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 No doubt the headlines said it better than I ever could: "France Bids Brazil Adieu," "2002 Champs Caught Off Guard by Loss," "Parreira Accepts Blame for Brazil Defeat." But wait! Hold on a minute...Brazil lost? What's wrong with this picture? Can this really be happening?
Yes, unfortunately, it's all true, a dreary case of déjà vu all over again, as Orson Welles and Yogi Berra both observed. In fact, it was a rather unpleasant reminder of the 1998 World Cup Soccer finals in Paris, where France held Brazil off to a humiliating 3-0 defeat, only this time the quarterfinal match between the same two countries' national teams took place at the Commerzbank Arena in Frankfurt, Germany. No matter, the result was still the same: an embarrassingly one-sided 1-0 loss to France in regulation time, with Les Français coming off like vintage Chardonnay, and "Bye-Bye" Brazil smelling more like stale Limburger cheese. It seems that every time the talented Brazilians have had to face the fleet-footed French, they forget all about the jogo bonito ("beautiful game") they're most adept at playing - and, consequently, freeze-up on European soccer shores. They're not the only ones: just ask the Portuguese. That calamitous 1998 contest was a prime example, one of the worst performances by a highly regarded national team I have ever witnessed - till now. It wasn't so much the abysmal display put on by a spooked out Brazil squad, in particular a young and inexperienced 21-year-old phenomenon known as Ronaldo - up to that point, untested in World Cup play - but the indecisiveness and inaction on the part of the entire group that were so feverishly called into question by subsequent Brazilian investigative hearings. At the time, heavily favored Brazil was all but stymied by the superlative playmaking abilities of Zinédine Zidane, then 26, who scored two of the three game-winning goals that day to join France's Legion of Honor, alongside his fellow Les Bleus teammates. Well, it all came back to haunt the Brazilians once more, on Saturday, July 2, 2006 - a day that will live in hall-of-shame infamy - when Monsieur Zidane, now a "grand old man" of soccer, took immediate control of the game, out-dribbling star players ten years his junior, and firing off a fearsome free kick into the inside right foot of unmarked attacker Thierry Henry, who spent most of the match waiting for that golden opportunity, which finally came in the 57th minute of play. That's all it took, really, to stem the weak tide of the inoffensive Brazilian counterattack, or what little of it there was, as an anticipated second wave almost never came - and when it did, was ineffectual at best, not even in the flurry of last-minute activity that resulted in an over-the-top shot on goal by Ronaldinho Gaucho, the only decent one of the day. Going back a bit historically, the first time the hearty Brazilians challenged the sullen Frenchmen in World Cup competition (in Sweden, in 1958), a fast-rising comet named Pelé - then a gangly 17-year-old rookie starter - streaked across the Swedish playing fields to kick the opposition into submission by trumping France 5-2. Their next encounter, a 1986 quarterfinal match-up in Mexico, ended in a 1-1 tie that was fatefully decided by nerve-wracking penalty kicks (no one's favorite form of terminating scoreless regulation-time play) in which France came out the winner by a Gallic nose. They were eliminated in the semifinal round by a much tougher German squad - ironically, in another dramatic shootout attempt. The memory of all these ill-fated soccer events must surely have left a bitter aftertaste in the mouths of veteran national team players Cafu, Roberto Carlos, and especially former World Player of the Year, Ronaldo. At least, one would have hoped. Still, let's face it, folks: Brazil deserved to lose, mainly because they did not deserve to win. "It's a hard moment for us," offered head coach Carlos Alberto Parreira. "It's very hard when a Brazil squad is beaten in the quarterfinals. I wasn't prepared - no one was prepared to leave. No one thought we'd leave before the finals." Famous last words. From the outset of this year's FIFA World Cup Soccer championship, the Brazilians did next to nothing, in this writer's opinion, to merit entry into the record books, let alone earn a quarterfinal berth with the underrated French. Instead of trying to intimidate foes by staging a veritable Carnaval parade of millionaire superegos before the TV cameras - as pathetic a crop of would-be gladiators as has ever been assembled for an international outing - Brazil could have spent the time wisely watching videos of the opposing side's tactics, or practicing those boring set pieces (free kicks, corners, and the like) that landed England and its top-seeded player, David Beckham, a vaunted quarterfinal spot with fiery Portugal.
Fat-Boy Slim, Where Were You When Brazil Needed You?
But as far as world-class level soccer competitors were concerned, there were none to be had. Croatia, Australia, Japan, and Ghana: Brazil disposed of these makeshift wannabes handily, without ever breaking a sweat - except for our dear old friend, Ronaldo.
