Dear WSC
All of the articles in the last edition relating to the events in Rome were very illuminating but I can’t help feeling that just about every one of your commentators, not to mention David Mellor and the FA, seem to have missed one vital point. Is it not the case that the Italian police (and for that matter, police in this country) should be told by their masters that if somebody has done something which contravenes the law of the land then they should be arrested and dealt with accordingly? If they haven’t then they should be left alone. The overriding image that has stayed with me since the match (apart from of course the dire football played on the pitch) was of police officers battering English fans in a frenzy of sadistic pleasure. In particular I remember watching, mouth agape, as about half a dozen helmeted meatheads set about one man who just happened to be caught behind their lines. The poor man curled up into a ball while they set about him with their truncheons. I don’t know what they thought he had done, but nobody deserves that sort of treatment, least of all from members of the constabulary. It seems to be a growing attitude amongst the authorities, the police, and some of your writers that if you go to a football match, then you open yourself up to a possible battering from the police – that’s just your bad luck. Let’s get this event into some kind of perspective. Police the world over like hitting people – that’s why they become police officers – and football matches (like picket lines) gives them the perfect opportunity. To my mind it’s as simple as that. The responsibility for the mayhem inside the ground belongs undoubtedly to the police authorities who clearly told their men to go and crack some heads. It matters not a jot whether other fans were drunk, abusive or whatever. The fans inside the ground were used for a bit of fun by the Italian police, which is something that should be deplored by everybody, not just football fans.
Jeffrey Lamb, Brighton
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.