Quest For Immortality: A Short Story

[EvilDave]

Hi guys, you may remember me from my Banbury short story, The Little Town That Could. Well I'm back, with a different team and another tale to tell. Feel free to comment or criticise, but aboe all enjoy. Here goes!

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11th July 2010 – Soccer City Stadium, Johannesburg, Republic of South Africa

For all those who doubted that the South Africans would be incapable of staging a World Cup filled with the usual carnival atmosphere and passionate crowds only had to look around to know that they were well and truly wrong. Mexican manager Sanchez Cordoba did exactly that, the 90,000 strong crowd simply overawing the 41-year old as he stepped out onto the Soccer City turf. As he raised his right arm to acknowledge his team’s audience, a veritable sea of colour roared their appreciation – the Mexican fans naturally playing the role of most vocal minority, but by no means the only spectators cheering on the men in green. Having been the world’s favourite underdogs ever since their remarkable comeback victory against Argentina in the Second Round, Cordoba’s side had been the subject of many an outside bet, and many stood to make small fortunes should the Central Americans emerge victorious in the South African sunshine.

Adding yet more spice to this most eagerly-awaited of finals was the opposition. Red-hot favourites for the tournament, undefeated since 2007 save for a dramatic penalty shoot-out defeat to Germany in the final of Euro 2008, and regarded by many to be the best footballing side since Pelé’s Brazil team of 1970, Rafa Benitez’s Spain were also looking for their first major silverware in generations. In every position, starting with Iker Casillas in goal and concluding with the formidable partnership of Fernando Torres and Valencia’s superstar David Villa up front, the Iberians looked every inch the best team in the world, and having dispatched reigning world champions Italy and a much-fancied French team on their path to Johannesburg, it was no surprise that they were to start the match as odds-on favourites to lift the World Cup Trophy. Even disregarding the quality of the Spanish side and the occasion, the mere fact that Mexico would play Spain, their former colonial masters, for the first time in a competitive international since 1962 was enough to evoke a wave of patriotism in Latin America, and the television coverage was quick to remind viewers of the fierce rivalry between the two nations. The entire Mexican nation was swept in a burning desire to break the Spanish shackles, and for everybody watching it was clear that this was much more than a football match.

This was compounded as the capacity crowd rose for the national anthems of both nations. Heads bowed, the Mexican contingent remained deadly silent as La Marcha Real stirred the Spanish hearts, and the favourites could only have been intimidated as the crowd could only respect and not join in with their wordless anthem, and the contrast with the Mexican rendition was monumental. As the stadium echoed with ‘Mexicans, at the cry of war,’ central defensive rock Patricio Araujo could be seen fighting back the tears, and for a man who had just turned down a big-money move to Real Madrid in favour of Mexican champions Toluca the unashamed patriotism was could only have given him yet another reason to put his body on the line for his country.

As the anthems concluded, a huge roar erupted inside the stadium, and the waiting was finally over. For the half hour prior to the anthems, the huge screen had reminded the crowd of both team’s progress to the final, and Cordoba had watched the clips of his team with a great deal of pride. It had been a World Cup journey which had almost been over before it began – A lacklustre goalless draw with Mali was almost followed by a potentially fatal tie with an improving Serbian team, but a 87th minute penalty save from young goalkeeper Francisco Guillermo Ochoa preserved a 2-1 lead and a much-need 3 points, before Holland were impressively brushed aside 2-0. In the next game against rivals Argentina, his side had gone in two goals down at half-time before turning it round to win 4-2, capped off by a delightful chip from Milan star Giovani Dos Santos with seconds remaining. It was Mexico’s opponents who had made the headlines in the next two rounds – whilst Cordoba’s side eased past surprise package Australia and then ended the hopes of a Brazil-conquering Ivory Coast team with a three-goal victory, Benitez’s men followed up a Second Round win over France with a controversial extra-time win over Capello’s England in which both sides finished with ten men, and then booked their Final spot by knocking out defending champions Italy on penalties...

