A Football Report

Poland and Ukraine: the unlikely duo. This is the first of a two part series by John Ray on the history of Euro 2012’s respective hosts, allowing fans to become familiar with the two nations that will soon be placed under a microscope.

When top-scorer David Villa lifted the European championship trophy in 2008 it was clear that Spain had exorcised (at least some of) their demons and a seismic shift in the international game was on the way. In addition to the rise of the Spaniards, there was the arrival of the eccentric Andrei Arshavin, the breathtaking play of the Dutch in the group stage, and the “never-say-die” Turks. The competition in Austria and Switzerland ushered in a new guard in Europe as the competition has continually done.

Euro 2012 in Poland and Ukraine is sure to shape the footballing legacy of more countries. Both the host nations have been long preparing for the tournament and the 6 new stadiums, particularly those in Warsaw, Lviv, and Gdansk, look to celebrate their heritage in theatrical perfection. The excitement is quickly reaching a fever pitch with the ITV “dreams” advert and the new Nike promotion building up commercial fervor, and the lull without domestic football has made us yearn for the competition all the more. Unfortunately, Euro 2012 has also been met with early controversy as their have been fears of the racist right rearing its repulsive head that has led numerous black players’ families (particularly Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain’s) to stay at home. The jailing of ex-minister Yulia Tymoshenko has been criticized and resulted in a number of leaders boycotting the event.

The ability to overcome these concerns and stage a successful event will make Euro 2012 a watershed moment for both these countries moving forward and will hopefully continue an era of relative success for both of these countries domestically. The tumultuous histories and recent heights of Poland and Ukraine must be illuminated in order to understand this year’s competition and the significance that it carries for the countries producing it.  We begin with Poland: From their escape of imperial rule in 1919, the destruction of the country in World War II, the rebuilding of the football team under the glorious tenure of Kazimierz Gorski in the 70s, and the lull until today.

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By Matthew Richards

Things have changed since part one of this story appeared last week, and Yoann Gourcuff has been left out of the French squad travelling to Poland and Ukraine. Powering on regardless, Matt Richards reviews Gourcuff’s international career, with a focus on the recent omission, and his disappointing time at Lyon.

In his second season at the Stade Chaban Delmas, Gourcuff merely flirted with the heights he had previously reached. Bordeaux did, admittedly, enjoy a record win-streak early in the season, and reach the quarter-finals of the Champions League only to lose out to Olympique Lyonnais, but finished the season in sixth place; failing to qualify for European competition altogether. Three matches into the next season, L’Equipe reported that Gourcuff had informed the club of his desire to join Lyon. For his final match with Bordeaux, he came on as a substitute, assisting the game-winning goal in injury-time. Then he was gone.

In the previous months, his mind was elsewhere. So it should have been. Raymond Domenech called upon Gourcuff in France’s World Cup qualifying campaign, and he made a number of important contributions as Les Bleus finished second in their group, notably a 30-yard wonder strike to equalise against Romania. Gourcuff, when he was played, found himself filling the void left by Zinedine Zidane, though Samir Nasri and Mathieu Valbuena were capable of playing the same role. He started in both Dublin and Paris as France secured their place in South Africa in controversial circumstances, and the young midfielder was all but certain of inclusion in the final squad.

“We did [struggle in qualification], but I think that’s actually a good thing,” Gourcuff prophetically said ahead of the World Cup. “The adversity and criticism we received means that we are going to be even more together as a team. We went through some difficult times but we hope that’s in the past.”

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By Max Grieve

Imagine this for a moment. In little over a month’s time, England, having finished as runners-up in their group at the European Championships, are playing Spain for a place in the semi-finals. Roy Hodgson’s men are literally filling the face of the goal; Gerrard instructing a human-tetris formation between the posts and the bar — and it’s working. Spain, like Barcelona and Bayern Munich before them this season, are struggling to take advantage of their overwhelming dominance. Somewhere else, Gary Neville gurgles in delight. The whistle comes; then sounds again as the two sides begin extra time. There are no goals.

Germany await the victors in Donetsk, and with no way of separating the teams, a 14-year-old boy is called onto the field, his eyes blindfolded, and asked to draw lots. The stadium is plunged into a deafening silence. After a moment, the boy holds Spain’s name above his head, and the artists in London begin photoshopping Hodgson’s face into a root vegetable for the next day’s front page. England are out; Spain are through. And they were so close.

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By Ulysse Pasquier, writing from Montreal

It’s been a week and still even Rémi Gaillard can’t quite believe it. Who would have thought at the start of the season that Montpellier, the 13th budget in Ligue 1, would end up lifting the trophy for the first time in its history. The southern city is a cultural and university center in France and has celebrated sporting triumphs in handball and rugby, but never football. Promoted to Ligue 1 just two seasons ago, René Girard’s side defied the odds by finishing above big-spending Paris Saint Germain. With Manchester City leading an analogous enterprise as PSG and winning the Premier League, no one outside the French capital could complain about the success of a club focused on the development of young players and a sustainable budget.

