Kempes was the only overseas player in the 78 squad, playing with Valencia. I canât remember the exact timeframe but my recollection is that Ardiles, Villa and Tarantini all want to England around the same time.
And Alex Sabella?
Some of the Italian squad numbers in that tournament really fucking bugged me, Tasotti wearing 9 was a disgrace.[/QUOTE]
The Dutch squad in '78 would really have pushed you over the edgeâŠThey were numbered in alphabetical order, with 'keeper, Jongbleod, wearing no.8
Mexico 86 had some characters & performers. My favourite WC.
Jean Marie Pfaff being better than Khan in 02 even.
Igor Belanov, some hat trick in defeat.
Butregueno v Denmark
Laudrup & Elkjaer destroying Uruguay
Morocco completely outplaying eventual finalists Germany in the last 16, losing AET.
France/Brazil shoot out on Platiniâs birthday.
Divine intervention in one of the quarter finals.
Butch Wilkins losing it.
The Walkers Crisps ambassadorâs cast and 6 tap ins.
Mexicoâs second goal v Bulgaria
Diego jumping the hoardings v Italy
WGS failing to do so the next day!
Josimar
The final- still the daddy of em all
Different ClassâŠDifferent Class
ESPNâs advert for the World Cup is filled with nostaglia 
[QUOTE=âSpecial Olympiakos, post: 945243, member: 366â]Mexico 86 had some characters & performers. My favourite WC.
Jean Marie Pfaff being better than Khan in 02 even.
Igor Belanov, some hat trick in defeat.
Butregueno v Denmark
Laudrup & Elkjaer destroying Uruguay
Morocco completely outplaying eventual finalists Germany in the last 16, losing AET.
France/Brazil shoot out on Platiniâs birthday.
Divine intervention in one of the quarter finals.
Butch Wilkins losing it.
The Walkers Crisps ambassadorâs cast and 6 tap ins.
Mexicoâs second goal v Bulgaria
Diego jumping the hoardings v Italy
WGS failing to do so the next day!
Josimar
The final- still the daddy of em all
Different ClassâŠDifferent Class[/QUOTE]
In those days there was very little football on TV so it was really extra special
Agreed - it was a wonderful World Cup - the giant shadow over the centre circle
Some good stuff here
http://www.thescore.ie/maradona-world-cup-86-1431192-Apr2014/
Wasnât sure about that so had to look it up. According to wikipedia, Kempes at Valencia was the only overseas player in 78.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1978_FIFA_World_Cup_squads
Another piece of Argentina related information I wasnât aware of until recently is that Daniel Passarella was in the 86 squad of 22, making him the only Argentinian with winners medals from 78 & 86. Seemingly, he got some Darren Fletcher type colon/intestine infection right before the tournament started and was replaced in the starting line up by Jose Luis Brown.
It was only the 3rd & 4th place play off but this was some goal.
Tarantini had a row with Boca Juniors about his contract renewal. Boca werenât for turning and not alone did they not give in they put the squeeze on every other Argentinian club not to hire him. That may be why he ended up in Birmingham. Newcastleâs Collecini always puts my in mind of him in terms of looks and style of play.
Reading all the above makes the last few world cups seem fairly boring.
Mac, always remember that fond memories from your youth enthusiastically told play better than recent memories.
Of the recent World Cups, I thought that 1998 was a cracker. I watched the final in Philly Grimes pub in Waterford, full of drink, having come back from the drawn Munster final with Clare and Waterford and enjoyed it immensely. That was a super French team with no centre forward like Brazil in 82. Spain finally cracked that conundrum in Euro 2012. If you donât have a centre forward donât play one.
2002 was compelling for all sorts of reasons. Again the final was on Munster Final day - Waterford finally came good, the day Oliver Kahn fucked up.
2006 wasnât bad either. The final was a massive bit of theatre. Watched in a roadside cafe in the Loire Valley. The crack was unreal.