[EvilDave]

Memories aside and pre-match obligations fulfilled, the whole world waited with baited breath for the Final to kick off. Cordoba took his seat in the dugout and considered his line-up – Ochoa had performed brilliantly in goal throughout the tournament, and looked likely to be rewarded with a post-tournament move, ironically, to Spain. In defence, Carlos Salcido and Oscar Rojas provided strength on the flanks, with the latter in particular also keen to bomb forward in support of the attack. The youthful centre-back pairing of Araujo and Chivas star Johnny Magallon, a late replacement for the injured skipper Rafael Marquez, had been a revelation, looking shaky early on but growing in confidence throughout the tournament. Sitting in front of the back four, new captain Luis Ernesto Perez was in the form of his life, and provided excellent service for playmaking midfielder Edgar Andrade. On the wings Mexico possessed two of the world’s finest attacking talents, with Manchester United’s £20 million signing Andres Guardado flying down the left and Dos Santos providing vision and creativity on the right. Up front, Arsenal’s lastest wonderkid Carlos Vela was partnered by Bayern Munich striker Nery Castillo, and that particular pairing had put some of the world’s more established partnerships to shame thus far. Cordoba was nervous but confident, and whilst he knew the Spaniards looked better on paper, his side certainly possessed the skill and spirit to beat anyone on their day.

Slovakian referee Lubos Michel raised the whistle to his lips, and an enormous cheer continued for what seemed like an eternity. Castillo rolled the ball forward to Vela, and the 2010 World Cup final was underway. It took only seconds for the tension to show itself in the players’ actions, and almost to devastating effect – as Dos Santos rolled the ball casually back to Magallon in defence, the youngster inexplicably failed to control the pass, and Ochoa needed to be wide awake in order to prevent David Villa poaching a goal inside the opening thirty seconds. As the Spaniards waiting for the ball to be retrieved (the multi-ball system was scrapped for the quarters after an incident in the South Africa-Italy game which led to the host’s defeat), captain Perez placed an assuring hand on the shoulder of the young centre-back, and the early-match nerves appeared to be disappearing. From the resulting throw-in, almost as if to prove a point, Perez robbed Cesc Fabregas and laid it back to Magallon, who this time calmly rolled the ball into the path of Rojas with no hint of nervous tension. On the bench, Cordoba stifled a huge sigh of relief, applauded his young defender and afforded himself a smile – his team had survived the opening moments, and two of his most important players were allowing themselves a shared grin. For a team which had never reached a World Cup Final before, and had not been expected to despite being in the midst of a so-called ‘golden generation,’ his side looked relatively calm, and Cordoba’s hopes for victory had not be lowered by Magallon’s moment of shakiness.

Just five minutes later, it appeared that any pre-match nerves on the Mexican part had been completely dispelled. Winning a freekick just inside the Spanish half, Guardado tapped it inside the Perez and set off on a trademark run down the left wing, forcing Joaquin to track the Man Utd winger. Moving quickly into the space, Andrade called for the ball and turned quickly to face goal around 35 yards out. Dropping his left shoulder, the Deportivo playmaker drew the tackle from Javi Martinez before exploding right and unleashing a thunderbolt of a shot which rifled towards Casillas’ goal. As it reached the edge of the penalty area, young Gerard Pique lunged towards it with his head, causing a huge deflection which wrong-footed the Real Madrid keeper. The eyes of the world watched as the ball looped towards the far corner of the net, but Spanish fans across the world let out a collective sigh as it brushed the top of the net, Pique sheepishly raised an apologetic hand to his goalkeeper and the ball drifted harmlessly out for a Mexican corner. The effort was greeted with rapturous applause from the crowd, and the television cameras caught a glimpse of a wide-eyed Rafa Benitez wiping his brow in relief. The Spaniards had been warned, and although the resultant corner kick came to nothing they were now fully aware that this Mexican team were not, as some so-called ‘experts’ had foolishly predicted, simply there for the taking.

