Summer Blog Post Fifteen

Summer Blog Post Fifteen

Summer Blog Post 15

Dear readers of my blog,

Wilde's four years at Oxford ended in a “Double First”, and it is said everyone was surprised by this success. If today the last six months before the finals at Oxford are still without any tutorials and lectures, it is highly probable that this was already the case in his time. So nobody knew what he did when not socialising. Working seriously, as the authors of Bluffocracy (2018) is not encouraged in certain courses, least in Philosophy, Politics, Economics, PPE in short, which since 1920 has “created” quite a lot of Prime Ministers, not least David Cameron, the architect of the current catastrophe of Britain, while Theresa May had studied geography, also at Oxford University. The current favourite in the leadership contest, however, like Wilde read Greats but his degree was only an upper second class one.

Risking his own life by living as he did, Wilde was sanctioned by his contemporaries. It seems impossible to believe at the moment that all the scrapes the former Foreign Secretary has been up to since 2016 that he won't end up Prime Minister by the end of next month. He, however, is going to risk the future of an entire country unless he learns that in politics you need to work with diplomacy and apply the art of compromise.

Tuesday, 25th June, the 90th birthday of Eric Carle and the 50th anniversary of his illustrated book The very hungry caterpillar (1969)


With only two games of the 20th World Cup left, I feel some reluctance about turning my ideas about their outcome into predictions I want to submit. A friend living in Berlin wrote me via e-mail that all is possible in football, that one never knows what is going to happen. Nothing could be either more banal or less true. With my neighbour, a journalist working at the local paper, this friend in Berlin not only shares the profession, they also share having witnessed that legendary four all draw of Germany vs. Sweden in October 2012. Across the fence, my neighbour told me he had won a ticket for having topped the internal prediction list for the previous Bundesliga season. Unfortunately, the friend he had been at the game with suggested they leave the Olympiastadion early, when it was still Germany four Sweden three, in order to catch an earlier U-Bahn, but they had hardly turned their backs on the pitch and walked down the steps when a huge roar suggested to them what turned out to be Sweden’s equalizing goal. He only found out about the actual result when phoning his mother back in East Frisia who had followed events on TV.

At the time, my friend in Berlin wrote he was sure to have witnessed a very important episode in the history of German football. According to my regular diary I did not even think of football that evening, having so much literary work to do as well as starting to read J. K. Rowling’s A Casual Vacancy.[1] So although I had missed the match, which rarely happens, I couldn’t but agree because such an all but complete reversal of fortune within 25 minutes will for ever imprint itself on the minds of the players who were on the pitch, entered it as substitutes, or had to look on helplessly from outside.

There and then I made up my mind certainly not to miss the return match in October 2013, if only to see how playing Sweden may be different from facing any other country in the qualifying group. Some days earlier, Germany had clinched first place in the group through a victory over Ireland at Munich, which I followed on the radio, just as they had won by six goals to one in Dublin in October 2012.

This time, however, Sweden went two goals up, though they could not field their star Ibrahimovic that night. Just before and after half-time, it was the Germans who came back, winning by five goals to three in the end. There were clearly problems about defensive work but their psyche seemed absolutely prepared for overcoming setbacks within one and the same game.

A day before the Final at Rio de Janeiro which I had never deemed possible before the start of the World Cup because most experts were lamenting the missing of Marco Reus and Ilkay Gündogan, both from Borussia Dortmund, I again recall my trip to Rome 24 years ago. There was no time then to reflect on all the details of the coming match – at least I don’t remember anything of that today – since all I was concerned about was how to get a ticket once I had arrived in la città eterna. Like thirteen other students from Germany, I was to take part in a course of Italian which was going to start on the day the Final took place. Thus I had solved the problem of finding accommodation months before. When train tickets could be booked, which was two months in advance, I went to a local travel agent’s reserving my bunk on the night train from Munich to Rome on Saturday, 7th July 1990. It was a bet I had placed on Germany reaching the final which I only won on Wednesday, 4th July 1990.

