What happened that time I went on Countdown

There's something quite enjoyable about being able to tick the boxes that you draw for yourself when you set out your dreams and ambitions. In my 30 years, I've been lucky enough/worked hard enough to put a mark next to a good few of the things I've set out to achieve.

Obviously there's the landmark goals you set yourself. Go to University. Tick. Graduate from University. Tick. Learn to drive. Tick. Get married. Tick. Put a baby in my wife. Tick. And so on.

But then there are the things you push yourself to do, the things that lurk slightly off the track that those other achievements are on. The unnecessaries, the off the cuff bits, the ones that make you that little bit more interesting as a person.

This is not a blog just to brag from by the way, but sometimes I think to myself, bloody hell, I've done some cool stuff. I've formed a band and released a single; I've appeared in numerous TV shows and films and adverts; I've interviewed multi-millionaire NHL players and bog-standard SPL players; I've been to some cool places across the globe, and most recently, I appeared on Channel 4's Countdown.

Now, I've been a fan of the show ever since I was a young lad, watching it at my Gran and Grandad's after school instead of Wizadora and whatnot. My penchant for words, which has served me fairly well in recent times, stems from my formative years around my folks who had me reading

from a young age and by and large, I'm quite good at them, I've used 279 of them in this piece already.

Having spent two days on the Countdown set in Manchester's Media City though, I've learned that just being good at words is not enough to make you an Octochamp, or in my case, win even just one game.

I never lulled myself in to thinking that I'd make it to eight games unbeaten on the show. Having watched it for so long, and with the greatest respect in the world to the guys who earn their quarter final seedings on this series, I know I am not "one of those" Countdown players.

I did encounter two of them though.

Without giving too much away from my episode, I pretty much crumbled like a Ryvita as I chased the game from the off. My opponent, a bumbag-sporting maths tutor from Wales via Yorkshire, was constantly a letter ahead of me and mathematically superior for obvious reasons.

Even though Rachel Riley had eased my nerves on facing him, having told her that his fanny-pack was quite intimidating (which she marvellously responded to by telling me not to worry as my "holdall is much bigger than his"...), it was clear from the off that I was in for a tanking.

As his lead increased, my safe sixes became risky sevens as I tried to claw back a decent score, only to be left clutching at invalid words and mis-spelled entries, with Susie Dent's soft tones making the disappointment that little more comfortable. Regardless of my illegal verbs and nouns, I was still being outgunned by my foe at every turn, so it mattered not a jot.

I was victim number three of his, as he laid down his claim to become Octochamp. Standing in his way though, was a 16-year-old A Level student from Essex. He wasn't your normal 16-year-old though. From the moment he stepped in to the green room, gushing parents in tow, it was clear that he was some kind of prodigy, a gifted type.

His chat mainly consisted of all the previous Octochamps and seeds he'd played and beaten online, amidst the internet fans of the show who take it so seriously. He'd been tipped off that my victor had racked up two 100+ scores previous to him hitting another ton against me, thanks to online pals of his who had gone to watch the Monday tapings.

The champ and the challenger had an awkward air between them before filming, cagey in their interactions as if they knew what each other was coming up against. The young lad rhymed off all the previous series winners, the semi-finalists and so on, as if to prove his commitment to the Countdown cause, while the maths tutor, bumbag and all, stayed quiet, as if he was sizing his opponent up.

Their game was incredible.

Eight after eight, ridiculous sums after ridiculous sums, words that neither of them learned in the bible but definitely had from the dictionary being conjured from the mixture of consonants and vowels that Rachel Riley flung up on the board. No nines, but a small slip on the letters from the current champ meant that a crucial conundrum would decide if he would continue.

And then controversy struck.

As the conundrum board rolled over, before the iconic clock had even lit up, one of them buzzed. The small audience gasped as one, as none of us had even registered a single letter of the anagram, let alone seen the letters long enough to make a new word out of them.

He who buzzed got it right and won the game. Now, at this juncture, due to the fact that these episodes won't air until October, I am not at liberty to reveal which chap prevailed. What I will say though is that the quick buzz caused an almighty shitstorm between the two contestants.

The loser claimed his monitor went blank when the conundrum was revealed, denying him of his shot at glory. An inquest was demanded from the floor manager, the director, the producer, anyone who could shed some light on what had happened.

The loser was livid.

It soon emerged that the winner had indeed buzzed too quickly, even for himself, and that he got the break of the ball in the time between buzzing and Nick Hewer throwing to him to get the answer.

The loser was livider. (Probably not a word.)

No reviews were made, no decisions were reversed, it was deemed that the winner had been quicker off the mark (whether he was too quick is another thing...) and it was just tough luck on the loser. This did not go down well.

The loser watched the next game through gritted teeth as his now-nemesis sat in the winner's chair, fairly easily dispatching of the next opponent in a similar way as to how I was ripped asunder, such is the wont of players of that calibre.

It made for a more than frosty green room, but once the felled wordsmith had departed, an air calmness prevailed. Those up next knew they'd be in for a tough time of it, but all had the hope that they could go toe-to-toe with a clearly-gifted, (if socially stunted) gamesman.

My efforts will be aired on October 7th, with the brilliant-yet-controversial match-up on the following day. it's worth a watch for the gameplay alone, but knowing the aftermath should make it far more intriguing a viewing.

I'm writing this waiting on a delayed flight back to Belfast, with a hold all fit to burst and probably overweight due to being filled with my losers goody-bag: a massive dictionary, a mug, a pen, Susie Dent's book, a tote bag, a bedside clock, and my name plate, as well as a rather optimistic four shirts and two t-shirts for the shows I didn't make it on to.

GERMANY ARE THE WORLD CUP 2014 CHAMPIONS!!!!

Germany are the World Cup Champions of 2010! Huzzah!

After a goalless, yet incident laden 113 minutes, substitute Mario Goetze's wonderful take and finish from Andre Schurrle's delivery took the trophy back to a United Germany for the very first time.

It was the first time a European nation had won the WC in South America, and had Christ the Redeemer and his dad been looking down on the continent more favourably, Argentina may have been the victors far earlier. However, the Player of Tournament (official) could not match the Team of the Tournament in the Maracana, where the industry, organisation and prowess of the Germans prevailed.

From back to front, Joachim Loew had his stall set out for the win, controlling the tempo the game for large parts, despite being susceptible to the odd counter attack. The biggest danger that Argentina posed the Germans in the first half came from some unusually poor play from Tony Kroos, whose weak header sent Gonzalo Higuain racing in on goal for the first clear cur opportunity of the game.