With both teams now as settled as is possible into the atmosphere of a World Cup Final, the game took a much more tentative approach. The two destroyers on the field, Javi Martinez for Spain and Perez for the Mexicans, became the dominant forces in the match, intercepting through ball after through ball and occasionally firing long balls to be headed clear by defenders or collected by either of the two goalkeepers. The match appeared to be fine to technical purists, but its entertainment value was decreasing with every misplaced pass. In the 17th minute however, the game sprang to life as Salcido found Guardado down the left. The Man Utd winger stepped inside Joaquin, but the Valencia man was having none of it. As Guardado appealed for a freekick, Joaquin gathered the loose ball and laid it inside to Fabregas. Looking up, the midfield maestro played a quick one-two with Martinez to escape the attentions of Perez, and in a moment of genius scooped the ball over the on-rushing Araujo. Wasting no time, Fernando Torres raced through the gap between the centre-backs to take the ball on the chest, and in one graceful movement lashed a right-foot volley across goal. Ochoa stood flatfooted on his six-yard line as the ball arrowed towards the top corner, smashing into the far post before nestling in the opposite corner of the net. It was the Liverpool hitman’s seventh goal of the tournament, and Spain were 1-0 up. Cordoba raced to the edge of his technical area and yelled to his players to stay focused, and he was pleased to see Perez calming the devastated Guardado. Irrespective of his team’s spirit however, the bottom line remained that they were a goal down to arguably the best team in the world, and there was only a quarter of an hour on the clock.

[EvilDave]

Calling on his tactical knowledge picked up as manager of Atlante and later at Benfica in Portugal, he shouted instructions for both Perez and Andrade to push forward. He knew all too well that this would probably afford Fabregas a little more space than was ideal, but by shifting his playmaker into the hole behind Vela and Castillo he hoped to force the Arsenal man and Javi Martinez to drop a little deeper, where they would be confined to the longer ball and riskier passes. It was a move that won him the 2008 Clausura title for Atlante, but had cost him the Portuguese Cup as Porto’s Lucho Gonzalez had made the most of the extra space to score a late brace. As such, Cordoba was all too aware of the risks he was taking, but the nod of confidence from assistant manager Claudio Suarez convinced him that a failure to act would run the even greater risk of demoralising his players, and that by taking action he would instil a little belief in his team.

Whatever the implications of Cordoba’s tinkering, it was clear to all watching that the goal had succeeded in taking a huge weight off the shoulders of the Spanish team. Sergio Ramos and Antonio Lopez were freed of their defensive duties and became increasingly instrumental in supporting their team’s attacks. Javi Martinez found his usual role as a destructive force almost unnecessary as his side dominated possession, and so became a more creative force in the match alongside Fabregas. Just three minutes after Torres’ goal, the Bilbao midfielder collected a throw from Casillas and drove on towards the Mexican defence, sidestepping the more advanced Perez with relative ease. Surveying the field, he lofted an inch-perfect ball into the path of a rampaging Lopez down the left. The Athletico left-back faked a pass back to Silva in support, but instead wrong-footed Rojas and headed for the byline. As Araujo scrambled back to cover for his fullback, Lopez cut the ball back towards the penalty spot with Ochoa stranded on his near post. Cordoba buried his head in his hands as he looked up to see Torres striding on to the ball, and only raised it again when he heard the jeers of the crowd. To everybody’s amazement, the Liverpool striker calmly stroked his effort a good three yards wide of the open goal, and the Mexicans lived to fight another day. Torres, on the other hand, appeared almost nonchalant, flicking his hair back before trotting casually back for the goal kick. This lack of respect for the opposition did not go unnoticed, and Cordoba allowed himself a wry smile as he looked up to see Ochoa and Perez pointing out the striker’s arrogance to their team-mates. With any luck, he thought to himself, it would not go unpunished.

