USA x Ghana; Argentina x Mexico; Brasil x Chile

20 million people suffered because Bob Bradley didn't get his tactics right. The same sorry scene from 2006 repeated itself. USAmerican defensive central midfielder gets caught in possession with a crunching tackle from a bigger, faster, stronger player (Reyna, 2006; Clark 2010), goal for Ghana. From there, Bradley was forced to change Clark for Edu and the game turned in favor of the Yanks. The second change, Feilhaber for Findley, should have happened the day before, not at halftime. The third change, Gomes for Altidore, was completely absurd as the USA lost physical presence in the box. Oh well. The Yanks earned a lot of respect here in Brazil for their raça e garra. Look for the USA to be based in the north of Brazil for the 2014 WC, probably Manaus or Fortaleza, places that have direct flights from the East Coast. 

At the FFF, the Mexican fans outnumbered the Argentines.Geographically, that didn't make any dang sense at all. Following more general football logic, the vast majority of the 10,000 strong crowd were pulling for Mexico. Every time Maradona's face showed on the screen the guy next to me would scream "Pelé". He would also scream "Maricón" at every opporutnity, the equivalent of yelling "faggot". His probably learned the word from watching this commercial for Skol, one of Brazil's many interpretations of Bud Light. 

Everyone agrees that Tevez's first goal was offside. But what about that pass from Messi? As the ball was floating ever so gently on to Carlitos' offside head, Messi was indicating with his own head that Tevez should head it home. It was as if Messi was passing the ball to himself. Even playing poorly, Messi is a destabilizing factor. The same could be said for Higuain, who continues to destabilize me because he is so out of form. Yet he continues to score goals. Unfortunately for Argentina his continued inclusion (and the whirling dervish defending of Heinze, plus getting overwhelmed in a three man midfield) will not cut it against Germany. Pity that.

When Brazil plays in the World Cup, everyone in the country takes the afternoon or morning off. They should take the whole day because going to work dressed in yellow and getting back home with everyone else at the same time causes an incredible amount of traffic chaos. Heading north from the center yesterday on the Metro was not for the claustrophobic. Within three stops, a totally empty train filled to the point where I literally could not move my arms. The air conditioning had no effect. There was no point in holding on to anything because there was nowhere to move. Were there an accident, everyone would die. With so much extra weight, do the brakes still work? The train lurched around curves. In order to get out of the car,  I had to slither and push and squirm before being shot onto the platform like a watermelon seed out of a slippery mouth. Many tens of thousands listened to the first half in their cars, paralyzed. 

Kaká's first involvement in the game was positive, so I settled in for a Chilean loss. The pace of the game was extraordinary. Brazil did not leave any time on the ball for the Chilean midfield and the technical superiority of Alves, Ramirez, Kaká, and Robinho won the day. It's hard to take a football off a Brazilian, which in turn makes for very few opportunities to counterattack, which contributes to defensive stability. Forced to chase the game after a well-taken corner, Chile opened up, leaving a 3v3 situation with Robinho, Kaká, and Luis Fabiano running at speed. Game over. 

3-0 was a fair result. Unfair were the interviews with Kaká's mom and grandmother during halftime and after the game. A perpetual state of forced ignorance of what actually happened during the game is shoved down the collective throat by OGlobo. The presentation perpetuation of Kaká as some kind of capital-religious-footballing superhero that embodies the best virtues of Brazilian-ness continues to make me sick. There's some dirty, dirty stuff going on with that lad with very open fights between him and Juca Kfuri in the Brazilian media. 

My general sense of Brazilian fandom in relation to the national team is that people would much rather see their club teams win than the seleção. The CBF has done a wonderful job of distancing the team from the people. The vast majority of people I know have never seen the seleção play in person, nor are they likely to see them. 20 of the 23 Brazilian players in the World Cup ply their trade abroad, so there's no identification with them as local or even national figures. Of course, everyone is happy to see the team win, but it's kind of like cheering for the USA Basketball team in the Olympics. The win is expected, there's low emotional investment because of the general lack of tension, so why not use the opportunity of the game to party with friends and family? The social role of the seleção and the World Cup is much more profound than I had imagined, full of the contradictions and coherencies that make this such a fascinating place to live. 

Brasil x Ivory Coast, a few days later

The Rio de Janeiro FIFA Fan Fest (FFF) is a textbook example of how space can be manipulated to create and reproduce socio-economic hierarchies, cultural value systems and accelerate patterns of consumption. Watching Brazil versus Ivory Coast there on Sunday afternoon was a strangely unemotional experience in a country and city that prides itself on stopping everything for the national team.

The streets surrounding the FFF in Copacabana were full of yellow clad fans heading in all directions. Since it was Sunday afternoon, the Avenida Atlântica was closed to cars. On the sidewalks where there would have normally been camelôs (vendors) selling hats and shirts and beer and food, there were cops making sure that no commerce outside the realm of FIFA was occurring. The sterilization of the area surrounding the FFF was stunning. That public employees were directed to liberate public space for AmBev to sell beer at twice the price of informal vendors made me thirsty.

The line into the FFF was long. Hundreds of security guards regulated the waves of fans who passed through the various checkpoints. No one was concerned about the rules that prohibit the wearing of bathing suits into the FFF. However, inside the FFF, there were no musical instruments, no drums, no vuvuzelas (thank God). It would have been difficult to hear the crowd above the pounding bass of the booty beats coming from the gigantic stage. As the FFF filled, people passed out on the sand, hundreds lined up to get their beers and dancing started to take over the crowd. There was a definitive party atmosphere, ripe with anticipation. There were no songs about the national team, no syncopated “Brasil, Brasil, Brasil” chants, just people at a stage on the beach, dancing about with the people they came with.

