World Cup 2014: Preview

Pelada is more than just kicking and caressing a ball. Pelada is an escape, a release, an opportunity to make a name for yourself across the globe or just around the seemingly horizonless city. Pelada is everywhere Christ the Redeemer can see; on the beaches, sandwiched between the roads that connect millions, (literally) on the slopes of the favelas of Rio de Janeiro. Pelada is played by the people; the children, the parents, the students, the hopeful, the breadline. Pelada has no curfew or surface; it is played throughout the calendar around the clock on mud, concrete and sand. Pelada, or pick-up football, is watched by all; including the scouts and the dubious agents, and shares it’s name with the word Brazilian men use for naked women. Every Brazilian with the ambition of representing the Selecao participates amongst men and even woman much older than them on their city’s pitches and every so often one captures the world’s attention.

Ó,  ó Neymar, Neymar tá demais, espetacular o Neymar, a tabela com Borges, ninguém para o Neymar, foi embora, limpou o lance, vem golaço Neymar; golaço. Gooooooooool. Sensacional.  Fantástico. Espetacular o gol do Neymar.

The Next Pele and the First Neymar swallows his Santos crest with composure. He knows what he’s just done, right? Everyone else in the stadium thinks they know what happened; their boy-wonder just received an inconvenient pass forty meters out on the touchline and turned it into a gift from the Gods.  He’s evaded his markers (as well as one of the games’ camera technicians) and delicately sliced the Flamengo defence apart with the beauty of Catwoman; yet he almost seems reluctant to celebrate. “Outrageous goal scored, now onto the next one”. He runs towards the stand and shares the moment with one of the brightest financial figures of the 21^st Century, the man who instigated his move to Europe and the subsequent collapse of FC Barcelona’s President; his father.

Black cat black kitten. Sex still sells in Brazil, just not as much as Neymar. The Neymar party’s ability to attract lucrative sponsorships was the reason for his prolonged stay in the Brazilian domestic league, with the forward earning European wages thanks to an expanding Brazilian economy. His face adorns billboards for products ranging from cars to sportswear to grooming products; regular superstar activity. His website however allows fans to purchase goods beyond sanity. Mugs and flasks with the Neymar logo on it are available. Couch looking naked? Buy a Neymar cushion. If you move quickly you can purchase an official Neymar bobblehead at the reduced price of $13.99. Need a notebook to write up a shopping list for your next visit to the 22 year old’s site? You get the jist. You can now even score like Neymar; his name has become so popular with consumers that it now adorns a brand of condoms that rose onto the market last month.

He is the face of a World Cup clouded in despair and anger. While the World Cup remains a secondary thought on the eve of the tournament the host nation can still expect vociferous backing from their compatriots in the stands as they embark upon a month-long tour around Brazil ahead of a final in the Maracana on July 13^th; a final they are expected to win. This month could be the difference between whether or not Neymar can sell 1,283 special gems created from the carbon contained in his hair in fifty years’ time. Naturally he isn’t the sole protagonist at the tournament and there is an array of teams hoping to leave their mark on the tournament.

One potential second round opponent for Brazil are the Netherlands, led by a Manchester bound Louis van Gaal who in truth will be relieved he has found a new job ahead of the tournament. While it’s almost a cliché at this stage, this Dutch team is far weaker than previous groups. Their backline, albeit a settled unit, is unfortunately comprised of not only players from the Eredivisie, but also Ron Vlaar. Their opponents in Group B include Spain and an exciting, effervescent Chile side who drew with their Latin rivals in an enthralling friendly last year. Spain are attempting to stretch the limits of their own greatness by winning a fourth consecutive major title and a second World Cup after their success in South Africa four years ago. While their success has been unparalleled by anyone aside from Brazil at the turn of the 1960’s, it’s impossible to consider them anything but underappreciated. Perhaps they didn’t attack with the vigour or the tempo or the Messi of Guardiola’s Barcelona but they were stifled by overly cautious adversaries and ultimately they were too pragmatic for the neutral. Their performances in last summer’s Confederations Cup shouldn’t be ignored, where La Roja lost out to a rabid Brazil side who benefitted from an extremely lenient referee.

Oh yeah, Australia are there too.

Ivory Coast’s ‘Golden Generation’ have one last chance to endear themselves to Diego Simeone by actually achieving something and not meekly surrender like a kitten in the Safari the minute the pressure is on, while their group rivals Colombia, or the new Belgium, will be expected to impress on their first showing in the tournament in sixteen years.

