Hungary came close to qualifying for the World Cup, only to spectacularly fall at the last hurdle. Simon Evans chronicles their humliating play-off defeat
Hungarian fans belong to an elite group who have earnt themselves the prefix ‘long-suffering’. Having watched their national team and domestic league get steadily worse over the past decade, a uniquely silly Finnish own goal gave their team a point in Helsinki and a final chance of making it to France 98.
Japan will play in a World Cup for the first time in their history. Sam Wallace claims the achievement will have a knock-on effect through the country
The Adidas advert where Beckham, Gazza and Del Piero play against clones of themselves has a different twist in Japan. At the end the winning goal is scored by Japan’s international midfielder Hiroshi Nanami. In the final frame Nanami tries to exchange shirts with his double who instead demands Nanami’s boots. The irony is that probably the only player who recognised Nanami in that team of superstars was the player himself. But all this might change after France 98. Here in Asia the economic miracle has at last been succeeded by its sporting cousin: Japan have qualified for their first World Cup.
Mike Woitalla profiles the coach who successfully steered the US to France 98
President Ronald Reagan had returned from a tour of Latin America and revealed, “You know, they’re all individual countries.” Unfortunately, Reagan made that discovery after making a toast to his “Bolivian” hosts – while in Brazil. During his eventful stint as vice president, Dan Quayle visited Central America and gave the crowd what in the USA is an okay sign – index finger to thumb to create an ‘o’. But there, that means arsehole. Bill Clinton, conscious that US rulers often get cold receptions in Latin America, had a plan to ingratiate himself to Brazilians. He juggled a soccer ball with Pelé in a Rio de Janeiro favela, as they call the shantytowns that produce players like Romário.
“I was having a lunchtime beer in Terry Neil’s bar in Holborn when in walked George Best. He went downstairs where he was waiting to be interviewed by Sky TV. Twenty minutes later, in strolled Rodney Marsh ‘Can anybody move my car for me, I’m parked on a double yellow line?’Several people pretended to be in deep conversation, others were gazing into their beer glasses but nobody offered to help. ‘Can somebody park it for me I’m late for an interview’ said Rod in a pleading voice. This time there was almost complete silence. ‘Please’ said Rod beginning to sound desperate. The tension was unbearable, somebody had to crack. They did – it was me. ‘Give us the keys I’ll park it round the back,’ I said.
Day 21 of the WSC advent calendar and we’re looking at Christmas football. These days it is something to look forward to but, in issue 131, January 1998, Olly Wicken‘s grandad claimed that this wasn’t always the case
I went to my first Christmas game in 1933, at the age of twelve. I’ll never forget it. It was a cold and bright Christmas Day morning (Christmas Day fixtures were the norm in those days). My Christmas stocking was still hanging unopened over the hearth when my father wrapped me up in my muffler, cap and overcoat and walked me along frosty pavements to the ground. Once inside, I was passed over the heads of the crowd down to the front of the terrace. From there I saw the local derby end in a five-all draw. Our inside-left – I forget his name now – scored all five. Then, on Boxing Day afternoon, my father took me to the return match across town, which we won by the odd goal in thirteen, making the aggregate score twelve-eleven over the two days. It was typical of Christmas fixtures back then. Both games were shit.