: Julian Finney/Getty Images)
The final, incontrovertible proof of the epic nature of last Sunday’s events in Qatar? Ian Coulter was transfixed. ‘Nuff said.
For readers unacquainted with Mr Coulter he is a man of myriad excellent parts. Mild mannered husband and father, classical music lover, keen Gaelgoir, ordained Church of Ireland cleric, etc etc.
A card-carrying sports lover is not one of those parts, however. It is, deplorably, with something akin to relish that he admits to Not Doing Sport, indeed.
Yet six days ago, merely by dint of being a sentient human, Ian was riveted to his sofa for this generation’s equivalent of the moon landings.
Where were you when they shot Kennedy? Where were you when Argentina beat France?
Your correspondent was not so much riveted to his sofa as, along with Liam Brady, hiding behind it, reduced to a level of increasing hysteria by the drama of the last hour. Oh his shrieks as twist was piled upon twist.
Mbappe’s first equaliser! Lloris saving from Messi! Martinez saving from Kolo Muani! The yowling reached such Olympian heights that in the end the local canine population gave up trying to detect the source.
So where do we rate it?
The best World Cup final ever? Absolutely.
The best World Cup match ever? Not to those of us alive for Italy/Brazil in 1982.
as per some fanciful claims, arising possibly out of an effort to prove that newspapers continue to be in the business of never refusing ink? Stop. Please.
There hasn’t yet been an algorithm invented to gauge these things, though doubtless some pointy-headed boffins are working on it as we speak. But nearly 100 years ago, when Agatha Christie was at her Messi-esque peak of imagination and craftiness, Ronald Knox – also a cleric, albeit of the Roman persuasion - devised the Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction.
Among Knox’s strictures: the criminal must be mentioned early on in the story; no accident must help the detective; there must be no hitherto undiscovered poisons, no twin brothers or doubles, “no Chinamen”. It was, shall we say, a list of its time.
Taking inspiration from Ronald Knox, let’s try and decide what makes a great game exactly that and see how last Sunday measured up.
It must not be a game of two halves. This was.
It certainly must not be a game of one 80 minutes/one ten minutes plus extra time. This was, totally.
Both teams must be in top form, or at any rate on song. These weren’t, one being nothing less than abject for an hour and a quarter.
Both teams must be going at it at a breakneck pace from the start. Cut and thrust, poke and parry, point and counterpoint. These weren’t. Argentina set a decent clip but France were at half-speed for those 80 minutes.
“Shut up being joyless and pedantic, for God’s sake,” the reader is probably thinking by now.
Fair enough. Never mind the quality, which was indifferent. Instead feel the drama, which was unsurpassed and unsurpassable and in part brought about by the impreciseness, the mistakes, the dismalness of Hernandez and Dembele and so forth.
and usually top polls of the ten best films ever made. So what? is way more fun.
The victory of Il Papa’s favourites served to update the checklist for potential World Cup champions, foremost among them being the emergence of a good steamer or two, as Roger Hunt was in place of Jimmy Greaves for England in 1966.
A World Cup-winning XI is rarely set in stone; it is usually a moveable feast. Argentina triumphed in Qatar not despite losing their opener to Saudi Arabia but because of it. Sometimes at a tournament it’s not so much about what happens as about what happens next.
Lionel Scaloni responded by drafting in five new starters for the meeting with Mexico and two more for the last group fixture, where he fielded Mac Allister (23), Alvarez (22) and Fernandez (21).
Young legs. Big engines. Freshness. Athleticism. The Young Player of the tournament (Fernandez).
It also helps to have an oaf in goal. For the penalties France had Hugo Lloris, the nice middle-class son of a bank manager. Argentina had Emi Martinez, who may or may not be middle class and is clearly neither nice on the field of play nor unduly classy off it either. Only one winner there.
England picked up one yellow card and that in their last game. Argentina picked up 18. Yet if there’s a lesson in there somewhere it’s not the obvious one. Fielding a team with players as likeable as Saka and Bellingham can never be a crime.
At this stage in their evolution, moreover, the last thing England need to be doing is heeding advice from towering intellects like Tony Adams and Jamie Redknapp, both of whom threw in their unwanted tuppenceworth during the week.
Adams, the lumbering super-heavyweight of punditry: “They need a snarling Dennis Wise in there to wind up the opposition.” No, Tony, they don’t.
Redknapp, the irredeemable lightweight of punditry: “They need a better manager. Someone like [my cousin] Frank Lampard.” No, Jamie, they don’t. And if they do it’s not Frank Lampard anyway.
Still on the final, Facebook on Monday was full of people commenting on the unexpectedly high number of Tipperary supporters in the crowd. An easy mistake to make, to be fair.
As for the Reverend Coulter, he may never watch another World Cup final. Then again, just like the rest of us, he'll never have to.
We won’t be seeing Davy Russell over the next few days. The man who made the Tiger roll signed off at Thurles last Sunday with a last winner on his last ride. That’s how to quit the stage.
We won’t be seeing Galopin Des Champs, an easy winner at Punchestown the following day to justify favouritism for the Gold Cup, either. All well and good, but 7/4 for the blue riband about an animal just out of novice ranks is a price for the serious punters, not for the likes of you and me.
Mention of having brought out my inner Pauline Kael, here’s a treble that won’t be beaten over the festive season.
Raiders of the Lost Ark (5.50 RTÉ 2, December 26th): Pace never flags from pillar to post. More serious and grown-up than the later instalments and Harrison Ford is perfectly cast (“it’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage”). One favourite that’s guaranteed to deliver.
Back to the Future (3.35 RTÉ One, December 27th): Become so familiar that it’s easy to overlook what an astonishingly imaginative piece of work it is. There's the flux capacitator and the DeLorean, yes, but it also has aliens, hoverboards, Oedipus complexes and rock ‘n’ roll.
Heat (10.30 BBC Two, December 28th): Fabulous bank robbery shootout, admittedly indifferent Pacino/De Niro coffee shop faceoff. Long but never drags. Michael Mann at his leisurely, spacious best.
Happy viewing!
RTÉ Sport’s latest Hall of Famer. The only surprise was that it didn’t happen years ago.
The most expensive player in Indian cricketing history after signing for the Punjab Kings for… £1.85m. Ronaldo wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning for it.
Gave up a 33-0 lead to lose to Minnesota in overtime. Who knew it could be done?
Sacked after a terrible run but insisted he had England “on the right track” to peak at the World Cup next year. Quite. It wasn’t him, it was the RFU.