With all the time in the world to compose himself, the Napoli striker contrived to blow the chance to give his side the lead in world football's biggest showcase. With only Neuer to beat, he could have picked any angle to go for other than the one he did, dragging his shot both agonisingly and poorly wide. Even that early on, it looked to be the opportunity he would rue for the rest of the night, if not his career.

    HIGUAIN HAS HAD BETTER NIGHTS.

The ignominy of that miss looked to have been lifted later in the half when a brilliantly whipped ball in from the right landed square on his instep, six yards out. His finish beat Neuer, his celebrations looked like redemption, but his run had been that little bit too early, the goal chalked off for offside. That twenty seconds of joy, of relief that he had made amends, was rightly but cruelly put to an end by the linesman's flag, the restored confidence that finding the net had given him, sapped away once more.

Germany's forwards' luck at the other end wasn't quite as dramatic, but it was equally as frustrated as gaps opened up in the Argentine defence. Romero had to look lively on a couple of occasions, doing well to deny Schurrle, on for surprise starter Kramer who took a nasty head knock midway through the first half. 

Mueller's raking run down the left gave him space to cut the ball back to the edge of the box. Schurrle ran on to the ball and smacked it with pace, but Romero, with Ozil blocking his view, saved fantastically to keep the game level. Another fine stop by the keeper, who played less than five full club games last season, was scratched off as Mueller was offside, while another quick reaction thwarted Mueller in the aftermath of a huge chance for the Germans to take the lead.

A Kroos corner was met fully by the forehead of the unmarked Benedikt Hoewides, his effort almost taking then  goal off it's moorings as it rattled the post. The rebound was nudged goal wards by the knee of Mueller, but Romero smothered it in the line. The flag was up for offside once again, but the keeper wasn't willing to take the risk.

As the first half ended goalless, it had perhaps run as expected, with both sides a little nervy and not as composed on the ball as they had been in earlier games. Lionel Messi had been a subdued character in the first period, with only two of his trademark mazy runs of note, neither of which forced Neuer in to any sort of action.

It was Messi who should have given his side the lead with the first opportunity of the second half, getting goal side of de Jong to receive Biglia's through ball. In a Barcelona kit, his shot back across goal would have nestled in the bottom corner, but in the dark blue and gold of Argentina, it rolled narrowly wide with Neuer looking on in hope that it would.

As there were no goals to separate the sides, both teams took it upon themselves to spice up the game with some hefty challenges. The Argentines were the more aggressive, with Bastian Schweinsteiger singled out for a lot of heavy treatment. Mascherano and half time sub Aguero's were cautioned, with both very lucky to remain on the park for the 120 minutes that materialised (more on that in a bit). Even Manuel Neuer, was getting in on it, wiping out Higuain at the edge of the box, with a challenge reminiscent of his goalkeeping forefather Harald Schumachar.

Thankfully, Higuain did not suffer as serious a blow as Patrick Battison did in 1982, but it was still a grim looking challenge from the Golden Glove recipient. His counterpart Romero was the far busier of the goalies, once again denying Schurrle, punch a effort in to the ground from just inside the box as a melee ensued. 

At the end of ninety minutes, neither side had broken the other's resolve, but the Argies seemed intent on breaking something. Aguero and Schweinsteiger contested a high ball in the middle of the park, the Manchester City striker using a arm for a bit of leverage and skulduggery, as his fist burst the German's face open in the process. The Deustche bench were enraged as Sergio's assault went unpunished. As had been the case for much of the match, Schweinsteiger had been rough housed all over the shop, and it didn't stop there, as the majority of breaks in the play were from him being scythed down.

    SCHWEINSTEIGER HAS WORN BETTER KITS

It looked to rattle Loew's side a little, and when Higuain's replacement, Palacio found a chink in their backline's armour, it looked like their bully boy tactics would pay off. Again though, with the World Cup only a goal away, the rat-tailed forward could only weakly shin the ball over Neuer, where a strong foot would have done the job, allowing de Jong to easily Shepard the ball out of play.

It was a low quality finish in a game of low quality finishes, but with seven minutes remaining a moment of high quality won it for the Germans.

Mario Goetze, one of seven in the German squad born after the country's David Hasselhoff soundtracked unification in 1990, had replaced Miroslav Klose, who bowed out of the tournament without furthering his all time WC goal scoring record. It was almost a ceremonial passing of the torch, as one veteran record breaker made way for a young, new record maker.

With Schurrle proving to be the main danger since replacing Kramer, he would turn provider for the most joyous of this year's World Cup goals. A burst down the left wing allowed him the space to clip a perfect cros on to the chest of the onrushing and unmarked Goetze. The ball bounced up off the 22 year old's chest, teeing himself up for a volley across Romero and in at the far post. Clinicism realised.

    GOETZE PROBABLY WON'T SCORE A BETTER GOAL

While Van Persie, Cahill and Rodriguez had all done spectacularly well with their efforts, Goetze's strike was not only a peach on a par with them, but it meant and made so much more. Mario's strike made Germany the first ever European side to win a World Cup on South American soil. It was the first World Cup winning goal scored by a substitute. It was the first time a United East and West Germany had lifted the trophy, earning them a coveted fourth star on their national crest. 

With moments remaining though, the world held it's breath to see if there was any life left in Argentina to respond. If there was, it would undoubtedly come from Lionel Messi, and when afforded the opportunity of a free kick about 30 yards from goal in extra time stoppage time, all eyes were on the number ten.

But he fluffed it. Perhaps, with Schweinsteiger being decked in the process of giving away the fee kick and his subsequent dallying to get off the park, it allowed for too many thoughts to go through Messi's mind. Usually cool under pressure, his set piece typified his frustrating and frustrated performance, sailing high over Neuer's bar.

The World Cup was Germany's within seconds of that effort, with Messi faced with a somewhat embarrassing climb of the prize giving stairs to collect a consolatory "Player of the Tournament" gong. While he arguably yet unspectacularly led Argentina to the final on his own, there were better players throughout the tournament than he. Award accepted, he then had to do it all again to collect his runners up medal.

    MESSI PROBABLY DOESN'T DESERVE THAT....

The Germans however had a double celebration. Manuel Neuer, who made zero saves of note during the 120 minutes, picked up the Golden Glove for his outstanding and assured performances across the seven games, before getting his gilded hands on the real deal, the World Cup trophy.

Phillip Lahm raised the World Cup aloft, his nation's first trophy since 1996, and possibly the first in what could be a term of domination from Deutschland.

It also gives Scotland the chance to become unofficial world champions for the second time, when they travel to Dortmund in the opening game of the Euro 2016 qualifiers!

And then there were two....

The World Cup 2014 Final will be contested by Germany and Argentina, after two of the most contrasting games of the tournament saw each of the victors progress to their third meeting in the centrepiece of the tournament.