After Torres’ miss and public display of disrespect to the Mexicans, it was little surprise that things began to get a little more heated. On 25 minutes, Joaquin received the wall on the Spanish right and put his head down in preparation for another mazy run. Having been robbed by the Valencia man previously, Guardado sensed the opportunity for revenge and lunged into the challenge, being sure to take the ball but following through with a nasty swipe at the winger’s trailing leg. The Slovakian referee waved play on as Joaquin clutched at his ankle, and Guardado swiftly moved the ball on so that any retribution would be severely punished. Unfortunately for Mexico, the Spaniards showed a little more intelligence in exacting their revenge. As Guardado’s pass reached the left foot of Andrade, Cesc Fabregas flew in with a vicious tackle, making very little attempt to play the ball and sending the Deportivo playmaker sprawling. With no hesitation, Lubos Michel blew his whistle and raced to the scene of the crime, brandishing a yellow card to the Arsenal man despite the vigorous protests of his team-mates and signalling a freekick to Mexico 15 yards inside the Spanish half. On the touchline, Cordoba took issue with the fourth official, demanding a red card which would undoubtedly turn the game in his side’s favour. In fact, the Mexican manager was so engrossed in his verbal tirade that he completely missed Castillo’s header from Perez’s ball in flash wide of Casillas’ near post, although the Real Madrid stopper claimed to have had it covered. Excusable perhaps, given that his playmaker was still receiving treatment for the injury picked up in Fabregas’ tackle. Just over five minutes later, it became apparent that Andrade would not be able to complete the match, and Cordoba had a decision to make.

Mexico’s first team had so far produced an outstanding performance, reaching the final against all odds and defeating some of the world’s biggest teams in Holland, Ivory Coast and Argentina. However, thus far Cordoba had not had to deal with any major injuries or suspensions – third choice keeper Alamo had broken a finger in training prior to the game against Australia, but he had never stood a chance of getting on the pitch barring a disaster. In reserve, the Mexicans did not possess the depth of a Spain, Italy or Argentina, and the Cordoba had some doubts over the suitability of some of second string for the situation. The injury to Andrade left him with three main options – perhaps the most cautious option would be to replace him with the more defensively minded Gerardo Torrado, but the Osasuna man was the wrong side of 30 and lacked pace, and the idea of two destroyers and no creator on the pitch did not appeal to Cordoba given the scoreline. Option two was to drop Vela into the hole and bring on either Villarreal veteran Guillermo Franco or Andrade’s Deportivo team-mate Omar Bravo to partner Castillo, but such an attacking line-up may leave too many gaps for the Spaniards to exploit. The third option was a bit of a wildcard. 17-year old Martin Galvan had never played a senior international but had stood out in the attacking midfield role for a title-winning Cruz Azul team. Not wanting to risk an untested teenager in such a high-pressure environment, Cordoba gave the signal for 33-year old Franco to remove his tracksuit, and Mexico were restored to their full 11 men.

[EvilDave]

As half-time approached, the Mexicans began to grow in stature, with Vela in particular revelling in his new creative role and both fullbacks able to create the overlap more frequently. With just a minute to go until the whistle, Dos Santos made use of this overlap to lose his marker. As Lopez followed Rojas down the line, the Milan man strode into the space and shaped to shoot before shifting the ball cleverly onto his left foot to breeze past Raul Albiol and burst into the penalty area. With the Spanish defence forced to turn on its heels, Dos Santos moved towards the near post before looking for a pass to set up a certain equaliser. As Castillo sped through however, a desperate challenge from a scrambling Lopez took the legs of Dos Santos, and the Milan forward went down under the tackle for a stonewall penalty. Not even Lopez himself could bring himself to protest his innocence, and the world once again held its breath as Lubos Michel pointed to the spot and once again brandished his yellow card. Cordoba could not bring himself to watch as his captain placed the ball on the spot and prepared for his run-un – 18 months ago his Benfica team had lost a shoot-out 9-8 to Lazio in the Emirates Cup, and since then he had held nothing but a burning hatred for penalty kicks. Turning his back on the game, he reacted only to the gasps of the crowd and spun around to see Iker Casillas punching the air and being congratulated by his team, the Real Madrid stopper plunging down to his left hand side and tipping Perez’s well-struck penalty around the post with his outstretched fingertips.