I thought 2010 was poor. A dour sour tournament. Possibly because it was played mid winter unlike the Northern Hemisphere World Cups.
[QUOTE=âHis Holiness Da Dalai Lama, post: 944800, member: 1503â]
[BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)]France v Kuwait ⊠some Shiekh orders the Kuwaiti team off the pitch after France scores a goal. The Ref ends up dissalowing the goal so the game can continue, the cunt.[/BCOLOR]
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That would be Sheikh Fahed Al-Ahmed. Things didnât work out too well for him. Died on 2 August 1990, one of the very first casualties of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait.
[/MEDIA][/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=âHis Holiness Da Dalai Lama, post: 944800, member: 1503â][BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)]I have fond memories of the summer of 1982âŠ[/BCOLOR]
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[BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)]Austria v West Germany ⊠what a shambles that was. Both sets of fans booing their own teams.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)][/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)]France v Kuwait ⊠some Shiekh orders the Kuwaiti team off the pitch after France scores a goal. The Ref ends up dissalowing the goal so the game can continue, the cunt.[/BCOLOR]
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGtEbY9iE3I
[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)][/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=rgb(255, 255, 255)]Schumacher almost kills Battiston⊠and somehow doesnât get sent off.[/BCOLOR]
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGq7VcaHoqo
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That would be Sheikh Ahmed-Al-Fahad. Things didnât work out too well for him. Killed on 2 August 1990. One of the first casualties of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait.
[QUOTE=âFagan ODowd, post: 945348, member: 706â]Mac, always remember that fond memories from your youth enthusiastically told play better than recent memories.
Of the recent World Cups, I thought that 1998 was a cracker. I watched the final in Philly Grimes pub in Waterford, full of drink, having come back from the drawn Munster final with Clare and Waterford and enjoyed it immensely. That was a super French team with no centre forward like Brazil in 82. Spain finally cracked that conundrum in Euro 2012. If you donât have a centre forward donât play one.
2002 was compelling for all sorts of reasons. Again the final was on Munster Final day - Waterford finally came good, the day Oliver Kahn fucked up.
2006 wasnât bad either. The final was a massive bit of theatre. Watched in a roadside cafe in the Loire Valley. The crack was unreal.
I thought 2010 was poor. A dour sour tournament. Possibly because it was played mid winter unlike the Northern Hemisphere World Cups.[/QUOTE]
I do have fond memories of the '98 final. It was the night before the Tour de France stage that started in Enniscorthy. The whole town just went on the sauce for the weekend and apart from the Fleadh in '99 and '00 (and the '96 homecoming) I donât ever recall seeing the town come to a complete standstill for anything. The whole weekend was unbelievable. There was a load of Frenchies who came over for the cycling and the whole town turned into a France fan club.
When it came out afterwards that the hotel I watched the 2nd half of game was the host of the Festina team who were rooted out as the druggies it made the weekend all the more memorable. Probably the closest weâll ever get to experiencing seeing a national team win a major trophy. We all sang the French anthem into the early hours before watching a crowd of drug addled mules set off for Cork at some unearthly hour. The Tour passed by my old pairs house so I had to drag myself there in time to see it. Great times - not a care in the world
Argentina did the same in 82 with ossie wearing no 1.
Maradona insisted on getting 10 & kempes then insisted on 11. They did not go well as defending champions.
Decent read
http://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2014/may/15/world-cup-stunning-moments-france-implode
[SIZE=6]World Cup: 25 stunning moments ⊠No17: France implode in South Africa[/SIZE]
In open rebellion against their manager, Franceâs 2010 squad self-destructed as Thierry Henry watched impassively
Franceâs captain Patrice Evra with his teammates after a clash with the coach Raymond Domenech during the 2010 World Cup. Photograph: Franck Fife/AFP/Getty Images
[U]Thierry Henry[/U][/URL] had more pressing matters to attend to before he could lose himself in his New York dreamscape [he was joining New York Red Bulls from Barcelona in the summer 2010], starting with his uneasy position within the French national team. How uneasy it was was demonstrated in the lead-up to the South African [URL=âhttp://www.theguardian.com/football/world-cup-footballâ][U]World Cup[/U][/URL], when Raymond Domenech chose to play Henry from the bench in [URL=âhttp://www.theguardian.com/football/franceâ][U]France[/U]âs warm-up games against Costa Rica and Tunisia, in which the hitherto âcaptain for lifeâ was a mere passenger.