While the Germans blitzed the Brazilians, as described in great detail in my last piece, the other semi between Argentina and Holland was always going to be on a hiding to nothing in comparison. Nothing was exactly what viewers got for 120 minutes, as defences prevailed in sending the game to the spot kick lottery.

With all of the pre match chat centred on how effective Arjen Robben and Lionel Messi would be for their nations, the reality was slightly disappointing. Messi was a peripheral figure for the majority of the match, doubled up on whenever he got the ball, and man marked by de Jong as advised by Louis van Gaal. After his Krul decision in the quarters, it was another plan that proved its worth for two hours from the new Manchester United gaffer.

However, his tactic of give the ball to Robben and see what happens bore little fruit. There is no doubting that Robben is gifted and pacey and tricky and other positive attacking adjectives, but by Cruyff is he ball greedy. 

Having read Andrea Pirlo's book last week and now being eight or nine chapters deep in Zlatan's autobiography, it's clear that they have got to where they are through being very possessive in possession. Pirlo was unliked by his childhood team mates for it to the point where he cried on the park, but he soon brushed it off to become the seventh best player in the world one year. Ibrahimovic was more assertive with his detractors, nicking their bikes and dropping the head on them. 

I've seen it with players that I grew up with as well, those who have the individual talent and know it, but don't have the vision, confidence or lack of ego to bring others in to the game. That's likely why no one from my year at school has gone on to any sort of footballing success. The one lad who has made it to the SPL from my time at Lanark Grammar, wasn't even the best player in his year, but he's obviously worked to get himself there, for which he must be commended. 

Having played with and against him a few times at PE and outside of school, he was greedy, he was arrogant and was a little hot headed, making him a nightmare to endure during a game, whichever side you were on. He'll not be playing at a World Cup anytime soon, but he has made a career where others better suited, at school at least, were more likely to.

It seems that looking out for number one early in your career can propel you to great, or relatively great things, but for those that have made it to the top of their game without being greedy, without being a pirla, having to continue to play with those types of guys in your twenties and thirties must be so frustrating. 

This whole World Cup, Robben has darted and danced down the flanks, cutting in and either taking a shot or taking a dive as he's tried to make things happen for his side. Granted, he took his goals brilliantly versus Spain in the Dutch opener, but since the drubbing they handed the Spaniards, he and the rest of his team haven't quite hit the same heights.

There's an argument that as a side who were written off by everyone in their home country before the first ball was kicked, they have peaked too soon with their demolition of the former World champions. With forwards of the quality of van Persie and Huntelaar, as well as Robben, the experienced Wesley Sneijder's and Dirk Kuyt, and the young blood like Depay, Wijnalden and de Vrij, the squad, on paper, would have had many thinking that the semi wasn't too much of a stretch for them.

However, they have fallen short of the final, in my view, partly due to the greed of Robben. Whether it was the game plan or Robben taking too much in himself over the piece, his individual play has failed to create enough opportunities for the rest of his side. It's almost the other side of the Fred argument I referenced in my last blog. Fred has been pilloried for being poor all tournament, but when you look at the service he has had, he's only been able to play with the toys he's been given.

If they were both in the same side, he'd have been gifted nothing from Robben at all. With the fore mentioned players all trooping into and around the box every time the Bayern man went forward, it seemed like wasted energy, as he wouldn't get the head up to pick the pass. Even when he did, it would only be to ensure he got the ball back. 

A few whipped balls in, or earlier releases, and he could have assisted his fellow forwards to goals, conserving energy by not needing to play the extra thirty minutes and penalties. It was sort of fitting that the best chance for the game to be won fell to him, but too much dallying saw Mascherano make a wonderful block at the death.

It was a block that Mascherano probably shouldn't have been allowed to make after taking a head knock that left him woozy in the first half. With concussions becoming an ever increasing subject of debate throughout sport, the damage caused might not necessarily be fully apparent at the moment of impact. He certainly didn't look OK when he staggered to the ground after his mid air collision, but if anything, it spurred him on to a solid night for the Argentinians.

He likely wasn't the only one nursing a sore head on Thursday morning though, as Argentina's spot kick win sent them through to the final. While Robben huffed and puffed for Holland, Messi strolled through the game, but not in the way that most of us are accustomed to. The defensive job done on him nullified his game, stifling the little genius from doing anything really of note.

However, his one major contribution, scoring his side's opening penalty after Romero had saved Ron Vlaar's effort, gave Argentina the numerical and psychological advantage after the first round. When Maxi Rodriguez blast the winner in off the weak elbows of Jasper Cillesen, the joy on little Leo's face was magnificent. Having been the man to bail his side out during this whole tournament, he now has the chance to lift, nay captain his side to, the World Cup.

He just needs to have that one perfect performance, that one moment of magic.

He's been able to up his game even higher in domestic and European club matches of high importance, but Sunday's game will be a different beast altogether. While the Germans are a well oiled machine unit, the weight of Argentine expectancy will all be on Messi. Much like with Ronaldo at France 98, focus will be pulled to the multiple World Player of the Year. 

Having won everything with Barcelona, and having done so in style on each occasion, he needs to translate that focus, that form and that fervour to the biggest stage of them all. Croatians Ronaldo may have won the Champions League and the Ballon D'Or, but in their ongoing battle for supremacy, the World Cup would trump his Portuguese nemesis unquestionably.

He's capable of it, and if the Germans allow him any space or time on the ball, you wouldn't bet against him putting in the most memorable shift of his career and lifting the trophy on Sunday night.  

OOFT....

That wee lad was me at Tannadice in 1994. 

Still full of all types of youthful exuberance and naivety about the highs and lows of football,I had followed my beloved Motherwell FC to Dundee to watch us take on United. Leading thanks to a first half penalty from Tommy Coyne, the race for second place in the Scottish Premier Division didn't look like it would be letting up any time soon, especially in Tayside.

How wrong I was. Inspired by the gloved Jerren Nixon, the Terrors romped to a 6-1 victory, in Scott Howie's first start for The Steelmen. A torrid scoreline for any goalkeeper to be on the end of, to have it while trying to stake a claim for a number one jersey must have been even worse. Especially as he was trying to oust Stevie Woods as first choice custodian. How it took him so long I'll never understand.

As bad as Howie was feeling, I was feeling much worse. In 1994, I was nine years old, and the biggest Motherwell fan in my primary class, nay primary school. Full kit under my uniform at all times, writing match reports in my "weekend diary" for my teacher, pretending to be Dougie Arnott every play time; I was besotted.