Cordoba could not believe what was unfolding before him. His team had dominated since Andrade’s injury and would have thoroughly deserved any equaliser which came their way, and yet Casillas had once again added to his reputation as the best goalkeeper in the world. Perez’s penalty was firm and seemed destined for the bottom corner, in fact Cordoba was at a loss as to how his captain had failed to get on the scoresheet. As the half-time whistle blew, the Mexican manager found himself with a team who knew that they should be level but weren’t, and a captain distraught at failing to convert his spot-kick in no fit state to be inspiring his side to victory.

Instead of consoling his side, Cordoba decided to generate a bit of confidence by switching to a more attacking set-up for the second half. Here knew the risks associated with more experimental tactics, but this was the definition of an all-or-nothing situation. Knowing the possibility of extra time was still very real, he restricted himself to a single change to allow room of injury or fatigue to be catered for at a later date – right-back Rojas replaced by the 17-year old Martin Galvan, and the team switching to an attacking 3-4-3 formation with a back three of Salcido, Araujo and Magallon, a midfield diamond of Perez, Guardado, Dos Santos and Galvan and a three-pronged attack of Vela, Franco and Castillo. The wide men would lose the support of full-backs, but extra security would be gained by Perez dropping back, and the attack would be bolstered with Vela reassuming a striker’s role. Cordoba hoped that in the opening ten minutes of the second half the switch would create enough confusion in the Spanish ranks to lead to Mexican opportunities and ultimately an equaliser. Failing that, the increased pressure would force Benitez’s men back and limit them to playing on the counter-attack, and whilst Spain were lethal on the break, the Mexican boss considered it a step in the right direction.

Within seconds of the kick-off, Mexico almost had their reward. With his first touchs in international football, Galvan released Dos Santos on the right, whose cross-field ball was cushioned beautifully into the path of Vela by the advancing Perez. On the edge of the area, the Arsenal man let fly with a crashing left-foot drive, which unfortunately for him could only find the welcoming arms of Casillas in goal. When Franco headed over from a Guardado cross just a couple of minutes later, Cordoba and Suarez on the Mexican bench gave each a knowing nod, and on the 50 minute mark the effectiveness of the half-time switch was proved was Benitez took off his most creative outlet in Fabregas only to replace him with another destroyer in Xavi Alonso. Still Mexico pressed on in search of the equaliser, and once more their manager’s adventurous streak was rewarded ten minutes after the switch was made.

Once again it was Perez who started the move, spraying the ball wide to Guardado and then diverting the return path into the feet of Galvan thirty yards from goal. The teenager turned to face both Spanish centre-backs, and cleverly found Dos Santos on the right wing. The Milan star opened up his body and curled a tantalising ball across the face of goal which had Casillas in two minds whether to come and collect or stay on his line. Ultimately it made no difference, as the ball was met emphatically by Guillermo Franco, who leapt above Albiol to head home with the most powerful of headers and level the game at 1-1. Cordoba could not hide his delight on the Mexican bench, leaping into the air with fists clenched, and then proceeding to bark instructions to his team to carry on attacking and seal the match in normal time. In a role reversal from the opening stages of the first half, the Spaniards were being run ragged, and the Mexican fans who roared their approval sensed that the match was there to be won.

[Kewell08]

Very detailed, good stuff. I like it. Keep it up.

[EvilDave]

Thanks Kewell08, it's good to know I've got readers Time to wrap this one up...

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Any suggestion that the match was over was quickly dismissed with twenty-five minutes to go when Villa was put through by Alonso, only to fire straight into the arms of Ochoa in the Mexican goal. Seconds later a speculative effort from Joaquin flashed wide, and Cordoba almost contemplated a switch back to a conventional 4-4-2 before realising that he had got this far with attacking football, and making too many tactical adjustments would only confuse his team. Spain had sacrificed the main source of their creativity to try and restrain his team, and when Joaquin was replaced by the inferior Arizmendi, Cordoba was convinced that if his team were to be crowned World Champions, it would be through attacking, not defending and waiting. With that distinction firmly drawn in his mind, he gave the signal for 21-year old Cesar Villaluz to replace the tiring Dos Santos, and settled back into his seat.

