{"id":72706,"date":"2014-06-16T16:50:50","date_gmt":"2014-06-16T20:50:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=72706"},"modified":"2019-02-05T12:41:19","modified_gmt":"2019-02-05T17:41:19","slug":"sketches-of-spain-england-acquits-itself-well","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/06\/16\/sketches-of-spain-england-acquits-itself-well\/","title":{"rendered":"Sketches of Spain; England Acquits Itself Well"},"content":{"rendered":"

Rowan Ricardo Phillips, from New York:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Thursday has turned to Monday. The World Cup has blossomed. The opening game<\/a> seemed intent on mocking any potential pleasure or faith you may have had in this tournament\u2014but now it\u2019s become so good, so quickly, that some people are already calling it the best World Cup they\u2019ve ever seen. Eleven games thus far and not a single draw; the matches have been, for the most part, tightly contested. The Swiss threw in a last-gasp winner against an extremely na\u00efve Ecuador; teams have sought to be positive, to attack, sometimes without thinking before rushing forward. But enough of that, Jonathan will no doubt be writing about England; his memoir is called Kick and Run<\/em>, after all.<\/p>\n

Almost all the big players have played up to their lofty status. Almost.<\/p>\n

Spain, as you likely know by now, was atomized by the Netherlands to the tune of 5-1. The score flattered Spain: Holland could have, and really should have, scored a few more. To put into proper context, remember: Spain is the two-time defending European Champion and allowed a total of two goals (two!) in the last World Cup, which they also won, beating a Holland team so intimidated that instead of playing the osmotic football for which they\u2019re famed, they played like the Steven Segal All-Stars, bastardizing themselves among the long line of great and balletic Dutch teams.<\/p>\n

Four years later, the main actors were the same (including these two), but Holland was deadly and Spain soporific. What changed? <\/p>\n

Sure, there were tactical shifts, at least on Holland\u2019s end. On Spain\u2019s end, as I\u2019ve written about elsewhere<\/a>, the will and desire to pressure their opponent off the ball was simply absent. Does winning everything sap you of desire? Does a long domestic season make, in the summer, the legs more stubborn? Perhaps. To their credit, Holland played a highly fluid 5-3-2: the three midfielders became four or five not robotically, but intuitively. Their coach, Louis van Gaal, is a mad genius: in the late nineties, when he was coach of Futbol Club Barcelona, he took a risk on youngsters by the name of Xavi Hern\u00e1ndez, Carles Puyol, Andr\u00e9s Iniesta, and Victor Vald\u00e9s: the spine, head, and nervous system of the greatest club team the world has ever seen. But in Spain, van Gaal found fame not for his shrewd coaching but for his terribly accented\u2014and incorrectly gendered\u2013upbraiding of a journalist in Barcelona: \u201c\u00a1T\u00fa eres muy malo \u2026 siempre negatifa, siempre negatifa; nunca positifa!\u201d<\/a> (For the record, he was right about the press\u2014but I digress.)<\/p>\n

The real problem for Spain was a torqued version of the simple problem we all face: time. Four years are only four years, except in football, where four years are like twelve. Back in 2010, Holland tasted the bitterness of defeat in extra time, to Spain, in the last game of the Cup. Now, in their first World Cup game of 2014, they faced Spain again, meaning they had the greatest gift a football player can hope for: chance.<\/p>\n

Spain, on the other hand, were dour; their defenders sloughed around, enervated and out-sprinted, as though they carried their own urns in their arms. The midfield couldn\u2019t conduct the chorus\u2014they were, as Keats put it, \u201cthe spirit ditties of no tone.\u201d This team seemed less Spain than a sketch of Spain.<\/p>\n

Speaking of: when the legendary composer Joaqu\u00edn Rodrigo was told that Miles Davis had just released an album called Sketches of Spain<\/em>\u2014and that it began with a marvelous interpretation of Rogrido\u2019s most well-known composition, \u201cConcierto de Aranjuez\u201d\u2014Rodrigo reportedly turned speechless and then became incensed. \u201c\u00bfQu\u00e9 es eso de hacer un arreglo de mi m\u00fasica sin mi permiso?\u201d he said, meaning roughly, Who is he to make an arrangement of my music without permission? Rodrigo knew little about jazz or the concept of standards, how music departs from its creator and exhibits thirst in itself for change. Spain, by way of the success of Barcelona, set a virtuosic standard for football over the past six years and three major tournaments. But they\u2019ve shown up in Brazil playing the same notes and expecting to hear the same notes from others\u2014notes of capitulation. Five goals later, one wonders if the response from deep within was \u201c\u00bfQu\u00e9 es eso de hacer un arreglo de mi f\u00fatbol sin mi permiso?\u201d Spain seemed to arrive with things backwards: vici, vidi, veni. And for emperor, king, or champion of the world, that\u2019s simply not how things work.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Jonathan Wilson, from London:<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the one of the more bizarre off-field incidents of this World Cup, the French coach Didier Deschamps reported to FIFA last week that a drone hovered over his team\u2019s training ground in Ribeir\u00e3o Preto. \u201cApparently drones are used more and more,\u201d he said; one assumes he had in mind the surveillance of prospective opponents\u2019 tactical plans, unless he was just talking about the Bourne movies. It\u2019s a possibility, of course, that the drone recently employed to deliver a pizza to the rooftop of a twenty-one-story apartment building in South Mumbai had wandered off course on its second run, or had made an earlier delivery to the Uruguayan team, who certainly looked like they\u2019d been eating pizza: they had a slow, large-with-everything-except-the-anchovies defense, and the speedy and athletic underdogs from Costa Rica tore them apart, 3-1.<\/p>\n