And there they were, my heroes, being torn a new one on a cold, miserable day in Dundee. As the sixth goal went in, my wee heart broke and the floodgates opened as I gurned in to an empty pie tin, mopping up my tears with a vinyl scarf that didn't really dry my face, but spread the tears across it.

I didn't leave the house on Sunday to play with my pals, as I needed a day to psyche myself up for the slagging I was going to take off the Rangers fans at school. As a nine year old back then, the only social media I had access to was teletext. It was my favourite way of getting my football fix, but I couldn't even bring myself to look at it. My pals had though, as on that dreaded Monday they told me they had watched the goals fly in in 8-bit form on Ceefax page 310. I wished that I had done the same.

Twenty years on, I'm glad that I was witness to such a pumping, as I have gotten used to the ups and downs of supporting a team like MFC. Thankfully in more recent years, the relative success has outweighed the bad times. Bad times that a footballing nation like Brazil have rarely ever experienced.

Belo Horizonte may not be as glamorous as Tannadice, but for the majority of the the yellow clad fans inside the arena last night, they would have gone through a similar, if not bigger humiliation than I did back then. A stunning half hour of football shocked the entire world as a Neymar and Thiago Silva bereft Selecao capitulated in a jaw droppingly unexpected and enthralling style.

At this juncture, I am going to praise the Germans. The Brazillian performance was woeful, and I'll get on to that in a bit, but praise has to go to Joachim Loew's side for the way they handled the game from start to finish. A lesser writer would play up the efficiency angle of every man in red and black last night, but most reports I have read have done that to a death.

                                        THE GERMANS WERE GOOD, EH?

They certainly were, but more than that, they were professional and hungry where it counted. With a relative handful of their own support mixed between the noisy, raucous home fans, it would have been hard for them to hear the backing they had against an expectant home crowd. It didn't phase them though, with Thomas Mueller's easy peasy opener the biggest noise excluder of them all. 

And then the game went tits.

Klose scored, and Kroos scored, and then he scored again. Then Khedira. 

Half an hour played and the Germans were five goals ahead.  A world record for self inflicted dead arms was set, as six billion people pinched themselves to make sure they weren't dreaming and what they were watching was real.

Klose's strike, while not the prettiest, was a goal of the most monumental order giving him the moniker of All Time Leading World Cup Goal Scorer. He has now surpassed "Old Ronaldo" ( we all get fat as we get older, no need to make him feel bad about being both), somewhat making his night as a Brazilian that little bit harder to take. Kroos' first was a great hit, his second the result of some unselfish play from Khedira, who reaped what he sewed with his side's fifth.

                                  MIROSLAV KLOSED ALL BETS ON HIM 

                                    BREAKING THE WC SCORING RECORD

It was a rampant first forty five for the Germans and they didn't even need to be. As expected, the second half wasn't as intense as the game was won, but it gave Andre Schurrle the chance to make more of a mark on the tournament, bagging a brace and one of the strikes of the WC. His first was a tap in but his second was magnificent. 

A fantastically dinked ball from the left touch line by Mueller found the Chelsea man running in to the box. As it looked like his touch had taken the ball too wide and too narrow to get a shot away, he lashed the ball from the angle, in off Cesar's cross bar to further condemn the hosts to humiliation on the grandest stage of all.

Even the home fans clapped and applauded the seventh goal, as they chanted "ole" for the Germans. Loew and co had just killed their dream of lifting the World Cup on home soil in the most brutal way possible, yet those in yellow showed their appreciation for what they had witnessed the opposition do.

Of course, there's a very good chance those chants were sarcastic, an indignant response to what their own team had colluded to come up with. As pictures of Fred were beamed on to the big arena screen, boos rang out for the Brazilian number nine. In Neymar's absence, he was charged with being the goal getter, but after another weak performance (weak by previous standards at least) the mere sight of him was infuriating the supporters.

Making Fred the scapegoat would be a terribly inaccurate thing to do. Granted, he and Hulk and Oscar have been pretty dismal in supporting Neymar, and without him they didn't show any spark, but when a defence comprised of Champions League winners concedes seven goals in a World Cup semi final, the finger of blame has to be pointed elsewhere. 

Even before the goals started, balls in to Fred were over hit, under hit, not beating the first man, etc. A lone striker can only be a success if his supply is good, which it hasn't been for the majority of the tournament. His international strike rate before the WC was and still is pretty damn good, but he's been bereft of service, chances and luck. There's hyperbolic talk of him never being picked again for the Selecao, but if that is the case, then there's going to be a lot of empty shirts to join his.

Marcelo at left back has had a torrid tournament. From his own goal in the opener, he has been trying far too hard to make amends, but has ultimately been a liability. He's played similarly to how he does for Real Madrid, but at the Bernabeu he has a well gelled and quality midfield ahead of him, who can cope with his lack of defensive awareness in La Liga. In this World Cup, he's been found out.

                                   SHAMBLES, RIOT, BOMSCARE ETC

David Luiz is another, who has let his passion over rule his play. Handed the captain's armband in Thiago Silva's absence, he proved that he wasn't up to the task of doing his day job, with or without that added prestige. Fresh air swipes, poor positioning, lazy tracking and without any modicum of leadership quality, the €50 million man looked shell shocked. It doesn't matter how hard you belt out your national anthem or pray to God for guidance, if you play like an amateur, you'll get done like an amateur. Faith without works is dead, as they say.

He was left racing in to dead space at the first goal, as the unmarked Mueller had scored and was off celebrating by the time Luiz made it to where he was stood. He watched from the edge of the area as Klose got two bites at his world record breaking cherry. He was nowhere to be seen for Kroos' double and was all over the shop for Khedira's fifth. Schurrle nipped ahead of him easily for the sixth and we' ll let him off with the seventh as it was a pure belter of a strike.

                              SCHURRLE'S SCHENSATIONAL SCHEVENTH

Dante's lack of game time likely didn't help, and Fernandinho's mistake for the fourth will likely haunt him for the rest of his career, but as Captain, in a World Cup Semi Final, David Luiz needs to shoulder the biggest portion of blame for the utter trouncing his side received.  No organisation, no leadership, no World Cup final.

Scolari has been quick to take the blame for his players efforts, admitting to fielding a side that had never trained together as an eleven, and feeling the consequences of it. Oscar, who netted "the most pointless of goals" as described by Guy Mowbray, was consoled by his gaffer in the aftermath, as each of the embarrassed Brazilians trooped off in to the night.

The German celebrations looked to have been hindered by the concession of that late goal, particularly Manuel Neuer, who was more formidable and defiant on his own than his opponents's whole defence proved to be. Stunning without being spectacular, his stops at the start of the second half, as Brazil looked for pride, were indignant yet incredible, cementing him as the best keeper in the whole tournament.