In Group D you can’t help but feel the perverse pleasure Mario Balotelli and Luis Suarez will derive from tormenting the English defence will be dwarfed only by Roy Hodgson’s pride at predicting his own side’s downfall. To be fair aside from Hodgson and the uninspiring Wayne Rooney of post-2009 this is for the most part a ‘new’, modern England. Youngsters like Raheem Sterling, Luke Shaw and Ross Barkley have the potential to play on the international scene over the next decade. However regardless of the turf specialists or the personalized energy drinks catering for each players’ electrolyte need or Steve Peters (Brazil first brought a sports psychiatrist to the World Cup in 1958) this tournament has arrived a tad too early and we should expect to see 50 years of hurt manifest in a more ambitious campaign in France 2016.

Didier Deschamps’ unusually youthful side are still on the slow road to recovery after Raymond Domenech’s tumultuous reign at the helm (apologies to the word tumultuous). The squad includes Lucas Digne and the exceptional Paul Pogba from last year’s victorious Under 20 World Cup campaign, while Raphael Varane and the previously banished Antoine Griezmann have also travelled to South America. While the exclusion of Samir Nasri has been dissected already (“Fuck France and fuck Deschamps” is a brief synopsis), Les Bleus’ hopes have been boosted by a relatively easy passageway to the quarter-finals and should they make it that far they are unlikely to surrender in the most French fashion as they did against Spain in Euro 2012 when a petrified Laurent Blanc’s squad selection essentially guaranteed his side would finish goalless.

Argentina’s fate rests in the feet of Lionel Messi whose performances have dipped over the past year partly due to his determination to enter the World Cup unscathed. His manager Alejandro Sabella has finally discovered a system that optimises his number ten’s influence on the game; with both Gonzalo Higuian and Messi’s best friend in the squad Sergio Aguero playing in front of La Pulga and allowing him more space between the lines. Everything has been put in place to ensure Messi can lead the team; with “el jugador del pueblo”, or player of the people Carlos Tevez omitted from the international squad due to his disruptive influence and ability to create tension between the fans and his rival forward, as displayed during the 2011 Copa America. 

While his rival Cristiano Ronaldo is often portrayed as the ultra-competitive warrior, the Argentine’s relentless need to succeed appears to go under the radar. He barks orders around the Camp Nou every match like a Napoleon syndrome sufferer, belittling teammates like Alexis Sanchez and formerly David Villa to the extent that the indifference between them is obvious to the naked eye. When he spends time playing FIFA with his friends he is always Barcelona, and always makes the virtual Lionel captain (even Zlatan resists this temptation). Brazil 2014 is arguably his last chance to mend the bridges between himself and the Argentine people. Regardless of how many pounds of red meat he ships from Argentina to Catalunya or the fact his family still own the house he spent his childhood in; it’s impossible for many to consider the introvert a compatriot due to the fact he left for Barcelona at such a young age. In truth this perception couldn’t be further from the truth, but the only way the feeling will be reciprocated is if he grabs his side, ailing with an average midfield and a weak defence, by the collar to victory like El Diego in 1986.

The only man with a big enough ego to match Messi sits in Group G. Fresh off upstaging Gareth Bale’s Decima winning goal in the Champions League Final with his own uncomfortable, almost embarrassing display of pretension, Cristiano Ronaldo’s Portugal enter the tournament with a solid team but again lacking a centre forward, as they have since Paule… well, Eusebio. Ronaldo should relish the opportunity and welcome the fact he has no equals in the team, nobody else can steal his limelight. While Xabi Alonso and even Zinedine Zidane sprinted to the corner of Estadio da Luz after Gareth Bale’s winner last month Cristiano stood in the centre circle looking as desolate and inconsolable as the Atletico players. In Brazil if he fails to turn in a match-winning performance, a scenario which could be partly excused by the niggles he’s carried over the last two months, no other hero will stand up and be counted; his team will be out.

Pre-pre-tournament favourites Germany are first round opponents for the Iberians, although they appear less formidable than six months ago due to a series of injuries to key players. Marco Reus is out completely, while the likes of Bastian Schweinsteiger, Philipp Lahm and Sami Khedira are far from 100%. No German manager has ever survived three tournaments without reaching the pinnacle never mind four, meaning Jogi Low’s recent two year extension could be rendered redundant if his team don’t over-achieve and reach the Maracana next month. He appears to have settled on creating a pastiche of Pep Guardiola’s Bayern side, with Lahm likely to begin the tournament in midfield despite Cristiano lurking out wide in the opening game. The noise coming from the camp is that relations between the Bayern and Dortmund camps are smoother than Poland and Ukraine two years ago where Toni Kroos in particular was a disruptive influence; although this may change once the tournament begins and players are picking splinters out of their arse on the bench.

Low however is not even the German with the most difficult job in the tournament. Jurgen Klinsmann is charged with the responsibility of shaping US soccer. He must create a culture, a mentality, a style, a calendar and a development path while transmitting his “you play for Fulham you haven’t made shit” attitude to the USA. He has put his neck on the line by banishing the US leader Landon Donovan, a man he could never quite understand after the captain took a much needed mental break from football to travel Cambodia amongst other things. Not only is he out to alter the minds of the country’s footballers, but also the men who make their bread or scan their groceries.

