Just Call It a Pennant Race for France 98
To put this World Cup into terms even the most hardened American xenophobe can comprehend, international soccer has just sent its New York Yankees, Anaheim Angels, Atlanta Braves and Arizona Diamondbacks to the league championship series.
Baseball has the Yankees, soccer has Brazil--the most fabled franchise in the history of the sport, the Bronx Bombers of jogo bonito, a team perennially burdened by ungodly expectations, a hysterical media corps and the ever-present ghosts of yesteryear.
Brazil gave the world Pele, the Babe Ruth of soccer, and is renowned for producing marvelously skilled players so famous they are known by only their first names. Same with the Yankees: Mickey, Yogi, Whitey, Reggie, Tino and Bernie.
Similarly, Brazil wears the most instantly recognizable uniforms in the sport, is loaded with offensive talent but prone to letting its mind wander on defense and never completely satisfies its demanding fans, even when it wins the world championship.
In 1994, the Brazilians won it all and their fans complained they hadn’t played with enough style and flair.
In 1996, the Yankees won it all and their fans complained they hadn’t swept the Braves in four.
The Netherlands are the Braves of the World Cup. So much skill, such a great developmental system, always regarded among the favorites--yet with so little to show in the front-office trophy case.
The Dutch have been labeled The Best Team Never to Win the World Cup. They lost in back-to-back finals in 1974 and 1978--same as the Braves in 1991 and 1992--and fell short of the finals the last time around, same as the Braves in last season’s playoffs.
But, much is expected of the Dutch this summer. They are solid at every position on the field, have a trusted stopper (goalie Edwin van der Sar), have players at the corners (Marc Overmars and Ronald “Chipper” De Boer) who can go deep, have even their own version of Greg Maddux on the squad. His name is Dennis Bergkamp--reserved, unassuming, yet precisely the man you want with the ball during crunch time.
Croatia is the group’s expansion team, having spun off from Yugoslavia in 1992, making its first run through the World Cup this year.
Its players wear strange-looking outfits, same as the Diamondbacks, and its roster features very few big-name players, same as the Diamondbacks, and its regular lineup has been cobbled together from players drafted from other organizations--striker Davor Suker from Real Madrid, midfielder Zvonmir Boban from AC Milan, defender Slaven Bilic from Everton in England.
No one ever expected Croatia to make it this far, becoming the first team since 1966 to reach the World Cup semifinals in its initial attempt. Even the Croatian players are taken aback. Bilic has likened his team to a little prop job now flying “in the jet set.” “We’re loving the ride and we don’t want to come down.”
On charter flights to Houston, San Diego and Atlanta, the Diamondbacks have been heard to say the same thing.
The Angels?
At the risk of being run out of Paris on a rail, I have to say the home team here has a World Cup history hauntingly familiar to the lost, cursed souls of Anaheim.
France has made it to the brink of the finals three times without ever breaking through. Angel fans can relate.
France wound up on the losing end of what is considered the grandest choke job in the history of the World Cup--blowing a 3-1 lead, in overtime, to West Germany and eventually going out in a penalty shootout. That excruciating meltdown occurred in July 1982. Three months later, the Angels blew a two games-to-none lead to the Milwaukee Brewers, eventually going out in Game 5 of the ALCS.
France, whose most recent heartbreaker came in 1986 (again to West Germany; with the Angels it was Boston), hasn’t qualified for the big tournament since and was granted its berth this year only because it is hosting the tournament.
Unfortunately for the Angels, no such provision exists in the current World Series charter.
Other hallmarks of the French game: Their players are notorious underachievers; management frequently mishandles the available personnel; top talent is frequently frittered away; the oft-burned fan base is, at this late stage, wary and reluctant to put its trampled hearts on the line one more time.
I tell you, the common ground is uncanny.
The French are even playing in a brand-new stadium this summer, the glitzy and gleaming Stade de France in Saint-Denis. No cheesy phony rock formation behind the north goal, though. The French have taste when it comes to these things.
So, who is going to win the Gaul Classic?
I’m picking the Braves over the Angels for the title. Late game-breaker knocked in by Bergkamp, shutout by Van der Sar.