On arrival at Munich Central Station at about five p.m., I noticed how many people were already assembling for the night train. Most would either have to stand all the way or sit in a normal carriage, while I was happy to be able to take a few cat naps in my compartment sitting and later lying six people. Interestingly, none of my fellow travellers inside went to Rome for the World Cup Final.

A young couple was going to visit the boy’s or the girl’s parents, one of them being Italian. I don’t recall anything about the other three. Outside the compartment, however, everybody seemed to be heading for the Stadio olimpio. Recounting this trip to a friend we had a dinner party with yesterday, I realized that at the time, throughout the whole journey, I had no clue of how I would get hold of a ticket.

To be honest, I had tried to ask the organizer of the language course some days earlier over the phone. She only said I was some days late since during the World Cup a German journalist had regularly visited them – she was German, too – and if I had rung then he might have helped. But like most other press people he had already left Rome. So it was a chance meeting when queuing up to leave my luggage in the Stazione termini which finally allowed me to see some light at the end of the tunnel I had entered on 15th November 1989 when Germany had eventually secured qualification for Italy.

It was an exciting match vs. Wales that had no chance to qualify but forced the Germans, whose skipper Matthäus was out for injury but hobbling around on crutches, to come back from behind in the first half. The one nil was a quick counter-attack following a tackle that might have been a free kick to Germany when suddenly two Welsh players were running towards goal. The equalizer, just before our eyes, came following a Möller corner, headed on by Augenthaler, through centre-forward Völler. Even after leading by two goals to one, which was my prediction before the match, did the German side face serious opposition after Häßler had scored the second goal converting a cross from the left by his club mate Littbarski that a Welsh defender had headed on blindly or half-heartedly, as the reporter said.[2]

Having watched the complete game on TV, I must say that I had never known that the penalty missed by Littbarski seemed to have gone in at the left post but came out again, making the rest of the game difficult for the Germans who fielded nine of the twelve men later active in the World Cup Final in Rome with only Kohler and Berthold missing apart from Matthäus.

Interestingly, the referee, Michel Vautrot, in the first half added almost four minutes for reasons of injury, and he would add eight minutes to the first half of extra-time in the Naples semi-final of Italy vs. Argentina. Neither in the Cologne stadium nor on TV had I spotted his habit of carefully calculating any stoppages and adding them to the 45 minutes. In fact, he may have been both precise about checking his watch and forgetting to do so in one particular game, as he admitted after the semi-final.[3]

Watching the complete match after so much time didn’t disappoint me for I saw how much the side had improved since the Euro 1988 and also what could be expected from the players once they had qualified but they had been dancing on a razor’s edge throughout with the crowd always supportive, particularly after Malcolm Allen’s goal had completely silenced them. This was also the moment I most vividly recalled, the fact, that is, that the crowd started to push the team once they were at their lowest ebb after only ten minutes.

It was interesting besides to find out from the TV recording that Boris Becker as well as cabinet minister Norbert Blüm, both ardent football fans, and the German and British Foreign Secretaries, Genscher and Hurd, also shared this match with the sixty thousand capacity crowd at Cologne. It was just six days after the Berlin Wall had opened, and I had learned in the morning that my proposal to do a Ph.D. on James Joyce had been accepted, so that whatever might happen politically I would be able to pursue my studies without any material care in the years to come. Exhilarated, I may have decided the same day to go for a Final ticket in Rome the next year by applying for a language class in Italian.

To come back to Sunday, 8th July 1990: Standing behind me at Stazione termini were two men, about ten years my senior, who also wanted to watch the game and who hadn’t got any tickets either. Waiting for the queue to move, we started talking and soon I asked them if I might join them to try and find tickets closer to the football ground.

They readily agreed and soon we also talked about books, they being printers with a publishing firm I knew. On leaving the glassed building of the Stazione termini, we glimpsed German-looking fans who were about to be arrested by the Carabinieri some of whom were already marching away another man, obviously a black market dealer who had been foolish enough to try and sell tickets there and then. The bus was still empty, just as the streets of Rome looked deserted on Sunday morning. It was hot, though, when we arrived perceiving a ticket office which was open, about hundred yards ahead. A small queue was waiting. I was still hoping to buy a ticket legally when the window was closed and word reached us that the match was officially sold out or did it say that officially it was sold out? I cannot recall the nuance.

