World Cup - Day 1 - Vorsprung Durch Technique
Prepare to be bored dear readers, because aside from about 5 days, I plan on banging out some sort of update daily until July 9. Of course, you all should know me well enough to know that won't happen, but a man can try.
So yes, Day 1. I went into town and met up with Michael in Walkabout, a tacky Australian-themed pub chosen primarily for its prime city centre location, allowing many of my friends the opportunity to leave work at 5 or a few minutes early and catch as much of the 5:00 match as possible. I'll be there a lot over the course of the month, and I'm not really looking forward to it. I should probably describe this horrid monstrosity, as the World Cup is almost as much about atmosphere than it is about football.
The Walkabout is a chain bar, dotting the landscape of Britain's larger cities, or anywhere that silly people who like Orson and eurotrash DJ disco covers of Bryan Adams belters might congegrate. It is part of the massive Cineworld complex, yet it is smack in the middle of the city centre, so it doesn't include some huge car park or a ten-pin bowling alley allowing for one-stop shop for desperate parents and teenagers to have a day out. It is often occupied by those terrible hen parties where slightly overweight women drink pitchers of cocktails out of plastic cups. It is two stories, though the main floor is probably the height of two average pubs stacked on top of each other. I've never been upstairs, to the 'club', because I fear the glass windows wouldn't be strong enough to keep me from jumping right out into the busy bus lane below. The centrepiece to the main area is a large painted kangaroo, with an open area circled by a small shelf for people to prop themselves up on. This open area is meant to be dance floor, though I've thankfully never seen it used as such. The kangaroo, however, is completely obstructed when the football is on, by a massive 16:9 screen, onto which a wonderful projector beams the best matches around on. I've frequented the pub in the past due to its penchant to show English Premiership matches over whatever Scottish squabble-fest is shown in every other pub on a Sunday afternoon. There are also around 24 widescreen televisions dotted around the place, including 9 above the large bar and a bank of 8, 4 to each side, in the centre of the hall. There was a time when the drink was incredibly cheap in there, but now we get everything in plastic cups and it costs an outrageous 2.70 for a pint. But the food is pretty good.
I arrived at 3:30, ordered a cranberry juice, and sat down to read Tess of the D'Ubervilles, since a party thrown here last weekend resulted in some shitheel stealing my copy of Martin Amis' London Fields. Michael arrived some 20 minutes later, and we grabbed a poorly placed table, though not the worst in the place. All the best tables were occupied, annoyingly, by one or two people each, though they seat a good 8. They were probably holding it for someone else as well, so I can't really blame them. People arrive a bit after four, just in time to watch the rather pompous (but quite pretty) opening ceremony. It was all Bavarian dancing with hoop-skirted women floating down from the top of the stadium. Groups of people paraded around the ground, each one representing a country that has won one of the 17 World Cups. Pele and Claudia Schiffer came down to present the World Cup, and there was much rejoicing. By now the pub was starting to fill up, and I noted that aside from the main screen, none of the other televisions were playing the match, including the one closest to our table. I had hoped to watch it on the big screen, but I knew some punter would stand in front of the rail and I wind up spending the match huffing and puffing as usual. They were playing some horrible Walkabout adverts and music videos (Orson! Natalie Imburglia! Shite!) on the televisions, and it was only about 5 minutes to kick-off time. The people in our group who had left work a few minutes early were arriving, though there was a shortage of seats. Some brilliant employee finally changed the channel to the match, with only about 30 seconds to spare. We were off.
Germany v Costa Rica
It was a foregone conclusion, wasn't it? The ever efficient Germans firmly routed the Costa Ricans in a 4-2 goalfest. England's favourite rivals were on pretty good form, starting off the tournament with a spectacular goal (from a fullback, no less) from just inside the box. Costa Rica leveled up 6 minutes later with a lucky break-away to get past a stretching Lehmann in goal. 7 minutes later, Germany pulled ahead by finally exploiting Costa Rica's rather lackluster penalty-area defense. Time went on, and Germany scored another, only to have Costa Rica get one back with a should-have-been-offside pass, leaving the excellent Lehmann standing. The pub was packed by now, and it seemed that there were equal numbers of Costa Rica and Germany fans. That, or the majority of people just get really excited by goals of any sort. Germany sealed the victory late in the game, with a tremendous shot from well outside the area. A superb finish, and a well-earned victory.