“By no means do we have the social environment where a professional player loses a game and the next day he gets bothered by the fans when he goes to the butcher, the baker, the supermarket. We don’t have that kind of accountability and this is what we would love to have one day. But it will still take a few years.”

Frankly, all the teams mentioned so far may as well not travel though, because Belgium are going to win the World Cup (they won’t). Somehow they’ve jumped up to the fifth favourites ahead of Italy and Portugal. All cynicism aside the squad has depth and oozes quality in a number of positions, while they are considered to have one of the friendlier schedules of all the teams in Brazil, playing in three of the cooler stadiums in the group stage. They do face the prospect of a second round tie with Germany or Portugal however and like England, this tournament may have come a couple of years too soon.

Brazil however are here and now. The nation is still haunted by the last time they hosted the tournament where their premature celebrations inspired Uruguay in the final match. At the back David Luiz and Thiago Silva are as enjoyable as a centre-half partnership can be, while there will be a huge onus on an out of form and jaded Oscar to link the defence to the attack. Felipe Scolari will be confident fatigue should not be an issue; Brazil have always considered themselves ahead of the rest of the world with regards to physical preparation. Paulo Paixao, responsible for a fresh Brazil side in 2002, is again in charge of each players’ individual fitness programme.

It all comes back to one man though, Neymar. His first season in Europe has been mixed. While he has scored important goals against Atletico Madrid and improved certain aspects of his game (for example his penetrative runs. His sprint in behind the Real Madrid defence to earn a penalty at the Bernabeu this season was exceptional), his form dropped off after the forced resignation of Sandro Rosell. Injuries limited his time on the pitch, and when he did it became clear he was placing too much of an emphasis on issues away from the ball. Any player who is forced to expose his underwear five times on camera during a Champions League quarter final needs to reassess where his priorities lie.

Saudade. A word without direct translations Brazilians use to explain the state of tragically longing for an absent person or thing; unaware whether it will return or not. At times this season it has appeared apt to describe Neymar’s stuttering club form.

With Brazil however he has continued to shine, making a mockery of such an idea; playing from the left and taking advantage of the space inside that Fred creates. In the yellow jersey of the Selecao he is consciously determined to win. Another Sao Paulo state native Ayrton Senna once wondered about his own capabilities. "There are moments that seem to be the natural instinct that is in me. Whether I have been born with it, or whether this feeling has grown in me more than other people, I don't know, but it is inside me and it takes over with a great amount of space and intensity." When you watch Neymar for Brazil you are in awe of how naturally gifted he is, how the innovation flows from his toes effortlessly. If he plays well, Brazil will win. He is that good.

Europe's Finest, The Bavarian Fool

For professionals at the most expensive, historically rich football clubs, a degree of self-doubt can easily be forgiven given they are expected to perform superhuman miracles twice a week in front of millions of critics. Thomas Muller however couldn’t be more comfortable on the pitch, his fears fall far away from the Allianz Arena or Westfalenstadion. "Whenever I go somewhere and a little child asks me to show some tricks, I have to say: 'I don't know any!',” Muller told Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitungen last year with his trademark smile beaming from ear to ear. “I'm not a player who is enjoyable to watch for 90 minutes. I am more of a team player”. Footballers are experts of spouting out words devoid of meaning or truth; they live in a world where only master politicians prosper. Yet Muller’s words transform clichés from literary straight bats to laconic analysis.

The aloof twenty-three year old from the south of Bavaria exudes a modesty alien to his superclub, the European champions Bayern Munich. The German international constantly refers to his ambition to merely stand as an efficient member of his team. After winning the Golden Boot at the World Cup in South Africa Muller attested his success to pure fortune, almost annoyingly announcing “I basically got lucky, I hit form at just the right time”.

Each of his five goals were celebrated with his trademark Inzaghi-esque, joie de vivre exuberance refuting the idea of the stereotypical steel-eyed German. Muller would personify the cult hero; the modern day squad player who, were his services not required, would be bouncing with the fans every Saturday but frankly he is far superior than the likes of Dirk Kuyt and Kevin Grosskreutz.

The Bavarian’s rise to a deserved place amongst the world’s best has been rapid; Muller’s Golden Boot polished off what was his first full season as an established figure in the Bayern Munich team. Like a handful of the world’s premium footballers (Andreas Iniesta and Xavi included) his career began to blossom under Louis van Gaal once the Dutchman arrived in 2009, and his achievements since ensure he fails to look out of place amongst his contemporaries. While Muller had failed to impress opposition scouts as a Bayern youth Van Gaal was the last of a series of coaches to value the home-grown talent’s mental strength and positional awareness, insisting that “under me, Müller will always play” in the face of criticism over his team selection.