Unimpressed and certainly not discouraged, we started walking the extended grounds of the Foro italico. People who had arrived with us or shortly later began to disperse, all trying to look like harmless tourists sharing a liking for early-morning strolls among the succulents and ever-greens planted in huge pots on this plateau where the only policemen visible were those on horseback who often turn up to calm down huge crowds.

I don’t remember how we encountered “our” man, if he was first or second or even third choice because my new friends wanted to buy three tickets in one go rather than having to find another dealer. They talked in suppressed tones but soon the deal was done, money and tickets had exchanged hands, and we headed back to the city centre, somewhat exhilarated about having reached our goal. Outside a bar not far from the Stazione termini, we spent the rest of the morning talking shop over coffee and cold soft drinks, reflecting on football in general and every now and then picking up the echoes of fans shouting, chanting and actually singing in the streets of Rome. We didn’t feel like joining them.

Before I had attended only few away games of the teams I supported but what they had in common was that the fans were a different lot from those who attended home matches. And this was the World Cup Final we were going to see, not a local derby in an obscure amateur league or a Bundesliga clash of two clubs playing in the no man’s land of the league table, or even an important cup tie between two sides whose fans were lamenting times bygone.

Saturday, 12th July 2014, 10.45 a.m.


Doing our weekly shopping in the market-place and in both of Leer’s organic food stores, I recall last Friday’s rush in a supermarket at around 4.30 p.m. because everyone wanted to be home in time for the match against France, and the short exchange I had yesterday at another supermarket with the cashier who confirmed that it had been a special moment. I added, perhaps it was like when shops still used to close at 1 p.m. on Saturdays, but there was no response on her part since, obviously, she had no memory of that period.

Today, however, shoppers were relaxed and at one stall which I patronize for certain fruits and vegetables not available at the organic stall all assistants either wore a Germany shirt or the tricolour make-up or both. The lady serving me said she had even looked through her husband’s things to find a Germany shirt in order to follow the others. While a huge majority, the Internet headline runs, are convinced of Germany’s victory tomorrow, she admitted nothing would be lost if they didn’t win. In fact, life will go on, and the German team need to play Argentina again on 3rd September in a test match before facing Scotland in their first Euro qualifier on the 7th. She might have shaken hands with the Mayor-elect who also appeared at Logabirum because there were fewer people there but told me she hadn’t seen me there for the Brazil match. It was the only one I watched elsewhere this time, I told her.

It is not only in the Middle East that football has become an integrating factor, in Germany since 2006 the national team has achieved what re-unification in 1990 didn’t manage. People who normally identify with their town, their local and/or favourite club or their region show their identification with the national colours at their flag-poles, on their cars and bicycles, by means of clothes worn by children, men, and women alike, by make-up and tricolour hats, and caps etc. etc.

While many people born in the 1950s and 1960s considered waving the flag problematic even in 2006, a look at its history shows that the use of its colours goes back to the 11th century when black, red, and gold became Imperial colours. Suitably, in reaction to the Napoleonic occupation the three colours stood for the movement from slavery (black), by means of bloodshed (red), to the stars (gold) or the golden light of liberty, following the Latin motto: per aspera ad astra. When Napoleon had been beaten and the continental powers felt restored, wearing these colours was considered revolutionary or at least seditious. Following the Wartburgfest in 1817, also celebrating the tercentenary of the Reformation, the tricolour symbolized national unity, civil liberties, and freedom, as well as democratic aspirations beginning with the Hambacher Fest in 1832. Suitably, the poet Hoffmann von Fallersleben who wrote the “Deutschlandlied”, the third stanza of which begins with the words “Unity, right, and liberty”, also wrote another poem, entitled “Deutsche Farbenlehre”, in which he referred to black as the night ruling over the German fatherland before the appearance of the red dawn and, finally, the golden morning of a renewed country.