And while we\u2019re on the subject of Italian food: in order to keep my enemy close, I sought out a trattoria on London\u2019s Charlotte Street a few hours before the England v. Italy game. When the check came, I asked the waiter who he thought would win, and he said, \u201cI don\u2019t really care, I\u2019m Polish.\u201d Then he added, \u201cI suppose as I live and work here, I would like the UK to win.\u201d Of course, \u201cthe UK\u201d does not have a team, which may come as a surprise to Americans for whom the generic term Brits<\/em> reflects a yearning for harmony on the British Isles that has never existed. If the UK did have a team, it would undoubtedly do better than England, who really could have done with Gareth Bale, a Welshman, running down the left wing against Italy instead of Wayne Rooney\u2014poor guy is starting to look a little past his sell-by date. An England loss is fully regretted only in England. In Scotland it is wildly celebrated\u2014England\u2019s \u201cHand of God\u201d nemesis Diego Maradona was greeted as a hero when he visited Glasgow in 2008; in Wales, it\u2019s largely ignored; and in Northern Ireland, it\u2019s an occasion, on sectarian grounds, for both cheers and jeers.<\/p>\n

So England duly lost in steamy Manaus. Andrea Pirlo, \u201caging\u201d at thirty-five, produced yet another masterful display in the midfield, brilliantly selling a dummy to set up Italy\u2019s first goal and nearly scoring himself in the last minute with a free kick that seemed to challenge several laws of physics before hitting the crossbar. Mario Balotelli, operatic as ever, headed in the winner. I wouldn\u2019t say there was gloom all over England. After all, the young team had acquitted itself well, had played with panache, and the nineteen-year-old Raheem Sterling had been electrifying. In any case, you can\u2019t have universal soccer-related anything when half a million of your residents\u2019 first language is Polish, and your capital is, in expat population, the sixth largest city in France. There are even sixty thousand Brazilians in London. Thus, as these games roll out, there are explosions of joy, some large some not, all over the city.<\/p>\n

Most people, however, enjoyed Holland\u2019s 5-1 energized and euphoric demolition of Spain last Friday. The reason? Soccer fans outside the newly kingless kingdom have had it up to here with ticky-tacky. Van Persie\u2019s glorious timed-to-perfection header and Robbens\u2019s wrecking-ball strikes meant sundown for Spain, evening\u2019s empire returning to sand.<\/p>\n

And then, after ten games in four days, and just in case we had forgotten him, Lionel Messi took the field for Argentina against Bosnia in Sunday\u2019s last game and produced a goal splendid in form and movement, perfect in execution and clearly designed to confound any hovering drone.<\/p>\n

Rowan Ricardo Phillips\u2019s second book of poems, <\/em>Heaven, will be published next year. He is the recipient of the 2013 PEN\/Joyce Osterweil Award and a 2013 Whiting Writers\u2019 Award.<\/em><\/p>\n

Jonathan Wilson\u2019s work has appeared in <\/em>The New Yorker, <\/em>Esquire, <\/em>The New York Times Magazine, and <\/em>Best American Short Stories, among other publications. He is the author of eight books, including <\/em>Kick and Run: Memoir with Soccer Ball. He lives in Massachusetts.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Rowan Ricardo Phillips, from New York: Thursday has turned to Monday. The World Cup has blossomed. The opening game seemed intent on mocking any potential pleasure or faith you may have had in this tournament\u2014but now it\u2019s become so good, so quickly, that some people are already calling it the best World Cup they\u2019ve ever […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":707,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13859],"tags":[88,212,545,86,215,10613],"class_list":["post-72706","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-world-cup-2014","tag-england","tag-football","tag-italy","tag-soccer","tag-spain","tag-the-netherlands"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nSketches of Spain; England Acquits Itself Well<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Jonathan Wilson and Rowan Ricardo Phillips on how time changes everything in the World Cup.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/06\/16\/sketches-of-spain-england-acquits-itself-well\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Sketches of Spain; England Acquits Itself Well by Rowan Ricardo Phillips & Jonathan Wilson\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"June 16, 2014 \u2013 Rowan Ricardo Phillips, from New York: Thursday has turned to Monday. 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