In the first of these two encounters, in which Les Bleus actually showed a surprising degree of enterprise and imagination, the armband had been given to Patrice Evra â whoâd kept it on when Thierry entered the fray in the second half. Domenech poo-poohed the idea that this was proof of Henryâs declining status within the squad. But more people wouldâve been inclined to take the manager at his word if a French TV network hadnât found out that heâd visited Thierry in Barcelona shortly before this game, in order to strike a deal that would preserve both menâs self-regard and ambitions.
True to his obsession with secrecy, Domenech denied it had been the case, only for Henry to confirm, a week before the start of the tournament, that âyes, the coach has come to see me, and told me I wouldnât be in the starting XI at the World Cupâ.
The agreement gave Henry a chance to exit the international stage in as dignified a manner as possible. Domenech had decided to redeploy his team in a 4-3-3 formation that heâd hardly ever put to the test before. In theory, this bold system would have suited Henry perfectly, so much so that it was widely believed that the striker had lobbied the French management to implement this tactical change. Standing at the tip of an attacking trident, Henry would have been able to exploit his undiminished technical abilities with greater effect than on the left side of a 4-2-3-1 set-up, in which he expended too much of his declining energy to cover one of the gameâs more enterprising full-backs, Evra.
But when France finally adopted their new formation, in that 2-1 win over Costa Rica, it was Nicolas Anelka, not Thierry Henry, who found himself in the position of a No9. Some were surprised, and interpreted this as a snub; but not Henry, whoâd been forewarned by Domenech. Heâd been told that his role would be that of what the French call un joker: a luxury substitute; and that, should he refuse to play that role, he wouldnât be part of Franceâs final squad.
Domenechâs decision was prompted, as ever, by expediency, political nous and a measure of sporting logic; to which Iâm tempted to add: as was Henryâs. The destiny of both men had been closely entwined since 1998, when the up-and-coming coach had defended the playerâs cause within the French camp as forcefully â and skilfully â as he could, something Thierry never forgot.
It was fitting than the last act in Domenechâs chaotic reign should coincide with Henryâs swansong. It should also be said that the agreement made sense in pure football terms. Short of match fitness as Henry undoubtedly was (through no fault of his own), he remained a potent presence in front of goal, a vastly experienced international whose knowledge of Franceâs future opponents was unequalled in the French camp.
That quality alone made dispensing with his services a risk that Domenech was not willing to take, notwithstanding the controversy that would have certainly erupted if Henry had been left behind. Henry accepted his de facto demotion with good grace, at least in public. âJe me mets minable pour lâĂ©quipe,â he said, which can roughly be translated as : âI sacrifice myself for the teamâ or even âIâm willing to grind myself into the dust for the teamâ.
There was an element of calculation in Thierryâs stance; but, as Jacques Crevoisier and Gilles Grimandi reminded me at the time, he was also a very rare beast: a footballer who could evaluate his own performances â and physical condition â with as much objectivity (and in deeper detail) than any of his coaches.
Heâd lost speed? He knew it. He couldnât launch his runs with the same frequency as before? He knew it. Anelka could â just possibly - offer more playing with his back to goal? He knew that too, as he knew that a successful team is more often than not a blend of the older and the new. By his own admission, back in 1998, he and David Trezeguet hadnât felt âpressureâ when their turn had come to take centre stage during the penalty shoot-out against Italy. Twelve years later, Les Bleus needed fresher blood, players who ignored fear â but who would benefit from the guidance of those who had been the young, three World Cups ago. Henry could be that guide, and accepted it.