Understood in that vein, the revival of the flag in 2006 during the World Cup held in Germany also stands for a renewal of that sense of national unity which owing to the federal state divided into sixteen Lander and many regions is hardly ever present in everyday life. Thus the national team in a way similar to that in Italy, la Squadra Azzurra, epitomizes a sense of togetherness that a secularized society cannot otherwise muster in many countries.

Saturday, 12th July 2014, 7.15 p.m.




Listening to the World Cup broadcast by my favourite radio station, I don’t agree to the expert’s view that the match for third place is only important for the World Cup statistics. Germany has been through this several times, and perhaps they won all these games simply because the players were able to leave their semi-final defeat behind. This should certainly be more difficult for Brazil than for The Netherlands who haven’t lost a single match this World Cup.

Asked about the Dutch Coach Louis van Gaal, Erich Rutemöller deems him an absolute expert, perhaps a little bit arrogant, but he cannot judge him personally. Similarly, he cannot talk about Felipe Scolari, a winner throughout his career who after his first defeat as coach of the Seleção in the second World Cup of his career now has to experience a dismantling of his public reputation, which he fails to understand, but which seems logical if viewed before the background of the expectations raised in Brazil.

Rutemöller was responsible for the class in which Joachim Löw read for his manager’s license, so that he has known him for a long time. Before the World Cup, Löw had stated that this tournament would be one of will power, and he has been proved right. It remains to be seen what will happen tomorrow.

Saturday, 12th July 2014, 7.28 p.m.



Eventually having managed to place my tips for the match for third place as well as for the grand final, I thought it necessary to watch the first half-hour if not the first half to judge whether I had seen right. This was not the most popular wish but it was granted. So at five to 10 p.m., I sat in front of my new flat screen concentrating on the national anthem of Brazil. The players still seem to be as emotionalized by singing the extra stanza without accompaniment as before, and when the camera travelled along the line I could not make out whether something like a resurrection was to be expected.

       Actual play, however, was to show how Brazil, like Spain before them, were to be outplayed by the Dutch passing powers. Again, as on Tuesday, Brazil started to attack furiously, and the first counter-attack, a long ball reaching Arjen Robben, made him accelerate in his usual way. From the referee’s point of view he was turned off his feet by Thiago Silva in the penalty area. In fact, the foul happened outside the area, and there ought to have been a free kick and a red card for the Brazilian Captain. Robin van Persie coolly took the penalty, and the Dutch were one nil up after only two minutes. Once again, the faces of the Brazilian players looked like stone, they tried hard for an early equalizer but the only things that happened were fouls on Oscar causing more or less dangerous free kicks. When three Brazilians missed one of these balls, all crashing down in front of Cillessen’s goal, the reporter claimed this scene to be symbolic of the state of football in Brazil at the moment.

       Another attack down the right, the Dutch player with his right foot just offside, the cross was, however, allowed and headed towards Daley Blind by David Luiz. The left-footed player controlled the ball, scoring with his right high into the corner. After 16 minutes, Brazil seemed to be beaten into fourth place. I watched all through the first half, observing the same weaknesses in defence as on Tuesday which the Dutch, to be honest, didn’t profit from with as much determination as the Germans had done, but they were always able to accelerate, demonstrating in most scenes their will-power at long last to win one of those cursed final matches of the World Cup and the only medal to be obtained today.

       The reporter took advantage of this situation to point out that this second defeat of Brazil at the hands of a well-organized European side had put into perspective both Tuesday’s events and Germany’s achievement. He also said that Argentina would be a lot more difficult to beat. Given their defensive and tactical skills, I deem the Albiceleste a very hard nut to crack, though it must be said that while the Dutch only lost in the penalty shoot-out, they showed their qualities on the counter-attack in this last game.

       When I saw the result this morning, it had become Brazil nil vs. The Netherlands three, so that I earned two points only, thinking that if the hosts had been eliminated previously as in 2006 and 2010, no-one might have witnessed the actual state of their football. Eliminated in the penalty shoot-out against Chile, they could always have claimed to have been unlucky. If Colombia had equalized after Neymar’s injury and won after extra-time, everyone would have blamed the unfairness of a single foreign player.

