Football | Miles from Nowhere

Folk football, Kyiv

Posted on June 26, 2012March 12, 2015 by adecolley

Swordfighting and football don’t mix – right? Well I’m not sure after witnessing the Folk Football festival in Kyiv which coincided with the staging of the quarter-finals.

Good on the Ukrainians for using the tournament to promote their own culture.

And I was certainly not prepared for a battle Royal between two acrobatic swordsmen, duelling spectacularly. In fact it was a lot more thrilling than the Italy v England game.

Swordfight stand-off at the Folk Football festival

Sparks were flying off the metal blades as they hammered away at each other in a brilliantly choreographed duel. Errol Flynn eat your heart out. The sparks would have been enough for a council health and safety penpusher to step in and declare the event off back in the UK.

Organiser Georgian playwright Raguli Vlasidze, who looked like he was a rumbustious chunky central midfielder with a kick like a horse back in his youth when no doubt he played in Tiflis, organised it to raise money for good causes.

Money raised will promote education, culture and sport, develop Ukrainian cinema and theatre and ‘encourage national spirituality’.

Ceremonial maces were on sale, football games in a giant paddling pool were organised (‘Allowed: hand gestures and lots of smiling’, said the programme).

The big ball on display in the picture is adorned with the designs of the Pysanko – the traditional painted egg of Ukraine.

Interviewing him via an interpreter was difficult as the English version of what he was saying came out in less than perfect sentences. But there was no doubt of an obvious passion for football.

He said: “Football changes our lives so we want to change people, this festival is for this.”

In the programme, it says: “We believe that the time will soon come when football stadiums worldwide will be adorned with national ornamentation, subconsciously elevating the inherent sense of national spirituality.”

In Wales’s case, that could well be a pint glass I reckon.

Previous to its visit to Kyiv’s famous Andryivsky Street, where the famous writer Bulgakov lived, and which is the centrepiece of the city’s historic Podil area, the folk football bandwagon had been to Lviv and to Ivan0-Frankivsk.

So with its giant football pie, I couldn’t get why this particular item featured, it was a suitably surreal and typically Ukrainian weird concoctioN.

And apparently the Football Peace carpet will be blessed by the Pope himself when it reaches Rome.

The festival’s website is at www.bigball.eu

Italy v England

Posted on June 25, 2012July 12, 2015 by adecolley

Really, this was like watching West Brom in an international tournament – lots of earnest, honest endeavour from both sides, incompetence in front of goal and a deathlessly dull 120 minutes. England copped a load of flak for their endeavours but it wasn’t as if Italy were breathtakingly adventurous – they couldn’t manage a goal despite monopolising the match.

The template for a 0-0 was set early on. After 21 minutes, all neutrals began the Mexican wave, which England fans admirably ignored. But you couldn’t blame the rest of us for taking part.

Locals cranked up ‘Oooh-cry-ina’ chants early, one guy even tried to get a ‘Rossiya’ (Russia) chant going but had no takers. Later on, the ‘Ooh-cry-ina’ morphed into ‘Italia’, as the hosts decided to back Italy because they were still miffed that England had edged them out of the championships.

In fact it was a shame Ukraine missed out on this match as it would have been immeasurably improved – they’d have been a more fluid attacking threat and, of course, everybody in the stadium would have gone absolutely bazonkas as per the crazed Swedish hordes who lit up the stadium in the 3-2 defeat nine days earlier. Instead, most people were moderately interested.

So we had a strangely subdued motley crew at the match – surprisingly quite a few Poles – many of whom were Ukrainians taking the first swig from international football’s champagne tournament.

England fans, again admirably, stoked up the heat with a strong second-half showing of support which felt at the time as though it could carry the team through. But there was to be no joy for Jon, Kiev resident and Stevenage Borough fan. Liked his comment: “It’s been interesting to be able to look the police in the eye in the course of the tournament.”

But, not being in the habit of watching England very often as Wales play at the same time, the parallels with Lisbon 2004 were uncanny – only that was a far better side.

