This blog began with me kvetching about not getting the soccer live. Well, be careful what you wish for. I got the soccer live, and had to watch both teams getting clipped.
Both games showed the commentator's art, being required to dance around the obvious to spare the
feelings of one country, specifically this country.
The women met a crew of sharp Norwegians, who play in tough European competitions, and know all about winning football.
The Norwegians scored an early goal. From there they looked like an Italian men's team, circa any time: get a goal, pull everybody back to defend, and know the fans will always take a win over elegance.
The Scandinavians ran an occasional counter-attack although keeping enough people behind the ball to guarantee a result. Given they got their goal in the eighth minute it left commentators a Sisyphus-like ordeal for eighty-two minutes to keep us interested.
For someone used to the men diving and begging for free-kicks this game was remarkable. If the women hit the deck they got up and kept playing. Or, they were genuinely injured. Their referee could have slipped over to the sideline for a smoke and a quick foot massage for all the work she needed do.
The men, playing Brazil, gave their referee the same easy ride. This may have had to do with the New Zealand team's unspoken game plan. Given winning was out of the question it was to keep the Brazilians from getting angry, and taking out their rage by scoring lots of goals.
The bonus would be keeping them from scoring for as long as possible, so the home viewers could bathe in a nil-nil scoreline for double digit minutes. That lasted about ninety seconds.
Still, getting off the field with the South American magicians pumping in only five has to be an achievement. Alas, the commentators couldn't say that. It would make them sound sarcastic, and have them attacked by pundits.
Surely, no pundit wants to do that.
Do they?
Ronaldinho gave the Oly Whites a footballing lesson. Photo / AP