After having a bit of food, those of us left who had not gone on home for Big Brother (hey, I've got my priorities...plus I can just download it late at night) or to some other ghastly pub, grabbed a taxi and went to the Landsdowne, a yuppie-posh bar downstairs in a stylishly renovated former flat, off a main road and in a residential building. It was the typical jazzy techno beat, not relentlessly thumping away but providing a so-ignorable-its-actually-quite-annoying beat that makes you want to either scream or just go to sleep. Either way, its hip enough for the post-work Friday evening crowd to enjoy over an overpriced glass of Leffe or perhaps a large glass of Bordeaux (it is the weekend, after all...they've got to relax somehow). Oh, the decorum in the place is nice enough, if you want to appear classy without actually having very much. Nigel would scoff. Anyway, we found a table and watched the match, with the sound turned off, obviously, as the local DJ spun his fresh mixes for the attentions of absolutely no one. Ally bought me a pint of Staropramen, and I just knew I was locked into an £11.45 round at some point in the evening.
Poland v Ecuador
I was a bit surprised by both teams, really. I wasn't sure what to expect, as Poland did very well in the qualifying rounds, despite two poor showings against England. Ecuador did as well, apparently, though most chalk that up to their country being high up above sea level and nobody else being able to cope. Poland were fairly abysmal in the first half, providing decent movement but terrible finishing and not much strength in the back. Ecuador, on the other hand, shined. Loads of loads of pace, they effortlessly hoofed the ball around the bitch, leaving the Polish players in the dust. Still, they only managed one goal, a spectacular header off a header from behind that was well-earned. The second half saw Poland somewhat rejuvenated, moving the ball much better around the field, though still having trouble creating really fine chances and not being able to finish very well. It was hard fought all the way through till the end, including two late Poland shots bouncing teasingly off the wood. Even in a pub where nobody seemed to care, the whole place would suddenly erupt into a painful "oooooh". Ecuador managed to break past the struggling defense and bring their tally up to 2, leaving Polish fans visibily gutted. Of course Poland weren't going to win them all in the group stages, but with Germany ahead of them, they have to grab as many as they can.
One whiskey in ice later, and I was off home. Tomorrow is a packed day. England v Paraguay, Trinidad and Tobago v Sweden, and Argentina v Ivory Coast. Throw an episode of Doctor Who in there, and the Winchester club immediately after, and you've got a real rush of a day.
So yes, Day 1. I went into town and met up with Michael in Walkabout, a tacky Australian-themed pub chosen primarily for its prime city centre location, allowing many of my friends the opportunity to leave work at 5 or a few minutes early and catch as much of the 5:00 match as possible. I'll be there a lot over the course of the month, and I'm not really looking forward to it. I should probably describe this horrid monstrosity, as the World Cup is almost as much about atmosphere than it is about football.
The Walkabout is a chain bar, dotting the landscape of Britain's larger cities, or anywhere that silly people who like Orson and eurotrash DJ disco covers of Bryan Adams belters might congegrate. It is part of the massive Cineworld complex, yet it is smack in the middle of the city centre, so it doesn't include some huge car park or a ten-pin bowling alley allowing for one-stop shop for desperate parents and teenagers to have a day out. It is often occupied by those terrible hen parties where slightly overweight women drink pitchers of cocktails out of plastic cups. It is two stories, though the main floor is probably the height of two average pubs stacked on top of each other. I've never been upstairs, to the 'club', because I fear the glass windows wouldn't be strong enough to keep me from jumping right out into the busy bus lane below. The centrepiece to the main area is a large painted kangaroo, with an open area circled by a small shelf for people to prop themselves up on. This open area is meant to be dance floor, though I've thankfully never seen it used as such. The kangaroo, however, is completely obstructed when the football is on, by a massive 16:9 screen, onto which a wonderful projector beams the best matches around on. I've frequented the pub in the past due to its penchant to show English Premiership matches over whatever Scottish squabble-fest is shown in every other pub on a Sunday afternoon. There are also around 24 widescreen televisions dotted around the place, including 9 above the large bar and a bank of 8, 4 to each side, in the centre of the hall. There was a time when the drink was incredibly cheap in there, but now we get everything in plastic cups and it costs an outrageous 2.70 for a pint. But the food is pretty good.