Now, following ten goals scored against them in two matches, everyone will have to accept that neither defence, nor midfield, nor attack had been up to the mark. They should be lucky to have lost to Germany and The Netherlands, given how their prestige would have suffered had they been as thoroughly or even only narrowly beaten by Argentina. Besides, the reporter talked about corruption in the football association which may have prevented any reforms so far. Organizing a World Cup can be a profitable venture for corrupt functionaries. Building training camps and reforming the training of coaches wouldn’t be as profitable. Finally, the money-value of players should be called into question in general. Ironically, the reporter talked about the 50 million PSG had paid for David Luiz who couldn’t be returned to Chelsea now.

Sunday, 13th July 2014, 10.20 a.m.



With less than three hours to go before kick-off, I turn to my diary once again, recalling the Euro Final at Vienna in 2008 when TV spots in Spain communicated a short sentence: “Porremos”, a cultural echo of the motto Barack Obama had chosen for his electoral campaign the same year: “Yes, we can.” When I saw this in pre-match videos I thought they would most probably win the Final against Germany who had with difficulty booked their ticket to Vienna, while Spain had easily beaten Russia by three goals to nil.

They had been waiting for a title for 44 years, having last been in the Euro Final in 1984, and Germany had reached their last final only six years before. Now Maradona claims Argentina hunger more for the title. Well, they last won it 28 years ago, whereas Germany has been waiting for 24 years. We shall see about who wants it more. What is similar to 1990 is that Argentina has the one world star, Lionel Messi, and many players who are more expensive than those fielded by the German side.

In 1990, both teams had won their semi-finals by four goals to three after penalties, with Argentina losing an important player because of a second yellow card. Today both can field their best World Cup sides but their ways through the tournament couldn’t have been more different. Both have won five matches so far, drawing one. There the similarities cease. I will go on after tonight’s final since some observations might look foolish in the face of a German one nil defeat after extra-time, the single goal scored by Messi or one of his associates in a way similar to that which allowed them to beat Switzerland in the round of the last 16.

Sunday, 13th July 2014, 6.51 p.m.


A morning without newspapers: an unprecedented situation at Leer Station. But for the local paper whose night editor for yesterday, my neighbour, had to insert a brief article as well as the banner headline nothing was available for sale at 6 a.m. Of course, the eye-catcher he chose was the team presenting the World Cup they had been close to winning in three successive tournaments when they had always failed in the decisive match.

Intriguingly, in all three games in 2002, 2006, and 2010 did they have to face Brazil, Italy, and Spain short of one key player, banned for the match by FIFA: Ballack for his second yellow card, Frings for having been involved in a dressing-room fist fight with the Argentinians, first publicized by an Italian TV channel; Müller for his second yellow card sanctioning what was not handball. (It might be said that Klose, the only player of the current squad to have been an international in 2002, in all three matches had failed to make an impact.) This time, all seemed well until fifteen minutes before kick-off when Sami Khedira said he could not play after all. I only noticed this when the travelling camera showed us the faces of the German players singing the national anthem. Nobody around me in the packed community centre, much too small for his taste my neighbour once told my wife, knew anything about this replacement.

Taking place in the Estádio do Maracanã, this World Cup Final, the third between these two sides and the first to be held in South America, was refereed by an Italian, Signor Rizzoli, who had also officiated at Wembley, on 25th May 2013, when Borussia Dortmund faced Bayern Munich in the first-ever all-German Champions League Final. In the first half, Dortmund played towards Neuer’s goal on our left – as do the Albiceleste today. If Germany win after a less than modest start with several chances offered to either Messi or Higuaín which they failed to profit from, I thought, that would be another parallel to that famous final on club level. Blackouts like that of Kroos heading a ball towards Neuer when he ought to have seen Higuaín returning slowly from an offside position, clearly showed that it would not be plain sailing again, that if the coveted early goal did not come their way, they would have to face an all or nothing battle, including extra-time and perhaps penalties as well.