With hindsight it appears preposterous that there appeared to be valid reasons for discarding Muller from the Bayern squad. Throughout our lives our eyes continue to deceive us. Muller has been undervalued due to the visual biases mentioned in Michael Lewis’ Moneyball. When he plays alongside the likes of Bastian Schweinsteiger, Arjen Robben and even centre-back Mats Hummels for the national side Muller appears erratic, almost out of place, akin to Roger Federer gracing Wimbledon’s Centre Court only to unveil a grotesque, yet surprisingly efficient double-handed forehand.

His slight, 6’ 1’’ frame gives the impression of a giraffe trying to escape from the zoo through one of the zookeeper’s fire exits when on the pitch. Yet despite his unorthodox, Bambi on ice style of play Bayern’s number 25 is blessed with wonderful sight, while his ambition to constantly harass opponents close to the opposition goal pushes him forward as an ideal candidate to play in one of the three positions behind the striker when Pep Guardiola brings his leftist football (“we play leftist football, everyone does everything”) to FC Bayern next season.

Muller’s appreciation of space is perhaps unmatched in European football, with each of the 13 arduous kilometres he runs a game racked up as he hunts for an extra metre or two of freedom where he can display his stunning ability to pick a pass. Muller finds solace by referring to himself as a Raumdeuter, or space investigator, as if he has to prove his worth in order to justify his presence in the world’s best team.

Even in the build-up to Bayern’s first goal in the Champions League final Muller’s curiosity as to why the space on the edge of the Dortmund box was unoccupied proved vital, with Neven Subotic lured towards Das Raumdeuter at the precise moment Franck Ribery slipped a delicate ball through to Robben, giving Mario Mandzukic space to wriggle in the area.

Earlier this season an in-form Muller netted a baffling individual goal away to Hamburg which highlighted his genius. After skipping beyond René Adler it appeared as if Muller would finally suffocate in the absence of his most cherished commodity. Yet, confronted by the byline, Bayern’s winger defied logic to fool the Hamburg keeper, producing an unimaginable goal from the narrowest of angles and which sealed a victory for the eventual champions. It was the perfect example of Arsene Wenger’s theory of a world-class player. “Football at the highest level confronts players with an infinity of possibilities, from which they must choose one within a fraction of a second. A great player… will always find the only solution, which, watching from the touchline, you often didn’t know existed”.

Thierry Henry regularly performed acts of supreme quality at such an exhilarating pace, leading spectators to regard him as a visceral masterpiece, almost ignoring the unique intelligence he obtained through years of practice. Ronaldinho in his pomp, the master street artist, deceived his audience, blurring their perceptions with a sleeve full of unfathomable tricks reducing princes to paupers on the biggest of stages. Muller’s incoherence results in a lack of admiration regardless of his capability to pick out a pass and perfectly perform the act or passively bury an opportunity, regardless of the magnitude of the game.

And that’s the special thing about Muller. Like his namesake and idol Gerd, he contributes when it truly matters. Muller was at the centre of Bayern’s victories over Juventus and Barcelona in the later stages of the Champions League this season. Like many of the club formerly known as FC Hollywood’s stars he fails to receive a suitable amount of recognition due to people tarring Bayern as a purely rigid, ruthless machine. It’s no coincidence that the jester was absent from Germany’s most recent tournament defeats against Italy last summer (Muller was fatally dropped in favour of his club mate Toni Kroos) and Spain in 2010 (due to suspension).

Integrally for Die Mannschaft, the Bayern core which forms the foundations of the national team now firmly believes they can claim major honours on the international stage ahead of the World Cup in Brazil next summer. After two recent Champions League defeats to match the traumatic international defeats the German team should arrive in South America with no doubts that they can shed the ‘always the Bridesmaids tag’ and turn Germany from the Borussia Dortmund (wonderful football worthy of praise but lacking the final stamp of approval) of international football to the Bayern Munich (win or nothing). Undoubtedly, should Germany succeed Muller will accidentally be at the heart of their attacking play.

Following the 2012/13 season Muller is a worthy candidate for the Ballon D’Or at the end of the year after contributing to Bayern’s historic treble-winning season. Were he to succeed and stumble onto the Zurich stage it would be fitting if Muller’s rigout fails to stretch beyond his favourite jeans and t-shirt combination creating an awkward atmosphere, with the mood further deepened after Bayern's upgraded Gervinho drops his prize onto Sepp Blatter’s metatarsal while attempting to shake his hand like a Shakespearean fool. As Isaac Asimov argued in his Guide to Shakespeare, 'that, of course, is the great secret of the successful fool – that he is no fool at all.'