The journalists were able to hang out in the shade of some palm trees in relative comfort, while the majority of the crowd baked in the afternoon sun. The VIPs in the Coca-Cola and Itaú boxes danced with the pretty lads that were there to lead them though some dance steps. In the Hyundai tent, young couples circulated around the cars. Two hundred people waited in line to get the Sony 3D experience. On the sand in front of the stage, people danced until the party was interrupted to watch a video game simulation (FIFA 2010, of course) of the Brazil versus Ivory Coast game, replete with live commentary. This is the spectacularization of the banal.

Thirsty, I went to get some beer and was shocked to see that it came out of a can and into a plastic cup. There were 18,000 people in the FFF. That’s a lot of cans. The maxim of the mega-event seems to be “maximize consumption.” I went back for more just to be sure. New can, new cup. Delicious.

I have catalogued for some time why I am not a fan of the Seleção Brasileira. I can’t take the smug satisfaction, the religious proselytizing mixed with crass commercialism, the corruption of the Brazilian Football Confederation (CBF), the sense that winning the World Cup is an inalienable Brazilian right combined with a kind of dispassionate consumption of the spectacle.

Then there’s Kaká, Dunga, Robinho, Lúcio, Luis Fabiano and Dani Alves with their pinched expressions, their petulant characters, their mercenary attitudes, their futebol de resultados, their crass commercialism.

Brazil is not playing well. Kaká is putting in especially poor performances. The first five times the unholy warrior touched the ball, he lost it. In the sixth minute, he was dispossessed twice. It happened again in the 11th, 14th and 21st minutes.

The game was ugly, not at all helped by Ivory Coast’s lack of interest in football and Drogba’s total lack of movement. I watched the game with my dad, who knows a thing or two about football, and he commented, “It’s like watching an MLS game.” Ouch. The crowd was quiet. No songs, no noise, no chants, nothing.

When Ivory Coast missed a key tackle and the ball popped up at Kaká’s feet, he slotted through from Luis Fabiano who could barely miss. 1-0. The goal came out of nothing, a mistake, a fortunate bounce. The crowd exploded, someone threw beer all over me and then nothing happened until half time, when nothing much more happened. A terrible half of football in a crowd of 17,000 atomized individuals.

Luis Fabiano’s second goal was as unbelievable as it was illegal. The short clip of the French referee running back to midfield with Fabiano, asking if it was a handball, laughing and then patting his FIFA badge, launched a thousand conspiracy theories in my mind: There is much talk about Ricardo Teixeira, the president of the CBF, running against Blatter for the FIFA presidency next time around. Could it be that FIFA is giving a few presents to the Brazilians? Could it be that Ivory Coast was paid to let Brazil walk over them? How can two handballs in two seconds be missed by two referees? Why was there laughter in missing the call? With Brazil playing so poorly, has FIFA agreed to let them through to the next round?

If the second goal came out of nothing, the third goal made me think that the fix really was in. The Ivorian right back allowed Kaká to get to the line easily, when even slight pressure on his holiness would have complicated the cross. Elano flew into the middle of the box unmarked, 3-0. The goal came out of weak defending as much as attacking buildup and put the game out of reach. Where was the Ivory Coast team that took the game to Portugal? Why was Drogba so sleepy?

The Ivorian reaction to their 3-0 deficit (perhaps annoyed that their federation had sold the game?) was to start kicking the snot out of everyone and everything (and the Brazilians under Dunga are just as likely to do the same thing under similar circumstances).

Dunga should be blamed as much as Kaká for the latter’s sending off. Knowing that the key player to Brazilian success in the tournament is injured and off-form, why not take him off with a 3-0 lead? Kaká got involved in some scuffles, drew a yellow, and then threw an elbow - a well deserved explusion.
From there Dunga blew a gasket, screaming ladrão, ladrão (thief, thief) at the French referee. In the post-match press conference, Dunga tore into some journalists calling them “pieces of shit” among other niceties. FIFA decided not to take action against him.

Kaká, roundly criticized for his petulance, had a go at the son of the polemical journalist Juca Kufuri. Kaká claimed he was the target of journalistic persecution because he is a follower of Jesus Christ. Kaká, persecuted? Jaysus Christ! Every time someone clicks on the FIFA website to watch game highlights (which are all exactly 2:12 long, somehow), they see Kaká shooting a ball at some ostensibly African goal. I feel persecuted by Kaká! This guy is THE face of FIFA and he’s bitching about being persecuted? Fala serio.

I think Kaká’s sending-off was intentional so he could rest his injured groin before the second round.

Brazil only played about 10 minutes of football against Ivory Coast, finally getting into a rhythm that resembled Brazil in the 32nd minute of the second half. The defense lost concentration late, allowing Drogba to do something other than walk around carrying his limp arm.

Watching a game with thousands of Brazilians is not particularly exciting. The Brazilians admit this. There is only one song with one line, repeated halfheartedly. With so much of the national consciousness wrapped up in the national team, I was expecting more.

I have been asked innumerable times if I have ever spent a World Cup in Brazil, a negative answer followed by quick guarantee that there is nothing like it. After watching Brazil versus Ivory Coast, I’m pretty sure there is.