If the exaltation and praises of every football fan surrounding the World Cup has been riveted on a certain seafood and fowl (the latter in Singapore at least), the FIFA 2010 World Cup held in the African continent for the very first time has, for the lack of a kinder word, failed to inspire and capture the imagination of millions tuned into this phenomenal global event.

On the cold winter night of July 11th, there was a lining in the gloomy clouds and the colour was scarlet red instead of the usual silver – albeit briefly.

The La Furia Roja (Red Fury in Spanish) deservedly won the World Cup in Soccer City stadium after defeating the Oranje 1-0 in extra time in a final that many would like to forget or have already forgotten. The final between Spain and Netherlands was riddled with robust tackles, aggressive body checks and petulant tempers including a flying kick in the chest, ending goalless in full time with the threat of a lottery penalty looming before Andres Iniesta settled the score.

In truth, it was a poor match with the Spanish players shackled by the Dutch enforcers and denied the opportunity to play the exquisite and patient game of tiki-taka (passing football). Imagine Picasso, Monet and Van Gogh, painters and artisans of the craft, denied of their brushes.

It was a dull final without the vivid colours and beautiful strokes, an ill-fitted but appropriate denouncement to the tournament.

In a competition where most of the high-flier teams dropped like flies from the French to the English, there may be a lesson or two to be learnt from the impressive Spanish and Germans. The first eleven of the Spanish team in the finale all played in their very own La Liga with half of the team hailing from the eminent FC Barcelona. Players such as Xavi Hernandez, Cesc Fabregas, Carles Puyol, Gerard Pique, Andres Iniesta and Sergio Busquets all trained in the famous La Masia and shared the same football DNA.

Ditto for the Die Mannschaft (nickname for the Germans) with most of their players based in Germany playing for clubs like Hamburg, Werder Bremen and Bayern Munich. The English and a certain Italian should quit whining over scones and tea and start taking notes from these teams.

With one of the highest ratio of foreign players plying their trade in the English Premier League, English players have a lesser chance of breaking into the clubs at senior levels. This is a grassroots problem the English Football Association, which prides as the oldest (sadly, none the wisest) in the world, has to address quickly. But we know the entire league is plagued by greed where fat cheques are promised to attract foreign players to sell more merchandise, more sponsorship rights and more seats.

Greed, a sin that engulfs the world from collapsed economies to corrupted bankers, has seeped into the sport and inevitably, the World Cup. It makes logical sense to make business with sponsors but if it were done at the expense of the commoner, the man on the street, the football fan, then the soul of football is lost. How else can FIFA explain the empty seats in the stadiums? How could the average African without a substantial salary and plastic card (VISA to be exact) afford and have access to one of the most significant sporting events happening in his very own country and lifetime?

To pander to the European football calendar, the tournament is held barely a month after the leagues ended their seasons with most of the players arriving tired, weary and half-fit (read: Fernando Torres and Kaka). Lest we forget the UEFA Champions League knock-out stages are played in the final weeks of April and May, a tournament deemed more demanding, more challenging and more attractive than the World Cup itself. How can the players find the motivation to play then? Look at the disgraced French, who are more concerned about a mutiny than playing football.

No wonder most of the coaches chose to err on the side of caution employing the defensive 4-2-3-1 tactics consisting two holding midfielders to stop all attacking flair from the opposition and one centre forward to put in the goals. The two teams in the finale are guilty parties, including Dunga’s Brazil that stifled their own samba.

This is the story of the World Cup 2010 edition – severely lacking in goals (a ratio of 2.27 compared to highest 2.97 in 1970) and excitement with a thin plot centred on loose characters that have nothing to do with football from the deaf-inducing vuvuzela to prophesying sea creatures. Headlines need to be shouting about the wonders of the next Pele and Maradona (for a moment, we put our faith in Lionel Messi) and not lament on plastic trumpets causing ear injuries.

Four years from now, the World Cup shifts to a new continent, to the home of the samba, to the ground where Pele walks. If England is where football is an invention, then Brazil is where football is a religion, a way of life and a waking dream for every child kicking a ball in the fields and the favelas. And we pray football wakes up from its slumber.

Ronald Wan is a columnist and a freelance writer.

Read our past match reports on our micro site at http://www.theurbanwire.com/worldcup

Articles on FIFA 2010 World Cup:

World Cup Final Preview: A Tale of Two Nations – Ronald Wan

2010 World Cup Referees: Simply Horrendous or Mere Scapegoats? – Nigel Low

Beginning of an End – Ronald Wan

Contenders Stake Their Claim – Nigel Low

World Cup Survivor Kit – Amiril Muhaimin

If there were indeed a pantheon of gods playing football amongst us mere mortals, they had us fooled into thinking they were South Americans, epitomised in the rhythmic feet of Lionel Messi. For a brief moment, we were caught in the euphoria of Latin America lighting up the tournament in South Africa from Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay to Uruguay. We thought they already had their hands on the World Cup trophy.