As much as Germany's emphatic win has increased their backing to lift the World Cup, they can't rest on last night's result. While historic, momentus and record breaking, it will count for nothing if they don't win the WC. With only Argentina or Holland in their way now, achtzehn Jahre of hurt since their Euro 96 trophy could be wiped away.

For the Brazilians, no one knows how long their pain will last after night.

Brazil, Germany, Argentina and Holland give themselves a Semi.

                    

I absolutely loved being a goalkeeper. The majority of my teenage footballing years, and laterally my mid twenties, was spent between the sticks, defying and denying my friends and lads from other teams with my reactions, reading of the game and penchant for the spectacular TV save. It's one of the things I was actually good at in my youth.

PE wise, I was usually the captain's second pick when it came to picking teams. Obviously you need the best outfield player first, and then you build around him, starting with your keeper. It helped that by and large I always had my goalie gloves in my bag, for just that occasion. While the other teams would opt for "any man save" or " goal and in", I was more than content to fling myself all over the shop for however long Cammy Murray let us.

First choice goalie for my year at school was a great feeling, but also a poisoned chalice. This was mainly because Lanark Grammar '97s weren't very good. I don't think I'm doing any of my team mates from then any dis-service by saying that as a unit, we were pretty hopeless. We had individual talent, but rarely between first and fourth year did we work as a unit. This was arguably more important for the outfield players than for me, so when things went to pot in front of me, I knew that I had to keep focused on my own game. 

As well as I would play, we'd almost always be on the end of a scudding, which was doubly hard to take for me, as it was my role to write up the match reports for the school page in the Lanark Gazette, reliving every goal that went by me, trying not to focus too much on my own efforts. As much as I enjoyed representing my school team, I enjoyed playing with my mates far more. I've always preferred the fun part of sport as opposed to the regimented, team dynamic, which could be why I didn't progress to where I could have with it. 

While in goals for LGS, my confidence was dipping with every defeat, I conversely picked up two player of the season awards for my U16s team at Hamilton Pitz, for my AstroTurf heroics. Between the first and second gong, my school number one jersey became under threat, as regular Tom Chapman had returned after summer holidays as Big Tam Chapman. A good foot taller now and bigger built, he was preferred in goals for fourth year, while I was switched to an ineffective centre mid/ centre half role.

For the rest of my school career, I played outfield, but I never felt the same affinity for playing for the team as I had when in goals, aside for my crowning sporting glory at school. I had scored my first and only goal for LGS in a 6-1 defeat, a glancing a header at the front post, (which despite what my team mates may say, DID NOT, come off my back) in a build up game to a match with our fiercest rivals, Carluke High. Cammy Murray's ethos was that the captaincy of the team would change from game to game until we won a game that year. Needless to say, in my outfield role, I was about eighth in line for the armband. 

Nonetheless, my goal earned me the C for the visit of Carluke High, and from what I remember of it, I took what is now commonly known as the Lasley approach to it. Terrier-like and committed, I took the captaincy to heart, driving my team on against our neighbouring school. Somehow we found ourselves two goals up at the break. The second half would be all about preserving that lead, and when the deficit was cut with about ten minutes left, the nerves began to jangle.

The ref must have been sick of me asking how long was to go, but when he blew the final whistle, he would have seen just how desperate we had been for the win, our first win in three years, and against Carluke, our natural enemy, of all teams. It was a new feeling, one that as a team we had never experienced. Players who had barely talked to one another for the last four years were hugging and smiling like they were best pals. Cammy Murray didn't even know what to say to us, having been so used to giving us the "good effort, lads" and "you did your best" patter after every game. 

We never won another game.

It was my proudest moment playing for LGS, and probably of my whole time at school to be honest and it's something that I've infrequently experienced over the last eleven years. 

I've rambled on for an A4 page now about my footballing career but the relevance of the above to the World Cup is twofold. 

1. Goalkeepers and goalkeeping are brilliant.

2. Underdog triumph is also brilliant, while it lasts.

As written of earlier in my posts, I have been very impressed with the standard of goalkeeping in this year's tournament. Even though the majority of the stand out keepers have now been eliminated, Brazil 2014 will be remembered for some quality shot stopping action. However, few games will mirror the custodial drama of what took place between Costa Rica and Holland on Saturday night.

Keylor Navas was tremendous in dealing with everything that Arjen Robben and the Dutch threw at him in their quarter final. For a fairly short looking keeper, he has an amazing leap and reach. His free kick save from Wesley Sneijder's was top notch and his punching  while not condoned at all by me, has looked the strongest of any goalkeeper in the WC. Having been the penalty king against Greece in the previous round, it looked like it would again be his time to shine when extra time ended goal less.

Louis van Gaal had other ideas.

       KRUL INTENTIONS

With seconds remaining in the extra session, Japser Cillesen, who had only just kept Urena from stealing the match at the death for Costa Rica, was replaced for penalties by Tim Krul. Outrage spilled out on to Social Media as the watching and tweeting world failed to comprehend what was going on. How can you take a hot goalie out, for one who has only ever saved two penalties in his whole career? What does that do for Cillesen's confidence? Why is Krul not first choice if he's to be subbed in for pens.

The answer played out perfectly for Holland and an Gaal. His shrewd move played with the Costa Rican gameplay, as they would have scouted Cilllesen's dive probability in the build up to the game. The ruse was obviously done with complete agreement between Cillesen, Krul and van Gaal, which was even more manifest given the number one's celebrations at the end. 

The swop was more than justified, as Krul didn't just save the two key penalties he needed to, but guessed, nay knew, which way to dive for all five of them, and was not far from reaching the other three as a result. His gamesmanship before each penalty was a little questionable, and in all honesty, a dick move, but it worked. While his psyche outs weren't as elaborate as they could have been ( see BaseketBall as an example), his "I've been watching you" gestures and proven actions sent the Dutch through.

It was a shame for Navas, who had worked so hard for his side over five games, to be outshone by a guy who has only faced five shots in the sometime frame. As sentimental as it would have been for Navas to be the penalty hero, and despite the intrinsically unlikeable nature of a few players in the current Dutch squad, footballing wise, it was better that they prevailed. The Costa Ricans weren't as entertaining as other nations that have gone further than they should have, and were heavily reliant on their defence against rampaging Robben and co. 

As much as we are still likely to see it, no one wants to watch a team park the bus in the semis. Although, their hopefully won't be any stationary placement of large people carrying vehicles when the Dutch take on Argentina in their semi final. Messi and co racked up another one goal victory, this time against Belgium, to progress to the final four, with another slightly laboured display. Gonzalo Higuain's instinctive half volley from the edge of the box was enough to do the job, despite Belgium throwing all they could at the, in the closing stages. Messi should have had the game wrapped up in the dying embers, but a decent block by Courtois kept the defeat to Argentinian standard.