True, a part-time role in Franceâs campaign might benefit him in more ways than one. It would distance him from the reviled Domenech. His humility would wrong-foot a number of critics. In the stands of the Felix Bollaert stadium, where France had taken on Costa Rica, heâd heard his name sung in the stands with genuine affection. The sight of Henry warming up on the touchline while his younger teammates were playing against Mexico and Uruguay in South Africa would lead many to wonder whether theyâd misjudged him after all.
The French team had retired to a five-star fortress on the shores of the Indian Ocean, the Peluza Hotel in Knysna, which was only accessible if you could get hold of a boat or show the proper identification documents to the policemen manning a roadblock on the one road leading to the luxurious compound. Henry kept as low a profile as possible, which, given the scant access the media were granted, meant he was invisible. Unverifiable â but persistent â rumours soon circulated of a âbreakdownâ between Franceâs new playmaker, the introverted Yoann Gourcuff, and disgruntled old hands, of which Thierry was said to be one, and Franck RibĂ©ry another.
Not that it mattered much: when Evra had been given the armband against Costa Rica, France Football ran the headline: âa true captain, at lastâ on its front page. The most successful French player in history (a tag that only seems to acquire value when you repeat it time and time again) had mutated from cosmopolitan record-breaker to some sort of pipe-and-slippers grandad within the course of a single year. This is not to say that he was resigned to his fate.
Despite Domenechâs best efforts to keep the media at bay every day, LâĂquipe and other publications painted a disquieting picture of what was happening behind the ramparts of Franceâs fortress. Henry could no longer consider himself the leader of Les Bleus, but could place himself in the slipstream of those whoâd taken on that role, namely RibĂ©ry, Evra, Eric Abidal, William Gallas and, up to a point, Anelka. So he did. As in 2002 and 2006, small self-appointed committees met in private to discuss the teamâs performance and the options at their disposal.
Domenech was lobbied to replace Gourcuff by the more defensive-minded Diaby on the right side of midfield. That proposal could be defended in tactical terms, but also hinted at racial faultlines within a squad in which players of West Indian and African origin outnumbered Caucasians by two to one. The âsacred unionâ of blacks, bleus et beurs which had so captured Franceâs imagination in 1998 belonged, alas, to history â or, for the more cynically-minded, was shown a posteriori to have been a fantasy.
http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Football/Pix/pictures/2014/5/14/1400088572717/Thierry-Henry-appeals-001.jpg Thierry Henry appeals against Uruguay. Photograph: Paul Thomas/Action Images
Other players favoured reinstating Thierry in the starting XI, and deploying Anelka on the right, in a position similar to that which he occupied at Chelsea. In truth, the subject of these conversations mattered less than what they revealed of the deleterious atmosphere within the camp, and of the dire consequences any slip-up in Franceâs opening game â against Uruguay â would have on the teamâs chances.
A number of people could press the self-destruct button. In the end, despite a desperately disappointing draw in which Henry featured for less than 20 minutes (when the Celeste had been reduced to 10 men), and could â maybe â have earned a thoroughly undeserved penalty when his volley crashed against a Uruguayan arm in the box (the source of much merriment in Ireland), the 0-0 scoreline â a repeat of the encounter between these two teams in the 2002 World Cup â came as something of a relief. At least we hadnât lost.
http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Football/Pix/pictures/2014/5/14/1400088493489/Thierry-Henry-cycles-001.jpg Thierry Henry and his France teammates in high-altitude training in Tignes. Photograph: Sipa Press / Rex Features
Back home, the mood was sombre; defeatist, even. Sixty per cent of LâĂquipe readers believed that Uruguay, Mexico and South Africa stood a better chance of qualifying than France. It hadnât helped that the pre-tournament preparation in Tignes, a ski resort in the Alps, Tunisia and the island of the RĂ©union had been marked by a series of bizarre incidents: Lassana Diarraâs unexpected withdrawal from the squad, due to an obscure medical condition; Gallasâs comical crash in a dune-buggy race; Anelka falling from his mountain bike in another of Domenechâs stranger attempts at team-bonding. It didnât get much better once the team reached its base in Knysna.