This has been the story of the FIFA 2010 World Cup – the precariousness of supposedly predictable matches (Spain’s 1-0 opening match loss to Switzerland, a youthful Germany’s 1-0 loss to Serbia), the isolation and exile of pretentious gods (Cristiano Ronaldo, Wayne Rooney, Kaka) and the cries of the injustice (England’s disallowed goal over the line). The winds of change and unpredictability blow in every direction (like the Jabulani ball) and had every football fan tousled and dishevelled.

And so the fickle gods like to tease our weak minds. Turns out the gods were neither South American nor even the hyperbolic English, the latter inventors of football who disparaged the passing game into a kick and rush affair. These football gods whose touches caress the ball like silk covering every blade of grass on the field are in fact the Europeans, akin to their ancient Greek and Roman predecessors now immortalised into statues and paintings.

These gods, adorned in conspicuous robes of scarlet red and flaming orange, will spring forth from their long-drawn slumber and attempt to play the beautiful game in measured passes and hurried paces, in triangle setups and concentric dribbles, in blessed flair and consecrated technique, a divine and inspired display of attacking football, one with verve and another with patience.

Destiny calls on these gods hailing from Spain (or for the most part, Catalonia) and the Netherlands in Soccer City tonight to be held accountable for their immense talent and rich football culture that stoked the fires of every fan’s imagination but choked at the last hurdle in recent history.

Both teams stand divided in their pursuit of the World Cup for the first time ever but ironically, in the strangest twist of fate, these assembly of football idols share a similar history (like how the Greek and Roman gods and goddesses did) where paths once crossed, destinies altered and generations transformed.

The genesis began with a Dutch in a Spanish club. Rinus Michels, voted Coach of the Century by FIFA and inventor of Total Football, brought his tactics and adventurous football style to Nou Camp, home of Barcelona together with another Dutch legend Johan Cryuff.

From Nou Camp grounds rise the method and beauty of the passing game, the short passes, the languid pace, the total football that has been transformed into a cavalier style that more than 20 passes need to be played all over the field before putting the ball into the back of the net. This is tiki-taka football unleashed by the La Furia Roja (Spain’s nickname The Red Fury) at its hypnotic best – thanks to the Dutch no less.

And this is where the similarity stops between the two teams. For every rivalry, there are differences in the school of thought, a juxtaposition of styles and a contradiction of beliefs. The Dutch isn’t exactly playing the Total Football the Class of 74 led by Cryuff were famous and celebrated for. This time, the sense of adventure by the Oranje is somewhat stifled with a defensive mindset and the mind of a brute.

“I’d rather play an extremely ugly game and win,” said Arjen Robben. Mark van Bommel, the beast who body-checked players and intimidated referees, has escaped with a surprising total of just one yellow card booking so far in this tournament. He too, will try to unshackle creative midfield maestros like Xavi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta of Spain. Such is the new brand of Total Football approved by the Oranje Army, to attack like wild horses and undermine opponents like bulldozers.

Purist fans (this writer included) do not hope for aggression to prevail, which is inevitable as these football gods have nothing to lose except a fine line between infamy and damnation, triumph and the unbearable lightness of victory.

As the world watches tonight united and divided, we need to be reminded of the beautiful game, of how it should be played by the gods who are blessed with the skills to defend with resoluteness, to attack with panache, and most importantly, to thread exquisite passes from defence to midfield to attack seamlessly. And if the scarlet red of the Spanish pass masters were able to own the beautiful game tonight like how they did against the organised and fluid Germans, the La Furia Roja deserves to win.

Ronald Wan is a columnist and a freelance writer. And clearly a Spanish fan.

Follow our live text commentary on Twitter @theurbanwire

Read our match reports on our microsite at http://www.theurbanwire.com/worldcup

Articles on FIFA 2010 World Cup:

2010 World Cup Referees: Simply Horrendous or Mere Scapegoats? – Nigel Low

Beginning of an End – Ronald Wan

Contenders Stake Their Claim – Nigel Low

World Cup Survivor Kit – Amiril Muhaimin

Shambolic performances, players’ mutiny, shocking losses, tired legs from playing months of intensive football in Europe, disallowed goals, altitude and a much derided match ball that swivels like a kite, the litany of excuses, rhetoric disguised as rationalisations, and tragic endings to the hyperbolic headlines ring hollow and louder than even the vuvuzelas.