There he was, a bloated, out-of-shape remnant of his former athletically trim self, and not nearly as overwrought as he needed to be in Deutschland. Huffing and puffing away, like an elephant seal on a melting iceberg, he was frequently caught traipsing about the goalmouth, in constant search of an easy loose ball, and, I might add, an easy goal - a poor substitute for grit, determination, and plain old-fashioned teamwork. About the most the so-called "phenomenon" could conjure up was a none-too-convincing spill in the penalty zone - it was amazing he could motivate himself to do even that. Maybe I was seeing things, but I thought Ronaldo looked old and tired. But no, it couldn't be: at age 29, he's a mere babe in the soccer wood compared to such "senior citizens" as Beckham, 31, and Zidane, 34, not to mention the grandfatherly Cafu, at 36. Many of the native-born journalists covering the sporting event, up in arms over Brazil's poor performance in toto, blamed anyone and everyone associated with the languid team effort for this newest quarterfinal fiasco, even charging the star striker, as well as several others, with not showing enough passion and drive - that trademark desire for World Cup Soccer dominance - in the very sport the traditionally dexterous Brazilians have purportedly played better than anyone else on the planet. I hate to admit it, but passion and drive were hardly at the top of Ronaldo's or anybody else's collective endorsement-revenue-minded lists of late. Oh yes, there were the occasional flashes of soccer "brilliance" (as limited as they were), in a lopsided romp against the relentlessly upbeat African nation of Ghana. The final tally: 3-0, Brazil - were you surprised? That opening run by Ronaldo, though, in which he faked-out Ghana's otherwise competent goalie Richard Kingston, after being fed a perfectly placed pass by the 24-year-old Kaká, was masterfully executed by all - but don't tell me it wasn't a prearranged trick of the soccer trade! O Rei Pelé was notorious for pulling off such stunts in his day, including a famous one, in the Brazil vs. England showdown of 1970, that nearly resulted in a spectacular solo scoring effort by "The King" against Britain's premier gatekeeper, Gordon Banks. But these were too few and far between. The best of what Brazil once had to offer the soccer world was by now being copied by those (wonder of wonders) insufferably stuffy French. Arrgh!!! It's enough to make a die-hard World Cup watcher, such as myself, tune in to "Breakfast at Wimbledon" instead...enough, but not quite. Ronaldinho Gaúcho, himself voted World Player of the Year two years in a row, simply did not live up to all the hype being touted about him. How could he, in that sweltering heat - and with so much added media pressure, to boot - perform to such unattainable heights? Demurely and quite nonchalantly, his toothy grin and cheery demeanor were the lone saving graces of a cheerless and unmotivated bunch of soccer mismatches. Soldiering on despite the chaos surrounding him, Cafu appeared to be on the brink of early retirement - a leaderless exhibition by the supposed leader of the pack. Roberto Carlos' deadly accurate cannon-shot of a kick was nowhere to be found - perhaps he left it in the baggage claim area at Düsseldorf Airport, but wherever it was it certainly wasn't on the field of fractured dreams. The youngster Kaká tried valiantly to score, but got nowhere fast after colliding with the French Maginot line of defense, as did Juninho Pernambucano; both were replaced in the second half by coach Parreira, along with team captain Cafu. Robinho and Cicinho were brought in to lend a helping "hand," as was an overweight Adriano - too little, too late, to my mind. They did their usual job of scrambling about town, to no particular effect. Parreira and his coaching staff, among them a drawn and haggard Mário Zagallo (a former coach of the luckless 1998 squad), came up empty-handed, with no discernable recovery plan. Indeed, no one on the bench got very excited at all about anything - a rarity for such a crucial match, in which Brazil fell behind early in the second half. They were probably still in shock and awe at the way the French had beaten them at their own "beautiful game." Truth be told, it was a national disgrace, but I wasn't much surprised by the outcome. Some people, including my own wife, claimed the players and coaches must have taken another nosedive. "Just like they did in '98," was the angry cry. An understandable concern, but somehow I didn't think so - that's just too pat an answer for what actually transpired on that dismal day. In my view, these guys were washed-up from the start, listless and unresponsive, as they had been all season long. They never came together as a group in any cohesive manner, as a national team should. It's time for them to put to pasture some of the lingering "dead weight" that's been dragging the national team down for so long. It's the least they could do to salvage whatever pride and self-respect they have left after their tragic trouncing by the French before millions of television viewers worldwide; and even more important, give the next generation of newcomers a fighting chance to bask in their own self-made glory. Only the most blind of Brazilian football fanatics, deliriously devoted to their embattled national team, could not have foreseen what was coming. This latest chapter in Brazil's pursuit of another World Cup title has finally and categorically put to bed the notion of the country's invincibility on the soccer field. May it rest in shattered pieces, for now. On the other hand, Zidane, Henry, Barthez, Ribéry, Thuram and company are more than deserving of their total victory: they ran Olympic-sized rings around a poor, helpless Brazil. Like overage teenagers, they put on a fabulously entertaining show of soccer skill and stamina that completely overshadowed the laidback Brazilians to no end. If there's any kind of lesson to be learned from this sorry tale of woe, it's this: the French were doing to Brazil what Brazil was once noted for doing to others - that is, mixing samba with soccer. And yes, dear fans, "just like they did in '98," it was indeed a magical, sleight-of-hand team performance by France, bar none. I only wish I hadn't witnessed it all again. A naturalized American citizen born in Brazil, Joe Lopes was raised and educated in New York City, where he worked for many years in the financial sector. In 1996, he moved to Brazil with his wife and daughters. In 2001, he returned to the U.S. and now resides in North Carolina with his family. He is a lover of all types of music, especially opera and jazz, as well as an incurable fan of classic and contemporary films. You can email your comments to
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. Copyright © 2006 by Josmar F. Lopes
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