With just over a quarter of an hour to go, the youthful combination of Galvan and Villaluz combined to win back the ball in central midfield. Leaving Martinez for dead in the centre circle, Galvan once more fed Villaluz on the left flank and set off on yet another forward run. The Cruz Azul winger neglected to bomb forward, using the half a yard of space between himself and Lopez to pick out Perez. Continuing the move, Perez sprayed it to the tireless Guardado on the opposite flank, and took up a lurking position twenty yards out. The winger drew the tackle of Ramos before returning the ball to his captain, and the world waited expectantly. Almost without thinking, the Mexican skipper lifted his left foot as if to shoot, and Pique instinctively jumped to block in front of him. In that same split-second, Vela burst through the gap between Pique and Ramos, and the Spanish defence could only watch as Perez’s perfectly weighted through ball was fired expertly into the top corner by the Arsenal striker to make it 2-1 to Mexico. Cordoba’s celebrations were even more spectacular than for the equaliser, pumping his fists and sliding on his knees Mourinho-style in his technical area. A few choice words from the fourth official later and Cordoba returned to his dugout, beaming from ear to ear and barely able to stop himself celebrating more vocally in the direction of Rafa Benitez. The Spaniards were a beaten team, and the Mexican players knew it. Casillas remained prone in his goal for a good minute after the ball crossed the line, Pique and Ramos looked to be in heated argument over who was at fault, and Fernando Torres sat in the centre circle with his head in his hands as the crowd continued to roar their appreciation for the underdogs.

Nevertheless, Cordoba could not allow his players to relax, and it pleased him greatly to see his captain encouraging the younger members of the team to keep their heads. For a man who had only assumed the captaincy on the eve of the tournament, he had grown into the role superbly and if he were continue on after the Final, Cordoba had him marked down as a permanent replacement for Marquez. When a dejected Torres finally kicked off almost three whole minutes after the goal, it was Perez closing down the Spanish attackers, harassing Villa and forcing a misplaced pass which allowed Ochoa to kill a few more vital seconds. The Mexican back three had no hesitation in stroking the ball amongst themselves, just waiting for the Spaniards to try and disrupt them.

When Benitez ordered his men to press, they did so half-heartedly and with little success. A huge cheer went up from the crowd as Salcido nutmegged Torres and then sold Arizmendi a dummy worthy of any world-class winger. Frivolities aside, the defender then looked up to realise the vast amount of space in the Spanish half. Spain had pushed up as a team, and only the flagging Martinez accompanied his defence in protecting Casillas. With no further hesitation, Salcido flicked the ball right with the outside of his foot to Villaluz steaming up in support, and the tricky young winger shifted up a gear and strode toward the Spanish box at blistering speed. Unable to get out of the way quick enough, Antonio Lopez could do nothing but stick out a leg and bring down the winger on the edge of the box. A blatant trip, and a second yellow card was the only possible result. Down to ten men and with no energy left, Spain knew they were beaten.

The last few minutes trickled by, and after three minutes of injury time Lubos Michel put his whistle to his lips and those three long blasts which pierced the South African night signalled not only the end of a football match, but the end of a tremendous journey. As the Spanish team lay dejected and distraught at their failure to capture a major tournament yet again, the Mexican players, coaching staff and fans erupted in huge cheers, outbursts of dancing and passionate cries to the heavens as they enjoyed the kind of moment that every football fan dreams of experiencing. In Mexico, entire towns rushed in the streets to share in their nation’s glory, and Cordoba’s hometown of Querétaro saw a spontaneous display of music and fireworks in honour of their heroes’ achievements. At the very moment that captain Perez and match-winner Vela hoisted the World Cup high above their heads, a whole country abandoned its feelings of inferiority and released the shackles that had bound them for centuries, exploding in instinctive patriotic fervour and celebration of their newest sporting icons. The names of Perez, Vela, Guardado and Galvan, with Cordoba at the helm, were to become immortal both in Mexico and the whole footballing world. They had done themselves much more than proud, and they had achieved the ultimate goal. As Cordoba himself was finally called up to lift the trophy, something dawned on him that had taken a good fifteen minutes to settle in: Mexico were World Champions.

The End