Sports minister Rama Yade castigated the FFF for housing squad and delegation in one of South Africaâs most palatial (and most expensive) hotels; on the eve of the opening match against Uruguay, the news filtered through that the same FFF had chartered a private plane for the playersâ wives and girlfriends so that they could be in the Green Point Stadium on 11 June, at a cost of ÂŁ220,000; and so on.
The numerous sponsors of Les Bleus did all they could to drum up support in the French public, but in vain. As ArsĂšne Wenger remarked, whilst it seemed that every other white van and black cab was adorned with the flag of St George in London, the tricolour was noticeable by its complete absence from Paris streets. It was yet another sign that France had fallen out of love with its team on that shameful night in St Denis; every setback was and would be perceived as a deserved retribution for cheating Ireland out of a place in the World Cup.
And to many it was fitting that the team which would avenge the Irish also wore green jerseys: Mexico, who, on a chilly night in Polokwane, beat France for the first time in their history and all but guaranteed that Les Bleus would leave the World Cup in humiliating fashion, as in 2002, and as theyâd exited the European Championships of 2008, having shown nothing that resembled courage, skill or organisation.
There is no need to give you a translation of LâĂquipeâs headline of on 18 June: LES IMPOSTEURS. A photograph of RibĂ©ry tangling with Mexican striker Guillermo Franco was accompanied by a scathing editorial, in which Fabrice Jouhaud exhorted his readers to laugh at Domenechâs pitiful crew. No sadness should be felt, he said, no tears should be shed. The âimpostersâ didnât deserve them. They didnât care â why should we care about them? In England, a reporter of The Times found a new way to cook an old chestnut when he remarked that if there was no âIâ in âteamâ, there was certainly one in Ă©quipe. In France, it was thought there were 11, or even 13, as AndrĂ©-Pierre Gignac and Mathieu Valbuena were introduced to replace the hapless Anelka and Sidney Govou in the second half.
With the honourable exception of Florent Malouda, goalkeeper Hugo Lloris, and possibly Evra, so overwhelmed by being given the captainâs armband that he could not hold back the tears when La Marseillaise soared above the vuvuzelas in the stadium, it was a case of every man for himself.
http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Football/Pix/pictures/2014/5/14/1400088299531/Thierry-Henry-001.jpg Thierry Henry sits under a blanket on the bench. Photograph: David Cannon/Getty Images
Anelkaâs shocking performance should have warranted a 123rd cap for Thierry as a substitute, but the call never came. Franceâs record goalscorer hardly bothered to warm up on the touchline and watched impassively as Gignac (four goals in 17 matches for France, eight in 31 for Toulouse in the 2009-10 Ligue 1 season) was brought on at half-time to replace the Chelsea striker, whom weâd soon learn had spoken to his manager in the crudest terms imaginable in the interval.
From time to time, the cameras would cut to Henry, arms folded on his knees under a checked blanket, his face almost invisible under a woolly hat; the bench might as well have been a bath chair wheeled to a deserted beach. The look on his face was not one of bewilderment, but of barely disguised boredom. Heâd seen it all before, and so had we. Or so we thought, until 19 June, when LâĂquipe, again, broke with over a century of tradition to print in huge block letters the following words on its front page: â[U]Go get fucked up the arse, you dirty son of a whore[/U]â.
http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Football/Pix/pictures/2014/5/14/1400088755165/Nicolas-Anelka-001.jpg Nicolas Anelka left Cape Town in disgrace. Photograph: Carlos Barria/REUTERS
The national teamâs very public meltdown instantly became an affair of state in France, which should have alerted commentators that this was not only about football; in fact, it had little to do with football, Anelkaâs appalling language, Domenechâs laughable self-regard and incompetence, and so-called âsenior playersâ using Les Bleus as a means to their personal ends, scheming, plotting, disgracing themselves whilst pretending they were rebelling against the âsystemâ.