    GONZALO WITH THE HIGUAIN -D

Germany progressed to the semis with an efficient win over France, Mats Hummels heading in the  only goal of the game. Manual Neuer, while relatively untroubled, managed to make goalkeeping look easy, making two terrific stops in the second half look spectacularly ordinary, where the South Americans would have been Supermanning about all over the shop to make the stop.

   NIGHT MATS THE MUSE-HUMMELS

That less than enthralling affair preceded Brazil v Colombia, with the Selecao coming up against their biggest threat of the tournament so far: James Rodriguez.

Having been the standout player of the games so far, Scolari's side were well aware if the talents that the Monaco forward possessed, and if anyone was going to cause an upset against Brazil, it would have been he and his team. The danger that he posed was well evidenced throughout the fast paced and intense 90 minutes as he was kicked up in the air almost every time he found himself in possession, inevitably impacting on the influence he would have on a game that the hosts won in a fairly ugly fashion.

Thiago Silva's 7th minute opener sent the home fans in to a frenzy, nudging the ball in unmarked from a wicked corner delivery. The goal was indicative of the opening half, unpretty but effective, as Brazil looked to advance to a semi against Germany. Ospina found himself the busier of the two goal keepers, but again profligacy in front of goal from Fred and Hulk saw the Colombians only a goal down at half time. 

When keeper's are having worldie's, it often lamented that it will take "something special" to beat them. With the likes of Oscar, Neymar and coon the park, it was rather surprising that the special something would come from the boot of David Luiz. An ill advised lunge by Rodriguez gave the PSG centre back a chance to have a crack at goal from around 30 yards, and with a swing of his right instep, he powerfully side-footed the ball past Ospina from that range. It was a great hit, followed by a lot of God bothering as Brazil's passage to the semi final was sealed.

It did come at a cost however. Thiago Silva picked up a booking for arguably the softest challenge of a bone crunching night, while Neymar literally had a bone crunched, ad a knee in the back from Zuniga saw him stretcher end off in proper, real pain. Scans show it to be a cracked vertebrae, signing the young prodigy, and pacemaker for an already ill beating host nation, out of the rest of the tournament.

    BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN

The backlash to the Zuniga challenge in Brazil has been outrageous, with their stricken hero's injuror being subjected to all sorts of abuse on social media, print and TV media and everywhere else with a yellow and blue tinge. The Argentinians on the other hand, happily waved about plastic spinal columns as a mark of disrespect to Neymar. Having proven to be the vital component in all that has been good about Brazil's performances so far, his loss is a massive blow to his country and the rest of the tournament.

The latter can also be said of James Rodriguez going home with the rest of his team mates. His consolation penalty, to make the final score 2-1, kept up his goal per game ratio for the tournament and confirmed him as potentially the next big thing in world football. Had he been able to play instead of being fouled at every turn, the outcome may well have been very different.

The refereeing display was another talking point in an incident laden match. Letting a lot of challenges go unpunished where they might not have, was brave, but in doing so, he helped light the fuse on what was already a fiery match. A beer handle on the game may have prevented Neymar's injury, or Silva's suspension for the semi. It may also have handed Colombia and advantage in the dying moments, Cesar only booked for conceding the penalty, when a red card looked imminent. 

Yepes even had a goal chalked off for Colombia in the second half due to a dubious looking offside call, as the ball wasn't played by either of the offside players before being poked in. As great as the free kick foam can and the goal line technology has been in advancing the policing of the game, it will never account for human error and bad personal judgement. When he blew the final whistle, he did make one thing perfectly clear though. It would be Germany versus Brazil in the first semi final.

A Not As Bumper Brazil blog as last time....

TGIF...am I right?

The motto of a good 99.9% of the nine to fivers of this world! A salute to herald the the passing of the five day week, and the coming of the two day respite. Unless, like me, six and seven day weeks are the norm.

Fortunately for me, this weekend is a rare one as, unless I get an eleventh hour email, Saturday and Sunday are mine to spend sofa shopping and getting my affairs in gear ahead of the wife and I's move to Northern Ireland. However, as much as 48 hours off thrills me, my opening exclamation is in regards to something else...

...the Fitba is back!

Having gorged on the World Cup for the last three weeks, Wednesday and Thursday left many football, futbal, fussball (haven't got the German SZ symbol) and soccer fans left to play with their own thoughts, as a grand sum of zero WC games were played. For fans of Aberdeen, Aberystwyth and Stjarnan, they got the luxury of enjoying their early Europa League first rounds, but for the rest of us it was repeats of The Big Bang Theory and another laboured episode of Guillermo Ochoa's favourite, How I Met Your Mother. Bad times.

Monday and Tuesday literally seem like days ago. Combined with seeing very little of France v Nigeria, mainly extra time in Germany v Algeria, none of Argentina v Switzerland and the second half of regulation time in the USA v Belgium game, I feel like I haven't had a decent football fix for ages. All of the above means that this blog may be light on action. You may have realised this as I've gone five paragraphs already without getting to matters on the pitch.

I'll begin now.

France left it late versus Nigeria. Paul Pogba's header and Joseph Yobo's own goal sent the Super Eagles packing at the last sixteen stage, despite the best efforts of Vincent Enyeama in the African goal. Tragically, it was a flap from the seemingly unflappable and easy going goalie that gifted Pogba the opener, and when Yobo knocked the ball past him under pressure from Griezman in injury time, their fate was sealed.

        VIVE LE FRANCE!

It seemed that the theme for the second round was goalkeeping heroics not being enough, as Enyeama, and Ochoa were joined on the plane home (figuratively speaking, although a home of great international goalkeepers, or indeed for great international goalkeepers, would make gripping television) by Rais M'Bohli and Twitter's favourite American, Tim Howard.

It was another case of so near and yet so far for a former Hearts failure, as M'Bohli kept Germany at bay for ninety minutes. A number of great saves, the pick of the bunch coming from a Thomas Mueller header late on, and an extra time earning clutch from Schweinsteiger's fairly tame header, went a long way to disproving the theory that African keepers are by and large mince.

          M'BOHLI THE M'GOALIE

His ninety minutes of custodial greatness was undone within ninety seconds of extra time, as Andrea Schurrle's lovely back-heeled clip from eight yards put Yogi Loew's team ahead. Mesut Ozil sealed the win late on in the extra half hour, before Djabhou's well timed run and volley past Neuer gave the Germans a brief yet deserved scare.

