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The Peterkin massacre, we’d both agreed last week, was a horror movie, which had moved murder in T&T into a whole new realm. And as I drove down to Bobby’s house early Monday morning, my mood was still more than muted, sombre.
“Judgement,” Bobby the Bard greeted me even before I could say good morning, “has fled to brutish beasts and men have lost their reason.”
He too, I concluded, was heavy with the horror of what we’d heard about Hamas’ murderous incursion into Israel on the weekend.
Ha! How could I forget even for a moment how seriously he takes his football?
“Have you seen this thing?” he asked, showing me his phone. “I think this is the work of a dreamer.”
“This XI,” he continued as I grabbed the device, “with only touch players looks good on paper but it’s truly a dream squad. It’s a side that can only prevail in La La Land, the only place, I suppose, where sides like this will ever play.”
Leaping off the screen at me was Cristiano Ronaldo’s face. He was one of a line-up of 11 players below the banner THE BEST XI OF ALL TIME.
“Ronaldo?” I asked, genuinely taken aback. “In the BOAT XI?”
“Yes,” he sneered. “Artificial Intelligence is not common sense. They say this is a AI-generated list.”
“On my team, Ronaldo could be centre-forward; only Marco van Basten could keep him out. But Ronaldo Nazario, not the impostor this artificial selection committee put at left-wing. That’s an insult to our intelligence. And to all the top wingers who have graced the world’s football fields through the ages.”
“You mean like David Beckham? Jairzinho?”
“Is not even half-past-five yet, bro,” he said, patient parent speaking to delinquent child. “Much too early to cuss!”
“They have Pelé at centre-forward?” I asked. “He not making your side?”
“Centre-forward? Madness! I told you what Bobby Charlton said about him, remember? ‘Pelé is never there; he arrives!’ The great man—my undisputed GOAT every day and twice on Sundays—played all over the field, a habit that was critical to his success.”
“In my book,” he added, “[Lionel] Messi should not be on the right flank where he is either because he is not a real winger. Real wingers deliver crosses from the flank, left or right, instead of trying to cut in on goal every time. That’s what Messi does.”
“Besides,” he went on, “if you’re going to play 4-3-3, you have to pick real wingers.”
“Woooie,” I pulled him up, “yuh lorse de plot. Dis is a BOAT XI, best-of-all-time. They identifying de 11 best players, not picking a side to play real football.”
“But it has to make sense, dammit!” he snapped. “Did you notice that the whole 11 is made up of players from after the 1962 World Cup in Chile? That was when the idea of defence before attack took root.
“It blossomed into the negative approach that dominates today’s game, including the World Cup and the cash-flooded European leagues.
“And yet, there is not a single out-and-out defender. Explain that.”
“Wrong sport, my brother. If yuh not talking [Brian] Lara versus Sachin Tendulkar, I have no opinion I want to share.”
“Well, [Franco] Baresi and [Franz)]Beckenbauer are both sweepers. Where is the central defender who can battle with a [Olivier] Giroud or even match the pace of an [Kylian] Mbappé? Which of them will cut off a high cross?
“Also, there is no defensive midfielder. So, who will cover when Cafu bolts upfield, which we sure he going to do sooner rather than later? [Paolo] Maldini is not a bad pick.
(Copyright AFP Photo/ Daniel Garcia)
“Me? I would’ve gone with one of Manuel Amoros or [Bixente] Lizarazu, both from the 1998 France squad captained by the current France coach.”
“And, tell me, who will control the midfield?” he asked. “All three of [Johan] Cruyff, [Diego] Maradona and (Zinédine) Zidane are playmakers and Dieguito has not exactly been known to kowtow to anyone.
“So who will win back the ball or break up the counter-attack when possession is lost? Which one of those three is a runner who is going to provide support for attack and defence in every area of the pitch? Show me one who is a Jean Tigana, Wim Jansen, Mario Zagallo, or Wolfgang Dremmler.
(Copyright AFP 2014)
“Picking a side with three midfielders like that is a recipe for chaos!”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know enough about it. What I would say is this: surprising that you make no mention of another midfield Frenchman, whom I consider a super talent.”
“[Paul] Pogba?”
“Oh, please! In this company? Michel Platini.”
“Well, I figure his name came up. But he’s getting in ahead of whom? Not Maradona and Cruyff for sure!”
“I guess the French will have to decide between him and Zizou,” I said, chuckling. “After all, 60 million Frenchmen can’t…”
A sudden thought stopped me in mid-sentence.
“…can’t leave out two Spaniards and a Brazilian! Alfredo Di Stéfano and Ferenc Puskas were the two biggest names in football—along with Stanley Matthews—when I was growing up. Not good enough?”
“Both Di Stéfano and Puskas made their name in Spain. But one was born in Argentina, the other in Hungary. Great players in their time, yes, but who, apart from CR7, are you leaving out to include them?
“Who’s your Brazilian?”
(Copyright AFP2017/ Marcus Brandt)
“Ronaldinho.”
“Hmmm. Not convinced. But same answer. In place of whom?”
“What about the choice of Italy’s [Luigi] Buffon as keeper?”
A long, wet steups.
“It’s clear a buffoon made that selection. Lev Yashin, Gordon Banks, Sepp Maier, Jean-Marie Pfaff and José-Luis Chilavert to choose from and you end up with he in goal? Steuuuuuuups!”
“Steuuuuuuups!” That was me in the car on the way home. I had wanted to ask about the proper 6-wkt cutarse India put on Australia. The WI-in-Zimbabwe wound remains open.
But we’ll get around to discussing World Cup cricket one of these fo’daymornings…
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Columns that say that, after Covid has done its worst, we’re grateful
to be still here and be able to get out of bed early to heed the poet’s
Carpe diem injunction and, savouring all the day’s blessings, mine
those banal, random, ordinary, routine, unspectacular, run-of-the-mill,
early-morning thoughts and conversations we often engage in.