It had to do with a fractured society, ridden with post-colonial guilt and neuroses, which had desperately wanted to believe in the 1998 black-blanc-beur utopia, and was now forced to smell its own shit. We, the French, had been cheated by a crew of young men from the banlieue who constantly spoke about ârespectâ and gave it to no-one but themselves. Who valued nothing but diamond earrings, big wheels, easy girls, didnât sing the Marseillaise, and could only think with two parts of their body: their feet, and their prick. A friend called me after South Africaâs victory in Bloemfontein, whom I told that â maybe â itâd be for the best. Laurent Blanc would step in. Heâd find a team in ruins, yes. But heâd be given the time to build something new, to identify the right players, the next leaders, and âŠ
He interrupted me. âDonât fool yourself,â he said, âthe next generation is even worse: la racailleâ. Racaille â the awful word that Nicolas Sarkozy had used to describe the youths of la banlieue, a hyperbolic version of âriff-raffâ, the dregs of society which should be âwashed away with a KĂ€rcherâ, as the then Home Affairs Secretary had said. And, to my disgust, I found a part of myself agreeing with him.
Thierry Henry will never be forgiven for what he did and, especially, what he didnât do when the foolishness of others gave him the chance to become a true hero. A few words from him would have swayed the indecisive; the team heâd served magnificently for nearly 13 years was crying out for a figure of authority such as the former French captain, a Patrick Vieira, a Didier Deschamps, a Blanc, even a Zinedine Zidane, who could seize the rebels by the collar, and make them aware of the consequences that their shameful behaviour would have on their own careers â as it was clear that theyâd lost any sense, if only temporarily, of the duties attached to representing their country.
http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Football/Pix/pictures/2014/5/14/1400089649697/France-v-South-Africa-001.jpg Thierry Henry of France looks dejected during the match between France and South Africa. Photograph: Clive Rose/Getty Images
But Henry remained invisible and silent throughout. The FFF president Jean-Pierre Escalettes saw him sitting at the back of the âbus of shameâ, as if heâd been a mere passenger there, and felt an urge to walk up to him â but checked himself, fearing (or so he said) that it would make captain Evra âlook like a prickâ. âI wasnât good,â the septuagenarian confessed four months later, âI was powerlessâ.
It wasnât until the plane carrying the shamed team landed at Le Bourget airport that we finally heard Henryâs voice, when he, very much like RibĂ©ry had done before him, arranged to be interviewed on French national television on 25 June, in this case by the former PSG chairman Michel Denisot, now one of the best-known presenters on the Canal Plus network. Once again, Thierry missed a beat, opening his defence by talking about the âinventionsâ of âpeopleâ, speaking about Franceâs debacle as it had been nothing more than the consequence of a series of poor results, blown out of all proportion by the media.
Despite the gentleness of the questioning, his answers sounded both banal and aggressive, as if he couldnât quite understand why he, the doyen of Les Bleus, could be associated with the greatest scandal in their entire history. There were flashes of frustration : âI could have been the big brother [of this team], but ⊠I wasnât anymore. I felt as if Iâd been set asideâ. But by whom, by what? âI wasnât talked to as before. Everybody has their own reasons. And I donât want to go into details.â The details, of course, were precisely what people â the French people, not the âpeopleâ Thierry felt had been after him for a long time â wanted to hear about. âI felt Iâd been set aside,â he repeated, âand [when that happens], a manâs pride takes a knock.â
Henry sounded even less convincing when he tried to deny there had been âclansâ within the French camp. âAffinitiesâ, yes, as always. When Denisot teased him â gently â about the relationship between Gourcuff and RibĂ©ry, he immediately looked for the exit door: âI havenât seen everything. When you go to your room to sleep âŠâ Then, fixing Denisot with a far from friendly glare, he added: âI didnât see any fight. I didnât see anyone applying pressure on anyone else.â Gourcuff became âYoâ, with a familiarity I couldnât help but feel was forced.