While both African sides head home, France and Germany will do battle with one another today. Although both racked up the goals,in their first two group games, they have still been very wasteful in front of goal, the French in particular. As good as the goalkeeping has been in this tournament, Deschamps' side were guilty of missing gilt edged chances in their opener, missed a penalty in their game against Switzerland and needed an own goal for insurance to get to the quarter finals.

Germany had the lions share of attacking possession against Algeria and with Klose and Mueller, they have plenty of goals in them, but a bit more precision and power would have seen M'Bohli beaten far earlier than he was. With the knockout games seemingly more about not losing than winning, I don't see this trend being bucked when they face each other. With the goals per game average in the group stages being over 3.5, the ninety minute average for the last sixteen games has been less than half, coming in at 1.3, stat fans. That's quite a drop.

To put a positive spin on it though, credit does have to go to the goalies for that stat. Indeed, all the credit for that could go to Tim Howard, who couldn't have done any more to stop his side going out. A World Cup record of sixteen saves in the one game rightfully had Howard hailed as an All-American Hero during their match with Belgium, the most viewed televised soccer game in USA TV history, allegedly.

Time are time the Everton goalie denied the likes of de Bruyne, Origi and his Goodison Park buddies Fellaini and Mirallas. Even Vincent Kompany tried to take matters in to his own hands later on, only to be kept out by the Tourette's stricken MVP. His performance solidified and Twitter's reaction to him solidified him a place in the USA's sporting history, with memes, hashtags and his yearbook photos all being banded around the internet after every goal bound effort was blocked and parried away.

    HOWARD'S WAY (ON HIS WAY HOME, MORE LIKE)

His glory was almost taken away from him though as a rare venture forward by the USMNT saw Chris Wonderlowski blaze over the bar from eight yards, unmarked. A goal at that point would surely have sent Klinsmann's spirited underdogs through, but it wasn't to be. The introduction of another Everton alumni, Romelu Lukaku changed the game's complexion in extra time.

The Chelsea forward, who spent last season on loan in Liverpool, boosted down the right, squaring for his Stamford Bridge team mate Kevin de Bruyne, who took a touch to compose and make space for himself before shooting across Howard and in. Almost all of the USMNT fell to the floor, visibly rocked and knackered having withstood the Belgian barrage for so long.

Their attitudes did not falter though, even when Lukaku himself made it 2-0 before half time in the extra thirty. With only pride to play for, Klinsmann's men kept going and got a goal that their efforts just about deserved, Michael Bradley floating a ball over the top of the static Belgian defence to pick out Junior Green, whose deft volley with the outside of his right boot sailed past Courtois for a consolation goal.

A well worked free kick that ended up at the feet of Clint Dempsey could have sent the game to penalties, but a last ditch block ended the American dream. ( Their hopes of a quarter final, not Dusty Rhodes.)  Belgium, while still not quite the sum of what there parts should, advance to the quarter finals and a last eight tie with Argentine. Origi and de Bruyne look to be the men most likely to get them to the semis, provided they can get past Argentina.

By all accounts, there are only two things I know about Argentina's extra time win over Switzerland. Di Maria was rubbish and Di Maria scored. That's about it. Scraping by once again, with Messi the architect of all things good about this Argie side, they certainly don't seem to be worthy of winning the tournament on their showings so far. The Belglium game should hopefully see them step it up a notch, as they go a step closer to winning a WC that would be most coveted, particularly doing so in Brazil.

     #HERO

So, the QFs line up this weekend like this:

France v Germany, Brazil v Colombia, Costa Rica v Holland, Argentina v Belgium.

If I was a betting man, or better at betting that what I am, I'd say Germany, Brazil, Holland and Argentina will progress. However, I think that Colombia and Belgium might just sneak in there instead...

Last Sixteen Bumper Blog Bonanza as Brazil, Colombia, Holland and Costa Rica Advance

I feared that once the group stages were out of the way, that the drama and entertainment that we'd see so far in the World Cup would dwindle. Four games in to the last sixteen and there's absolutely no sign of that being the case.

Brazil's epic battle with Chile on Saturday tea time may not have been the most aesthetically pleasing game, but the peril that the Selecao put themselves under with a a fairly pedestrian performance against a well organised and bustling Chilean side, made for fascinating viewing.

I wrote earlier in the week about how Scolari's side had finally found their stride in this tournament with their win over Cameroon, but as seems to have been the case in their other games, an initial burst of energy and excitement subsided once they lost a goal. David Luiz, despite probably not getting a touch on Neymar's corner, celebrated like he'd won the World Cup single handedly as Brazil took the lead. It would take until the very last kick of the ball for him to enjoy "his" goal properly.

The home side's intensity dropped markedly after they scored. Whether that was down to Neymar injuring himself early on but not wanting to exit the fray, the expectation of the massive home support weighing massively on their shoulders, or the defiant persistence with Fred and Hulk going forward, who knows? 

They were also thwarted, rather unusually, by the referee at timely turns. Howard Webb bucked the trend of officials favouring the hosts, by turning down a first half penalty claim that the watching world would have expected to be given. In the second half he denied Brazil a probable winner, chalking off Hulk's mishit half-volley for a dubious hand ball call. It was upper arm at most, hitting the joint of bicep and tit/pec (depending in your physique), but it was enough of the arm for Webb to wipe it out.

The only man to make Hulk angrier was the Chilean goalie, Claudio Bravo. Time after time, he thwarted the Porto man to keep his side in the game, and did the same in the penalty shoot out.

Said shoot-out was earned through Alexis Sanchez taking advantage of an error by Hulk in the first half. Having failed to control Marcelo's throw in, he was dispossessed by Eduardo Vargas, who teed up the unmarked Sanchez, who found Julio Cesar's bottom right corner to level.

The closing play from the Chileans throughout the game tormented the Brazilians and that Sanchez goal epitomised their World Cup so far, never giving their opponents a minute on the ball, shutting down space as quickly as possible.

Being pegged back should have galvanised the home side to push on, like they did against Cameroon. Instead, they found the Chileans frustrating and stifling, having to resort to long balls forward for the sedate Neymar and ineffectual Fred, before he was hooked. Hulk was the only forward looking lively, but as above, it just wasn't to be his day.

As the game went to extra time, the pressure was all on Brazil. This was evident by their prayers and spirited team talks from their key men. Chile's Arturo Vidal, who had been subbed, showed that his side weren't feeling the intensity just as much, as he chomped away on a choc ice, as his team mates stretched out their cramps.

For many, it would have been unthinkable that the host nation and pre tournament favourites were  on the brink of exiting the WC at the second round. Even more unthinkable was Mauricio Pinilla, a man who couldn't cut it in the SPL with Hearts, almost winning the game for Chile at the death of extra time. A counter attack,with Brazil committed forward, saw la Rojas surge forward, Pinilla receiving the final pass of the move as he found space ahead of David Luiz. His rocket of a shot looked goal bound until the last second as it rose just a couple of inches too high and crashed back off bar.