I arrived at 3:30, ordered a cranberry juice, and sat down to read Tess of the D'Ubervilles, since a party thrown here last weekend resulted in some shitheel stealing my copy of Martin Amis' London Fields. Michael arrived some 20 minutes later, and we grabbed a poorly placed table, though not the worst in the place. All the best tables were occupied, annoyingly, by one or two people each, though they seat a good 8. They were probably holding it for someone else as well, so I can't really blame them. People arrive a bit after four, just in time to watch the rather pompous (but quite pretty) opening ceremony. It was all Bavarian dancing with hoop-skirted women floating down from the top of the stadium. Groups of people paraded around the ground, each one representing a country that has won one of the 17 World Cups. Pele and Claudia Schiffer came down to present the World Cup, and there was much rejoicing. By now the pub was starting to fill up, and I noted that aside from the main screen, none of the other televisions were playing the match, including the one closest to our table. I had hoped to watch it on the big screen, but I knew some punter would stand in front of the rail and I wind up spending the match huffing and puffing as usual. They were playing some horrible Walkabout adverts and music videos (Orson! Natalie Imburglia! Shite!) on the televisions, and it was only about 5 minutes to kick-off time. The people in our group who had left work a few minutes early were arriving, though there was a shortage of seats. Some brilliant employee finally changed the channel to the match, with only about 30 seconds to spare. We were off.
Germany v Costa Rica
It was a foregone conclusion, wasn't it? The ever efficient Germans firmly routed the Costa Ricans in a 4-2 goalfest. England's favourite rivals were on pretty good form, starting off the tournament with a spectacular goal (from a fullback, no less) from just inside the box. Costa Rica leveled up 6 minutes later with a lucky break-away to get past a stretching Lehmann in goal. 7 minutes later, Germany pulled ahead by finally exploiting Costa Rica's rather lackluster penalty-area defense. Time went on, and Germany scored another, only to have Costa Rica get one back with a should-have-been-offside pass, leaving the excellent Lehmann standing. The pub was packed by now, and it seemed that there were equal numbers of Costa Rica and Germany fans. That, or the majority of people just get really excited by goals of any sort. Germany sealed the victory late in the game, with a tremendous shot from well outside the area. A superb finish, and a well-earned victory.
After having a bit of food, those of us left who had not gone on home for Big Brother (hey, I've got my priorities...plus I can just download it late at night) or to some other ghastly pub, grabbed a taxi and went to the Landsdowne, a yuppie-posh bar downstairs in a stylishly renovated former flat, off a main road and in a residential building. It was the typical jazzy techno beat, not relentlessly thumping away but providing a so-ignorable-its-actually-quite-annoying beat that makes you want to either scream or just go to sleep. Either way, its hip enough for the post-work Friday evening crowd to enjoy over an overpriced glass of Leffe or perhaps a large glass of Bordeaux (it is the weekend, after all...they've got to relax somehow). Oh, the decorum in the place is nice enough, if you want to appear classy without actually having very much. Nigel would scoff. Anyway, we found a table and watched the match, with the sound turned off, obviously, as the local DJ spun his fresh mixes for the attentions of absolutely no one. Ally bought me a pint of Staropramen, and I just knew I was locked into an £11.45 round at some point in the evening.
Poland v Ecuador
I was a bit surprised by both teams, really. I wasn't sure what to expect, as Poland did very well in the qualifying rounds, despite two poor showings against England. Ecuador did as well, apparently, though most chalk that up to their country being high up above sea level and nobody else being able to cope. Poland were fairly abysmal in the first half, providing decent movement but terrible finishing and not much strength in the back. Ecuador, on the other hand, shined. Loads of loads of pace, they effortlessly hoofed the ball around the bitch, leaving the Polish players in the dust. Still, they only managed one goal, a spectacular header off a header from behind that was well-earned. The second half saw Poland somewhat rejuvenated, moving the ball much better around the field, though still having trouble creating really fine chances and not being able to finish very well. It was hard fought all the way through till the end, including two late Poland shots bouncing teasingly off the wood. Even in a pub where nobody seemed to care, the whole place would suddenly erupt into a painful "oooooh". Ecuador managed to break past the struggling defense and bring their tally up to 2, leaving Polish fans visibily gutted. Of course Poland weren't going to win them all in the group stages, but with Germany ahead of them, they have to grab as many as they can.
One whiskey in ice later, and I was off home. Tomorrow is a packed day. England v Paraguay, Trinidad and Tobago v Sweden, and Argentina v Ivory Coast. Throw an episode of Doctor Who in there, and the Winchester club immediately after, and you've got a real rush of a day.