And when the episode of the team bus was finally broached, Thierry said, again: âI didnât see anyone applying pressure on anybody else.â Cut, back to the studio â and the PR exercise had turned into another disaster. I have yet to meet anyone who hadnât been shocked by Henryâs desperately awkward performance. He sounded as if heâd weighed his options until heâd decided that he ought to do something.
On the eve of this far from convincing exercise, Thierry had paid a grotesque visit to the ĂlysĂ©e palace to meet president Sarkozy, whoâd been so âconcernedâ with the happenings in South Africa that heâd taken time off from a summit with Russian prime minister Vladimir Putin in Moscow to let it be known that the French head of state wasnât amused. The footballer was whisked to the Champs-ĂlysĂ©es in a presidential car which picked him up on the tarmac of the Le Bourget airport, after heâd called De Gaulleâs successor from South Africa, or so we were told.
Remarkable: a ball-kicker could get the keeper of Franceâs nuclear arsenal on the phone, just like that. Was it Henry (or his advisors) who thought it might be a good idea? Was it Sarkozy, the PR-obsessed politician, who felt he had to welcome Franceâs star footballer in his office to keep âin phaseâ with his disenchanted electorate? Over 100 delegates from various NGOs who were supposed to meet the president at the time (11 am, 24 June) were shown the door in order to accommodate the former French captain, and were requested to make do with the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs instead.
Quite understandably, to quote Richard Thompson, they âtook their business elsewhereâ. What was said between Henry and Sarkozy never surfaced, despite the publicity given to their crisis talks. No cameras were allowed. No transcript of what must have been a fascinating conversation was passed on to the press. A parliamentary commission was put together for the sole purpose of holding an inquest on Franceâs disgraceful failure at the World Cup. On it went, ridiculously so. France had, truly, had a breakdown.
Henry too had benefited from the protection and encouragement of a âbig brotherâ in the early stages of his career, literally so, as it was his own brother, Willy, whoâd made sure everything was fine for the little one. He knew as well as anyone that, should he assume this role, he could have a profound impact on a group of players that was in desperate need of a figure of benign authority. He was the last of the world champions, for goodness sake.
He was the last chance, perhaps, that France had of regaining the esprit de corps that had led them to three World and European finals in eight years. Henry could have exited international football in the fashion his achievements deserved, and, perhaps, silenced those who doubted that he could ever be considered a true âgreatâ of the game. Players still listened to him. All he had to do was to walk out of a bus. But he stayed put, seemingly unconcerned. He remained true to the policy heâd adopted two months beforehand: do whatâs asked of you, no more than that, shut up, and let them self-destruct if thatâs what they want to do.
Youâll have nothing to do with this mess anymore, you wonât be responsible for it.
[I][U]This is an edited extract from Thierry Henry: Lonely at the Top by Philippe Auclair. [/U][/I]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzxpc0pyqrs
Dunphy quoting The Telegraph before England vs Paraguay in 2006
âGod is in his heaven and all is right with world, Today is such a day, a clouldless June sky, the oxen reposed in the shade of the mighty British oak, the reek rising from a million barbeques and England beginning its world cup endevourâ.
[QUOTE=âmickee321, post: 945605, member: 367â]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzxpc0pyqrs
Dunphy quoting The Telegraph before England vs Paraguay in 2006
âGod is in his heaven and all is right with world, Today is such a day, a clouldless June sky, the oxen reposed in the shade of the mighty British oak, the reek rising from a million barbeques and England beginning its world cup endevourâ.[/QUOTE]
Im looking forward to Mike Ingham, Alan Green and expert summariser Jimmy Armfield commentate on this world cup