Where do we even begin?

It was written in the first match night with the Jabulani ball (which you can win from UrbanWire’s World Cup microsite) kicked off by the farcical French, which subsequently descended into a strike (very French, if you ask me), its Sports Minister and federation chiding the players into shame and the 2006 finalist’s eventual exit. Good riddance to Allez France, including defending champions Italy, which comprises a stable of old war horses puffing their way through ignominy.

And there was the low goal ratio in the earlier part of the tournament thanks to half-fit players (Drogba, Torres, Kaka, Ronaldo guilty as charged) and a ball that floated uneasily in the air and bounced too easily off goalkeepers’ safe hands (Robert Greenfingers). Until Germany’s 4-0 defeat of Australia, Argentina’s 4-1 drubbing of South Korea and Portugal’s 7-0 goal buffet lifted some spirits.

It was ironic too when the world’s best players plied their trade in some of the toughest leagues in Europe and ended up all bruised and battered at the end of the seasons, carrying their bags to South Africa. Turns out it was just an Indian summer for so-called European mavericks like France, Italy, Serbia, Greece and Denmark, teams that arrived with some respect, high expectations but offered absolutely nothing to the imagination.

But if fatigue were not an excuse, then what does one make of Carlos Tevez and Gareth Barry, club mates at Manchester City who played almost the same number of club matches, but performed differently at their respective national levels? Tevez was brilliant for Maradona’s Argentina, but Barry failed to make an impact in an indifferent English side.

History doesn’t lie and has a habit of foretelling what lies ahead. No European team has won the World Cup outside of its continent, which is a hard fact for favourites Spain, Netherlands and Germany to stomach. Spain’s shocking 1-0 loss to Switzerland and Germany’s 1-0 defeat by Serbia showed how these Europeans could simply choke in the winter altitude anytime.

Choke they did and the latest fallen comrade in the second round included the Three Lions that became lambs slaughtered by the ruthless Germans. The English returned home to criticism from the melodramatic press (no surprises) which in the first place heaped praises and pressure on the team before the tournament, labelling them the golden generation. With Emile Heskey, the Aston Villa striker who managed 5 goals for the entire season in the English Premier League, there’s nothing gold, silver or glittery about Fabio Capello’s squad.

Amid the banality befitting the World Cup (think England’s goalless draw with Algeria, France’s half-hearted displays and Cristiano Ronaldo’s no-show at the tournament except for a farewell spit), there’s still a glimmer of hope that things will turn for the better because sports, above politics, above show business and above contrite Hollywood movies, makes people believe in the impossible.

A belief that beauty, technique and God’s work shall prevail in Lionel Messi dribbling with the ball glued to his feet, Mesut Ozil slicing a pass through the Australian defence like butter and Arjen Robben sidestepping defenders before stroking the ball into the net.

This belief and hope exist.

Such is the unadulterated hope and infectious joy of every football fan in watching the Spanish play tiki-taka football, the Brazilians exulting samba while balancing Dunga’s pragmatism, the organised Germans counter attacking swiftly, the Dutch mesmerising us with Total Football, the Argentineans attacking and attacking with careless abandon under the spell of their legendary coach who is unfortunately, or rather uncomfortably wrapped in a fancy suit, and just about every South American team making meatballs (or picanha) out of the European continental masters.

Goals imploded (David Villa and Gonzalo Higuain have four goals each), returning players like Robben showed glimpses of brilliance, back-to-back action flowed (Germany vs England, Argentina vs Mexico) and the Asians fared admirably with South Korea and Japan advancing to the second round. Even the beautiful free kicks were translating into goals.

Finally, there is life breathed into football, magic instilled in those blessed legs and a sense of wonder that more is to come in the last 7 matches of the tournament. UrbanWire waits with bated breath at the sight of open, magnetic football between Brazil and the Netherlands and at the juxtaposition of liberating and counter attacking between Argentina and Germany.

In just over a week, the world will come to terms and mourn the end of a sporting event that dazzled many, berate poor refereeing decisions, curse under-performing players, chant the names of goal scorers, whisper prayers for victories and healing injuries, and celebrate the 2 deserving teams that will play their hearts out in the finale in Soccer City. This time, the cries, chants and prayers will shake the grounds much louder than the vuvuzelas.

Ronald Wan is a contributing editor. For more match reports and news, and the chance to win the Jabulani soccer ball, visit our World Cup microsite at http://www.theurbanwire.com/worldcup