Classy Italians put lights out on the Black Stars

THIS is what the World Cup is all about: Italy versus Ghana serving up a compelling game of football on a beautiful summer’s evening in Hanover, against the backdrop of a packed, throbbing stadium splashed with the rainbow colours of the wildly enthusiastic supporters of the team they call the Black Stars.

You couldn’t take your eyes off this one: right from the kick off, it was end to end stuff, with goalmouth action and talking points aplenty, including Luca Toni first missing a sitter and then cracking one off the underside of the crossbar, before Andrea Pirlo finally brought the Italian supporters to their feet in the 40th minute with a shot through a crowded box which found the corner of the net.

But it was hardly one-way traffic. Ghana, prompted by the midfield trio of Appiah, Essien and Muntari, showed they could play it cool and well as hot, one moment stringing the passes together, the next breaking forward with pace and power. Neither were they lacking in physical presence, as a wide open game also offered the detail of some uncompromising and occasionally borderline challenges. But a critical lack of firepower let Ghana down — for all their attacking threat, Gianluigi Buffon only had to make his first big save of the game 10 minutes into the second half when he dived full length to turn away a long ranger from Essien. Soon after, it was the turn of his opposite number Richard Kingston to perform heroics, saving a powerful effort from Simone Perrotta.

Pity poor Samuel Kuffour — it was his underhit backpass seven minutes from time which allowed substitute Vincenzo Iaquinta in to round Kingston and confirm Italy’s 2-0 victory. It also meant that, at the end of terrific game, Ghana had nothing to show for their long-awaited debut on the world stage.

Italy will once more fret about Francesco Totti, who limped off in the 55th minute having only just come back from injury. But mainly they will have been relieved to come out of an energy-sapping contest with their World Cup credentials very much intact. The Czech Republic, however, will know they’re in for a proper game when they come up against the Black Stars.

Mercifully, given its unrelenting tempo, last night’s game was played out in the relative cool of evening, after temperatures in the afternoon in Hanover had once more climbed into the upper 20s. They’re even calling it an unnatural heatwave here, which is somewhat reassuring for those of us whose memory of television coverage of Germany’s last World Cup in 1974 — when it always seemed to be raining at the games — inspired us to pack the umbrella for this excursion.

The heat, of course, has already been offered as an excuse for underwhelming performances but I think the coaches will need to look a little deeper than the weather for an explanation for the way in which both England and Portugal wilted in the later stages of their opening games, even if they did hang on to one goal victories against Paraguay and Angola respectively.

As for the hosts, the German TV pundits may still have serious reservations about their team’s defensive brinkmanship playing offside but the buzz around the national side is genuine and infectious back in Berlin — the flag is everywhere, in shop windows, on cars, hanging from balconies, sticking out of flowerpots, painted on faces.

Tonight it will be the turn of Brazil to attempt to capture the heart of the city. We may already be nine games into the 2006 finals but for football romantics everywhere the World Cup doesn’t officially begin until the canary and cobalt take centre stage, which they will do at 8pm Irish time this evening against Croatia in the 73,000-capacity Olympiastadion, a venue many expect them to be revisiting on the evening of July 9.

And it’s not just the passionate fans of both countries who are anxious to see this one — at the last count there were 591 journalists accounted for and a whopping 586 more on the waiting list for tonight’s game. It works a bit like stand-by at the airport — the have-nots will all converge on the ticket desk in the media centre an hour before kick off hoping 600 of their colleagues will suddenly come down with a dose of World Cup fatigue and retire to their beds.

Since, much to FIFA’s annoyance, 250 accredited journalists didn’t bother turning up for the England-Paraguay game — arguably wisely enough as it turned out — there is some logic to the determined hack clambering on board the waiting list. But with the boys from Brazil in town, chaos looks certain to reign this evening in a kind of ticketing version of the loaves and fishes.

Germany has been very keen to present a friendlier, more informal face to the world this month and, thanks to the efforts of its World Cup organising body, it’s fair to say that the country’s reputation for ruthless efficiency has taken a bit of a battering.

The process by which even the accredited journalist gets his individual match ticket and/or access to post-match press conferences and players is cloaked in mystery. By some lottery system which baffles everyone, you only find out if you have hit the jackpot when you rip open the envelope they hand you at the stadium. It’s somewhat reminiscent of those lucky bags when you were a kid, and I recall they nearly always let you down too.

For the tournament’s opening game in Munich, my ticket stated in bold print that I had a desk on which to work. Then I was shown to a seat with no desk and no power point. When I pointed out the word “desk” on the ticket to a friendly official, he just smiled and shrugged helplessly. (An Irish colleague who found himself in the same boat, bunked into a vacant seat in the press box until he was rumbled at half-time and turfed out).

For England v Paraguay in Frankfurt, there was a new twist: stencilled over the ticket, as if as a cruel afterthought, was the legend “No press desk”.

For tonight’s game in Berlin, there is no room for doubt at all: my ticket is officially no-desk, which presumably means that I will end up in the VIP box alongside my old mate Joey Have-a-lunge enjoying brandy and prawn sandwiches while a minion writes up the match report for me.

Alternatively, I’ll just have to wait until the promised day of delivery arrives when, having opened the envelope I can proclaim to the my long suffering colleagues, in the manner of Martin Luther King: “I have a desk.”

But, hey, I’m on of the haves and, there are millions of have nots around the globe who would consider it a highlight of their lives to see Brazil in the flesh in the World Cup finals.

As do I.