WORLD CUP USA ‘94: SEMIFINALS : The Giants Reach This Super Bowl
When we spun the globe to begin this great adventure, Passport to Pasadena, there were 154 nations, from Australia to Zaire, fighting for the heavyweight soccer championship of the world. Iceland wanted it. The Ivory Coast wanted it. Wales wanted it. Now, only two can still win, and the World Cup couldn’t do much better than this--Italy vs. Brazil, the clash of the titans.
Roma vs. Rio.
Roberto vs. Romario.
Sophia Loren vs. Sonia Braga.
Come Sunday, sit back and sop up the juiciest of matches. This one is going tohave an international flavor, Europe mixing with South America, with a couple of three-time champions out to regain their standing as soccer’s superpower. And remember, it ain’t over until the fat tenor sings.
I can already hear it, and see it, and smell it.
I can picture the scene Sunday at, say, Cafe Brasil, 10831 Venice Boulevard, Los Angeles, home of “The Real Homemade Meal,” or at By Brazil, 1615 Cabrillo, Torrance, home of “All You Can Eat Brazilian Barbecue,” or at 14 Below, 1348 14th Street, Santa Monica, featuring its big- screen TV at “Brazilian World Cup Headquarters,” or at Zabumba! 10717 Venice, L.A., with live music every night at “The Brazilian Party Place.”
It’ll be a hot-time in the old town Sunday night.
Just as I can picture the scene at any of Southern California’s two or three billion Italian restaurants, where a whole ocean of wine is going to get drunk Sunday, in happiness or in sadness.
Who will win?
I have no idea. This is Frazier vs. Ali. All we can do is put them in the center of the arena and let them slug it out.
Who needs to win?
“Brazil needs to win the title more than Italy does,” claims Bebeto, speaking on behalf of his Brazilian teammates.
“It will make our country better. We need to give Brazil a big present.
“We are not going to leave any stone unturned until we have won.”
Brazil deserves a break. Things are so unstable down there, even the money has changed. On July 1, while the players were touring North America, back home the entire system of currency switched over to something else. Now these poor guys don’t even know whether they will be paid off in real or cruzeiro real or if they had better cash in those traveler’s checks right after going to Disneyland.
And then there is Carlos Alberto Parreira, the beleaguered Brazil coach, whose job security seems to rate right up there with any manager of the New York Yankees. Parreira is surprised to find Italy in the final. He thought for sure Germany would be there for Pasadena’s big party. So did Germany’s coach, Berti Vogts. So did Germany’s former coach, Franz Beckenbauer. And so did, well, Germany.
But you know how Italy loves a party.
So, what we have are a couple of dream teams, representing, as Brazilian superstar Romario says, the “two great schools of soccer.” (Sorry, Berti. Sorry, Franz.)
It was quite a scene in the Rose Bowl parking lot once Brazil headed off Sweden, 1-0. A man on a 20-foot bicycle built for three (complete with baby seat) pedaled around the crowd, shouting: “Bra-zeeel! Bra-zeeel!” There was singing and dancing and there was Moribel Moraes, dropping to her knees to kiss the Pasadena cement.
Her friend, Martha Wade, 26, of Costa Mesa, said: “She came all the way up from Brazil just for this. I guess you can see how happy she is.”
One more game like this and she would be even happier.
That’s when California really could be the Brazilian Party Place.
(Or the Italian.)