Turn the clock back to 2007; Montpellier was in an abysmal state and fighting against relegation to the National league – the third division in France. That’s how far they have come, out of nowhere, very much in the image of their emblematic striker Olivier Giroud who was playing for Tours in Ligue 2 just a year ago and is now looking to book his place for the Euro with France. Montpellier’s victory was nothing short of miraculous and set the stage for a thrilling season. If you enjoy such underdog stories however, you may have to wait a while before it happens again in France.

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By Matthew Richards

With the European Championships on the horizon, Matthew Richards profiles the tumultuous career of Yoann Gourcuff, who was somewhat controversially called up to the most recent French squad, in part one of a look at his remarkable journey that has taken him from France to Milan, and back again.

Ever since Zidane chose to so ignominiously end his career in Berlin, French football has been left with a distinct void. Where Kopa and Platini reigned before the talismanic midfielder, there is now a long line of pretenders to the throne. Just as was the situation in Argentina for many years – though Messi appears to only be a strong World Cup away from near surpassing Maradona – there have been those chosen by the media and professed as the next in line; Henry, Ribéry and Vieira all bearing the responsibility at one point in their careers. Nothing yet, and the search continues. Welcome to Le Jeu des Trônes. 

To be compared to Zinedine Zidane is both an honour and a hindrance. The similarities are plain to see: both Gourcuff and Zidane occupy the same area on the field, both burst onto the international scene with Bordeaux, both share the same on-pitch demeanour and style. “Don’t put too much pressure on the guy, and don’t ask him to be the new anybody,” said Zidane. “We can all see he’s very talented.” Here lies the drawback to the comparison. Gourcuff will never be able live up to the potential that others have decided that he has – and this is not to do his career a disservice; not many will ever equal Zidane. The pressure to live up to the mark is immense, and often insurmountable. Time will tell with Gourcuff, and his early appearances for France were promising, as were many of his performances for Bordeaux. If he’s looking to shed the comparison’s he’s often gone about it the wrong way, so good has he been on occasion.

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By Max Grieve

Munich rocked; the Allianz Arena shaking in anticipation of the final whistle. It would come, as it always does, but brought with it a fresh burden. Drogba rose to meet the corner; Drogba fell back to earth, and sent millions into raptures. Thousands watched on in the city centre as the boom broke, and the Bayern support were plunged into a silence. 

Deeper still into the match, Chelsea must have sensed that their remarkable run of fortune had come to an end. Beyond Robben’s missed penalty, Bayern found themselves 3-1 up in the shoot-out. Then, the tired clichés of Germany and spot-kicks collapsed. Ivica Olic was denied, and Bastian Schweinsteiger smacked his shot against the post. John Terry was safely confined to the stands, and Dider Drogba, rather than slip at the crucial time, sent Neuer the wrong way with cold perfection. 

To a point, the result seems wrong. Chelsea won; their name was being engraved on the trophy as Drogba’s penalty settled in the back of the net, but it was always in Bayern’s control. Said Jens Lehmann following the loss to Dortmund last week; “I can’t see them making this many mistakes again. They’ll play with anger and even more determination. I’m rather optimistic about their chances.”

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By Jordan Brown

Didier Drogba emerged from the confines of his tent to the thrum of a busy camp. All around him the army of Chelsea were preparing for war. Infantrymen were rushing to formation, their tall pikes bobbing rhythmically as they ran. Plated warhorses stomped and bit at paiges checking the readiness of mounts, bowmen were fitting their strings and chatting nervously in small circles while the sounds of grinding steel poured from the row of armorers keening the edges of hundreds. Smoke and fire, sweat and leather, wood and steel, Drogba closed his eyes and breathed in deep - savoring the air of battle. It would be his last.

The thought of his waiting men broke him from his reverie and he set off, joining the rushing humanity of the camp. The blue livery of his army made like a river flowing down muddy paths, wearing the telling lines of man’s device into the rich green valleys of Bavaria.

It was a miracle they were even moving at all. Not so long before the army had been in Catalonia, and the experience had nearly ended them. The whole of the known world had expected them to falter in the Spanish leg of their campaign. Wave after wave of Barcelona’s attacks had broken upon their ranks. Halfway through their battle, the venerable Iniesta led his troops into a thrust which had seemingly put the Londoners paid. But tired and outnumbered, the strength of The Blues remained steadfast, and they found that their resolution outlasted the Blaugranas, and the late charge of the nigh forgotten General Torres shocked living world of their expectations. Chelsea would march from victory to Munchen.

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