Back then Sven, it seemed to me, played two back fours (I was up in the stand) and used a siege defence. Lo and behold, reading before the tournament, Sven copied a lot from Roy Hodgson’s Swedish success in the 70s.

**The folk dancing earlier in the day in Podil was far more entertaining**

So now England have Sven’s guru in the hot seat and the style is the same. Against decent sides, at any rate. Two back fours, clean sheet, bore the fans to death.

Though a friend Oxana called it ‘lingeringly suspenseful’, texted: “I watched in perfect comfort in McDonalds, not amidst crowds in the fanzone. And though it did seem interminable I was having a kind of private reverie, so I was not bored.”

So commiserations to England fans on another penalty fiasco. Painful, obviously. But if you want real anguish, pop over to Wales in September for the next qualifying campaign. That’ll be REAL pain.

Kharkiv: racists redeemed?

Posted on June 20, 2012November 13, 2013 by adecolley

A matryoshka doll is the classic one-inside-another souvenir you see everywhere way out east.

Arjen Robben visits the fanzone in disguise

It struck me the more I thought about the day of Holland v Portugal that it had so many personal layers of meaning for me, and was such a wonderful occasion, that it was, however absurdly, something of a matryoshka match.

Continue reading Kharkiv: racists redeemed?

Wales 0 Costa Rica 1 – Gary Speed RIP

Posted on March 1, 2012May 19, 2021 by adecolley

Luxembourg City, November 1990

At about 2am, after we’d beaten Luxembourg 1-0 in a Euro 92 qualifier, through an Ian Rush goal, Clayton Blackmore being sent off early, fans and players bumped into each other at a nightclub.

Blackmore, wolfishly good-looking in his early 20s and apparently not too bothered by a dismissal which caused me to suffer a chronic stomach ache and what appeared to be early-onset Parkinson’s for the rest of the match, then spent the night dancing groin-to-groin with a local lassie as half the Welsh team celebrated a not-very-momentous win.

The club shut. A posse of fans sauntered drunkenly towards their beds. Gary Speed and Malcolm Allen somehow found themselves walking alongside us. I pulled out my vuvuzela, the first one ever seen in Wales and Luxembourg I wager, and blew it hard – the sound reverberated up and down the road. Seemed like a great idea at the time.

We passed it around and Gary Speed gave us a parp. Gary Speed, glassily smiling what became his trademark smile, blew my horn. Aged 20 at the time, there was no visible ego (unusual in footballers I’ve since learnt), no airs, no graces. He just seemed like a nice lad. Words that seem to have been uttered ever since by every who knew him.

I never met him again.

November 27, 2011

Gary Speed found dead. While shocked, for some reason this death spoke to me through the death of a very close friend who took his own life in a very similar manner in 2006. My thoughts were less of Gary Speed and more of my pal – the death rattled the senses and defied belief. A sense of being shaken violently stayed with me for a month back in 2006.

In the days that followed, amid the grief, quite clearly fans were enduring the same shock and having the same thought processes and experiencing a sense of bewilderment. The memory of it really does stay with you forever.

Leckwith Stadium, Cardiff. Feb 29, 2012, 4.30pm. Wales fans v Costa Rica fans

With 25 minutes to go the life support machine for a number three Wales kit, that’s me, came on. Geraint from Bala directed me to mark Senor M Vargas with the words: “He’s their biggest threat.” Not what you want to hear when you’re going to celebrate (wrong word) your 50th birthday later in the year. Sr Vargas started the psychological brain jamming immediately

Sr Vargas: You like lamb?

Me: Of course, with mint sauce. Where’ve you come from today?

Sr Vargas: Bournemouth, it’s lovely.

Me: De donde eres? (Where are you from?)

Sr Vargas: San Jose, Costa Rica.

Me: Nicer than Bournemouth?

Sr Vargas: Of course.

