Argentina- world champions but for how much longer?

 Argentina- world champions but for how much longer?

Deservedly Argentina are still football's world champions and they may still be at the summit when the World Cup Final reaches New York on July 19. But there is something about their Latin temperament that is still troubling to those who follow them so avid, loyally and fervently. Perhaps it has something to do with the dramatic intensity of the bossa nova, the compelling spectacle of the tango, the woman with a rose in her mouth and just the unpredictability of the national team. 

During the 1978 World Cup, hosted by Argentina, there were disturbing undercurrents of underlying terrorism and the junta, an armed military force. Argentina were still run by mad colonels in uniform and there were soldiers on the streets who threatened to run riot if somebody so much as whispered an objection to their presence. It was all very terrifying and potentially damaging to the national team's hopes of winning the World Cup. 

And yet back then Argentina were still a world class side, a force to be reckoned with and never doubted or condemned. Nobody ever underestimated  Argentina. On home territory they had a manager who never smiled and smoked like the proverbial chimney. He sat there as glum and grim faced as somebody who was about to be sent to the gallows. And he must have known there was something good in the air because South Americans do know how to celebrate when victory can be sensed in the air. 

Besides, Argentina's Brazil had already become seasoned contenders in World Cup circles. They were more than capable of out passing and out classing any team who challenged them. On the day Brazil had  been World Champions on innumerable occasions. Argentina could only look on with an all consuming envy, a jealousy that perhaps did them no favours at all. And yet four years ago Lionel Messi finally brought the Jules Rimet Cup back to Buenos Aires, Rosario and Cordoba and the fans couldn't get enough of it. Messi had been bestowed with the highest order of nobility and the crown fitted perfectly. 

But in 1978, the guns and tanks were rumbling through the streets of Argentina and one man somehow reflected the mood of the nation at the time. His face looked drawn, haggard and ghoulishly gaunt. It looked as if somebody had placed a mask on his face and stretched it right across his forehead. Maybe it was a map of the local avenidas of the Buenos Aires back roads and streets or elastic bands had refused to move. 

Suffice it to say that Cesar Luis Menotti was never a happy man, a solitary figure on his managerial bench who was convinced that somebody had stolen his most expensive watch or maybe a cherished ring on his fingers. Menotti was just discontented with something and maybe there was something on his mind that troubled him. But Menotti's side had swaggered through the 1978 World Cup tournament with something to spare. 

Under controversial circumstances they had beaten their fellow South Americans Peru with an astonishing 6-0 victory. And by the time they'd returned to Buenos Aires for the World Cup Final against the Netherlands the country had already worked itself up into a lather. Everywhere light blue and white flares, outlandish flags and banners were festooned across every balcony and veranda in every house, apartment block and the thousands of shops now overflowing with breathless anticipation. 

But Menotti was still not satisfied because he demanded so much more from his players. He was a ruthless disciplinarian, smoking his way through so many packets of cigarettes that perhaps he didn't much care about health warnings and heart attacks. Menotti was grumpy, melancholy, down to earth, grounded, constantly setting exacting standards. And then the day of the World Cup Final arrived and everything felt so much better.

On those feverish, febrile terraces, hundreds and thousands of Argentina supporters gathered around the high, steepling tiers of seats. And then suddenly the fans let their team know exactly what they thought of him. In a matter of hours and then minutes confetti was showered across the pitch, ticker tape flooding across every corner of the stadium. Pieces of paper that looked like the kind of streamers you'd normally expect to see at a children's birthday party were unfolded and the party was about to begin.

Argentina's opponents were the Netherlands. Four years earlier in West Germany, the Dutch were heavily fancied to beat West Germany only to come up against an outstanding, well drilled and regimented West German side who were disciplined to the end. Although Johan Cruyff had given the Dutch the lead with a blatant penalty in the opening seconds of the game, the Orange faded from vision and the Germans were in no mood for forgiveness, as the World Cup returned back to West Germany for the first time in ages. 

But the Dutch still had the immensely gifted Cruyff, Rob Rensenbrink, Rudi Krol, Johan Neeskens and Wim Van Hannegem in the ranks. Before the game, the Dutch were still confident of making amends for being runners up to West Germany in the 1974 World Cup. But there was still something missing about the Dutch that was indefinable, their Total Football now rumbled, deciphered and then blotted out by an Argentina side who knew that any hint of arrogance in their team would meet its match. And so it proved. 

The Netherlands were swept away by an Argentina, high in rich technique, an impeccable team ethic, a collective camaraderie and the kind of winning mentality that couldn't be resisted. Daniel Passarella had been the most impressive of captains, leading from the front with total domination of his opponents, while in midfield, they had two men who would capture the hearts of English football with an almost romantic tenderness. 

Osvaldo Ardilles and Ricky Villa were young bohemians, midfield playmakers of the most imaginative kind. Ardilles had a low centre of gravity but possessed the most beautiful ball control. Ardilles drifted around the centre of the pitch almost under cover, clandestinely weaving his way around defenders and wriggling his way cunningly onto the edge of the Dutch penalty area. Villa, for his part, was simply content to be Ardilles side kick, a willing assistant, co-conspirator at the heart of so many of Argentina's most dangerous and constructive attacking movements.

But up front Leopoldo Luque and Mario Kempes were lethal, merciless, destructive strikers who knew where the goal was. Kempes had the dark, black matted hair that reminded you of a matinee film idol who must have sent countless female hearts fluttering and swooning. Kempes scored twice in an ultimately convincing and comprehensive 3-1 win for Argentina. Argentina were world champions while the Dutch licked their wounds yet again. 

And so we return to last night. Argentina reached another World Cup quarter final at the expense of a gallant and energetic Egypt side who led twice but still surrendered their advantage. Somewhere English football can still see Argentina in the rear view mirror. There was the famous 1998 World Cup encounter when David Beckham childishly flicked his foot out at Diego Simeone and was promptly sent off. It was a rush of the blood to Beckham's head and petulance that fitted the punishment. 

Argentina won as they would in the 1986 World Cup quarter final when a genius called Diego Maradonna first cheated and then redeemed himself when Terry Butcher, Terry Fenwick and Peter Reid were left gasping for oxygen and left  for dust as Maradonna's twinkling feet left a frantically back pedalling English defence in no man's land. It was a solo run from heaven, as Maradonna made a mockery of his opponents. It underlined his signature moment of the tournament.

Still we wonder if Argentina can re-discover their 1978 pomp. Somehow both Spain and France may have something to say on the matter. Argentina are still a moody and bad tempered team, as exemplified by one Antonio Rattin. Rattin was literally the man who threw not only his toys out of the pram, spat out his dummy and stubbornly stood his ground before he too was sent off in England's memorable 1966 World Cup quarter final against a mean, intransigent Argentina. So you never know what you're going to get with Argentina. England, of course, may lie in waiting for another emotive battle against their South American opponents in what could be a World Cup semi final, a match to remember we must hope.