WORLD CUP ’90 : U.S. Would Welcome an Invasion by Franz
Vive le Franz. The man has done it again. Once he won the World Cup as a player, and now he has won it as a coach. Franz Beckenbauer is the Bill Russell of his country. What needs to be done next is to abduct him from Germany and bring him over to our country.
United, maybe we can stand. Divided, we probably will still fall.
Ten years have passed since Franz Beckenbauer, 44, bopped his last soccer ball off his head for the Cosmos--remember them?--in New York and began using it for less demanding things, like thinking. When Beckenbauer joined that funny little North American Soccer League in 1977, one of his teammates was Pele, and together they nearly instigated a soccer revolution in the one nation that refuses to embrace the game.
For the United States to be more than merely a good host to the 1994 World Cup but a good contestant as well, the guy we must pursue is Beckenbauer. And, word has it, we’re already on the case. Even before West Germany’s 1-0 success against Argentina Sunday night in the Cup final, certain influential Americans allegedly were throwing all sorts of flattery at Franz, trying to pump him up.
The winning coach scarcely had time to sip any wine or to kiss any of the statuesque women walking around Rome’s Olympic Stadium modeling miniature Colosseums and Forums on their heads before somebody was asking the big question--whether he was prepared to turn his attention to the United States and its sorry soccer program, as rumor had it.
“These are still forecasts,” Beckenbauer said, or at least this was the way it was translated from German into English, “because, officially speaking, no one has said anything to me yet.”
Then he said the sort of thing we have heard from coaches in almost every sport, every language.
“If Americans want to talk to me about it, fine. Give me a call. They know my number.”
Long-distance information, give me Berlin, Germany.
Franz, we need your help. Even if all you care to do is take meetings with the ’94 organizing committee, that’s fine. If you would consider supervising the United States’ soccer program, or at least acting in some advisory capacity, that would be even better. You talk, we’ll listen.
And, if by any chance you could be inclined to coach the American team, then please kindly teach us how to erect a defensive barricade that surrenders five goals in seven matches, as was the case for West Germany in this 1990 World Cup. Shoot, our eager but meager team gave up five goals in its first game.
“No,” Beckenbauer said here Sunday. “I could remain in Germany (if he wanted to coach).”
OK, Franz, it’s our loss. But in case you change your mind a couple of years from now, take our business card: United States of America, P.O. Box 1994, Washington, D.C.
West Germany’s defense was so strong--or Argentina’s offense so weak--that if the losing side ever got off a shot in the entire 90-minute championship game, we are terribly sorry, but we missed it. The official statistics sheet swears that the Argentines did indeed take one shot, that being a free kick by Diego Maradona that did make the German goalkeeper jump, oh, at least two or three inches.
Otherwise, the story of the game was that West Germany ran plays, while Argentina ran wind sprints.
About all Beckenbauer had to do was stand there along the sideline--wiry hair, wire-rimmed glasses, winner of the Bruce Dern look-alike contest--stuffing his hands into his pockets as his players, particularly Andreas Brehme, Rudi Voeller, Pierre Littbarski and Juergen Klinsmann, took turns peppering the Argentine goalie, forcing the action, controlling the play.
True, it did take a penalty kick by Brehme in the final minutes to finally get the ball into the net. No matter. This match belonged to the West Germans from the moment before kickoff when Luciano Pavarotti settled into his seat to the moment during the West Germans’ victory lap when the scoreboard wished everyone farewell with a friendly: CIAO ITALIA, HELLO USA ’94. Will Beckenbauer change sides by then?
He might. Anything might sway his decision--a big challenge, for instance, or a big check. Beckenbauer has pretty much become the Lone Ranger where West Germany is concerned; his work there is done. He played in more than 100 international games for his country, then coached the national team into the 1986 and ’90 Cup finals. Not much more left to do.
For Americans, it’s a big day in soccer when we defeat Trinidad and Tobago. Maybe the first thing we’d better do is see if Beckenbauer would consider coming back as a player.
Come to think of it, what’s Pele’s number?