Luckily the Ticos omitted to feed Sr Vargas the ball for the entire 25 minutes so he never got to embarrass me. But a tense last few minutes ensued as one of his team-mates got clobbered by S4C’s Tim Hartley who swung and missed the ball in the box, clattering an attacker with a kick that would have felled a camel and then swore blind it wasn’t a penalty. From three yards away I felt it couldn’t have been a clearer spot-kick and Sr Vargas dispatched it to make it 2-1 to us.

We clung on for a deserved victory. Our female keeper had to go off injured in the second half injuring her foot in a brilliant stop and Greg from Aber, after a mad dash to the game, stepped into the breach to seal a not-very-heroic but strangely satisfying triumph.

The match was played for the John Hartson Foundation and Gol charities and, of course, with Gary Speed at the front of our minds. Donate here at http://www.justgiving.com/walesfansvcostarica

6.15pm, Gol Centre, Cardiff.

The charming Costa Rican Ambassador to Britain, Pilar Saborio de Rocafort, bought 20 quid’s worth of raffle tickets and enthused about what a wonderful occasion the day had been, bringing Costa Ricans together for a rare chance to see their side play and also spread goodwill.

Having met many of the Costa Ricans in Cardiff for the match, it has to be said they brought a welcome colour and humility to the day. Any chance of a return fixture please? Not in Bournemouth, but in San Jose.

7.45pm, Cardiff City Stadium

A three-month cloud hovered over what must be the most unanticipated match in Welsh football history. Usually, as fans, we’re mad for it. This time we were mad for it to be over.

That was the feeling beforehand anyway. But as the evening progressed there was plenty to savour and in every respect the tone of events was spot on.

What a great job the FAW did. The association’s handling of the last three months was respectful and considerate and deserves great credit.

And it says much for the FAW”s measured, appropriate responses that the match was all anyone could have asked for. There was no wallowing in mawkish recollections, just simple gestures genuinely felt and warmly expressed.

Nice touches everywhere – from the ‘Gary’ spelt out on the Canton Stand (those of us holding up coloured sheets were trying to figure out what we were showing), to the male voice choir, to the employment of a World Cup Final ref, Howard Webb, it all struck the right, respectful note.

The teenagers’ ‘Shoes off for Gary Speed’ in the Canton stand was welcome relief – why do they do this? – as were the opposition. Let’s face it, we were hoping for someone more illustrious but on reflection it was entirely fitting to end where Gary Speed had started.

Costa Rica turned up to give us a game, scoring at a time when perhaps Welsh players’ minds weren’t entirely focused. Why would they be? The Ticos were quite rugged, could have had a second goal and seemed more cohesive compared to us. In contrast we played too many lateral balls and without Aaron Ramsey and Gareth Bale, the team was shorn of direct attacking menace.

Craig Bellamy, distraught at a pal’s death and facing speculation about this being his last game for his country, quite frankly deserves a medal just for turning out.

The personal and psychological pressure on him must have been immense. He took it all on board and once again, unlike others who’ve turned their backs on their country, strode out to give his all.

Should he pack Wales in, his reasons are pretty much beyond question. Should he stay, then let’s just him appreciate his crazy energy and manic passion for the game for as long as it lasts. He’s the closest we’ll ever get to a Maradona character.

The Human Firework has been a positive force of nature ever since he headed the remarkable winner in Denmark in 1998 through to his goal against Italy in 2002 and his evident on-field leadership of the last couple of years. Not to mention his charity work in Africa.

It would be great if he clung on to see if Welsh football finally comes of age by qualifying for a tournament. If we do, it won’t be because of Gary Speed, who inherited the nucleus of a half-decent side, made good decisions after mediocre early results and appeared to have us on the right road.

It will be down to factors influenced by him, key players turning up, continuing to turn up and luck in games to come.

But whatever happens in the next two years, there is a guiding light and a strange sense of destiny hovering over the side. Whatever is achieved will be for Gary Speed.

Cadwch y ffydd