Now at Cagliari, "Pini-gol" could have been the man to break Brazilian hearts. Instead, he's the heart broken former Hearts man who'll be remembered as the lad who should have put Chile through. 

Penalties would decide the outcome and the lottery of spot kicks favoured the home side where the  officials hadn't in normal time. Julio Cesar was the heroic custodian, saving from both Pinilla and Alexis Sanchez to give Brazil a cushion. David Luiz and Marcelo did their bit to ease the home side's hopes, before Willian missed the target completely and Hulk (what a day, eh) was once more denied by Bravo. 

Chile drew themselves level to make the final kick for each side sudden death. Neymar coolly slotted his pen home, leaving Jara to keep his side in the WC. He didn't though,he hit the post, as fireworks and barbecues and car alarms went off all over Brazil. It was a fantastic end to a match that had been dramatic in all the right places and for all the right reasons. 

There's a good chance that Chile will be the country that is ram raided in the aftermath of this World Cup, much like Senegal, South Korea and Greece were after their successful tournaments in the last decade. Or Colombia.

With all the talk ahead of Colombia's game with Uruguay centred on Luis Suarez, it was only right that the headlines of the actual match were all about James Rodriguez. The Monaco man has been a revelation in this tournament, and after his opening goal last night, he will be a much sought after signature ahead of the new season. If RVP was pissed that Tim Cahill had stolen his Goal of the Tournament gong, (I don't actually know if he was or if he wasn't. I like to think he was) he would have been livid at James last night.

It's not just the ability and execution shown, but it's the awareness he shows before he even has the ball under control that makes the strike a World Cup classic. As he watches the ball drop towards him, he looks over his shoulder to see where Muslera is in his goal. Swatching that the Uruguay keeper is slightly off his line in the middle of the goal, James controls the ball with one touch on his chest and turns, before unleashing the purest of volleys from 25 yards over the goalie and in off the bar. Majestic. Or Jamestic. (Not convinced about that actually. It was brilliant though.)

If his first goal was all him, his second was down to the excellent work of his team mates. A swift move down the right saw the play spread to the left, Armero hanging a ball up to the back post from the edge of the box. Cuadrado chucked himself head long at the ball to not only keep it in play,but nod it down to James who was in the right place at the right time to blast under Muslera to seal the game for Colombia.

Without Suarez, the Uruguayans did indeed look toothless, ( pun sort of, but not really, intended) Cavani not quite as in sync with Forlan as he looked to be with Suarez beside him. Even Godin wasn't at his inspirational best, as the media circus around "Luisito" looked to have taken its toll. There's no denying that his influence on the Uruguay team is captivating, but their performance without Suarez was as half hearted as the excuse he gave about losing his balance to cause him to bump into Chiellini with his teeth.

The third of the second round games saw Holland take on Mexico in a game that saw the first official water breaks debuted. The afternoon heat in Fortaleza made for an interesting game, as the Dutch struggled with the humidity in the first half, with the Mexicans more adept to dealing with the mid-day sun. Cillessen was the busier of the two goalies in the first half, but not by much, flapping at, but nonetheless keeping out Salcido's boomer from 30 yards.

It was from a slightly shorter distance that Mexico took the lead at the start of the second half. With what looked like all of the Dutch players around him, Giovanni Dos Santos somehow found space to arrow a bouncing shot low in to Cillessen's left hand corner to increase the Latino heat. It was a well taken strike from the former Spurs man and looked until late on to be the goal to send Mexico through. Instead, a double dose of late drama stopped them from being the third of four South American sides to advance to the quarter finals.

Guillermo Ochoa was up to his old tricks in the second half, showing why he is such a highly regarded goalkeeper. A fantastic reaction save to stop a bullet header from de Vrij, somehow pushing the ball on to the post from being crouched on the line, was followed up with a stop at the feet of the slaloming Arjen Robben. 

The Ted Mosby from How I Met Your Mother lookalike seemed intent on keeping his goal intact, much like he did against Brazil. With three minutes left of regulation time though, he fell foul of the kind of Mosby-esque luck that HIMYM's Ted regularly and inappropriately told his kids of. 

A corner from the right was met by an orange shirt, but instead of going goalwards it fell to the edge of the box. Having been largely ineffective for most of the tournament thus far, Wesley Sneijder's strode forward to cleanly blast the ball in to the bottom corner. There was no way Ochoa was saving that one.

With extra time looming, only a ridiculous defensive faux pas could find a winner without the need for an added thirty minutes. Rafael Marquez was the man to provide such a mistake. About a minute in to injury time, Robben once more drove in to the box from the right. Having been denied a stone waller in the first half where he was fouled twice in the same tackle, he wasn't to be denied on this occasion, as Marquez, who as skipper should have known better, clipped him at the bye-line, giving the referee no choice but to point to the spot.

It was a cruel, cruel blow for the Mexicans, particularly so late on, but that's the cost of silly lunges in the dying embers of a match which saw defeat grabbed from the jaws of victory. Klaas Jan Huntelaar expertly fired the spot kick home, sending Ochoa the wrong way, ultimately setting up a quarter final showdown with the winners of Sunday night's game.

That would be Costa Rica, who survived yet more late drama to come away with the win via penalty kicks, in a game that I didn't see much of, but kept my hopes of winning the work sweep alive for another game at least. From what I did see, the first half was quite drab, enticing me to turn over to watch Kasabian at Glastonbury for a while that included me missing Bryan Ruiz' second half goal. 

While not the biggest Kasabian fan in the world, they are pretty good live, and with a line up that included Giorgios Samaras lookalike Serge Pizzorno, Tom Meighan as Krieger from Archer and their bassist the absolute spit of Richard Herring, watching them mug about to Processed Beats, Underdog and Eez-Eh was quite a bit more lively than the match on ITV. 

That was until the last half hour. Duarte's red card and the Greek's firing on as many forwards as possible, put the Costa Ricans under the cosh for most of the second half, and inevitably, they were made to rue it in normal time as Sokritis Pastapathopolous knocked in a rebound in the final minute to earn his side extra time. Having made it to this stage thanks to a late, late penalty against the Ivory Coast, Sokritis' strike looked to be an example of the Hellenic gods shining down upon them once more.

Well, for half an hour at least.

After four well hit penalties each, Gekas saw his spot kick saved, before Michael Umana sealed a date with Holland with his winner for Costa Rica.

And boom, that was a lot of words about four games that mean the first side of thequarter final bracket is Colombia v Brazil and Holland v Costa Rica.