The first half was difficult, too, since half-way through Löw had to substitute Christoph Kramer, Khedira’s replacement, as well, because he had been hit by the shoulder of a passing defender, so that he was unable properly to see and react any more. The reporter assumed he might have suffered a concussion. The crowd in the community centre shouted joyously when they saw Schürrle waiting on the touchline. On the one hand I was a bit lost at first as this would mean an even more offensively oriented German team. On the other hand there might open a gap between Kroos/Schweinsteiger and Özil who was to be playing centrally behind the three forwards. It took about ten minutes with another couple of dangerous counter-attacks showing that but for Boateng nobody was able to follow Messi once he accelerated before the Germans once again managed to put the Argentinians under pressure. They had done so with Kramer on the pitch who, like Khedira, was supposed to be everywhere, but Özil, for example, needed to find his bearings on a day when he was visibly willing to run for the title even if that meant chasing an Argentinian back to his own area. The reporter pointed out that he was being clapped furiously by the German fans for that. Similar to the Algeria game, Germany had a working offside trap. Luckily, the assistants of S. Rizzoli were always up to the mark, seeing two players offside when Higuaín scored on the counter-attack. How relieved we all were! Just before half-time, it was Höwedes who headed a corner taken by Kroos against the right post. The rebound taken by Müller, who was placed offside, was saved by Romero.

In the break I asked for some fresh water and was told to serve myself at the kitchen tap, which I did for the rest of the match, and which had a soothing effect. My friends, like me, sounded pessimistic, while Mehmet Scholl, the TV expert, said he had a good feeling for their having survived several hair-raisingly perilous goal-mouth situations. He might well be right since he had participated in that famous Bayern vs. Man United Final in 1999 when his side had done everything to win but convert their chances and lost within 120 seconds at the latter end.

Monday, 14th July 2014, on the train to Norden


It is only thirty-six hours later on the train to Paris with the students of my senior French class that I find time again to continue this journal. This evening, before boarding the over-night train, I will again patronize the ice-cream parlour where I first watched ten or twelve minutes of World Cup action of Brazil vs.Croatia. The prediction contest is over, too, and I’ve retained my 20th place, 26 points behind the winning foursome of colleagues. There was nothing to be got from the last weekend, given that neither Germany nor Argentina was on my bonus list. Moreover, I had been too optimistic about the outcome of the Final and not realistic enough about the performance Brazil might make in the match for third place. So I earned a meagre four points for having foreseen two European wins over South American opposition on their own continent.

At the start of the second half, my hopes for a quick decision are thwarted once more since the Argentinians though fielding Agüero show no intention of changing their approach to the game. Behind me, a younger man, standing before the window, now wide open – it had become quite stuffy inside – keeps trying to win fellow optimists, to proselytize in this house of God for the cause of Germany. Since I cannot sit down any more, a gentleman who later tells me to be of Angolan origin asks for my seat. As usual, many spectators filing outside for the interval had not returned preferring to share drinks, fresh air, and perhaps a smoke in the yard. Logabirum is a village suburb of the town of Leer, East Frisia, and today there’s a unique constellation of people present. The organizer, the incumbent of Logabirum Lutheran Church, is a cousin of the reporter speaking from the Estádio do Maracanã, Tom Bartels. And the brother of Germany’s team doctor, a former Lutheran pastor, also shares our experience of watching this Final here. For the likes of him, it’s the eighth final Germany have reached in fifteen World Cups since 1954, winning three so far.

In this second period, the men in white seem further away from taking home that Cup which the foreign secretary had reportedly told them to do on Sunday than ever before. No reason to despair, though, since there are Jérôme Boateng, Bastian Schweinsteiger, and Manuel Neuer who clear whatever situation might arise once the people up front lose the ball, allowing Messi to awake from his slumber in midfield and to accelerate towards the German area. With Mats Hummels also on the pitch and both Lahm and Höwedes strong on the wings, the situation never deteriorates in the way it did against Algeria, so I still hope against all appearances if not against hope itself that they might score the winner before extra-time. The reporter keeps referring to 8th July 1990 which, of course, is of no importance whatsoever now since in my mind’s eye I cannot concentrate on anything else but the present partita, to use the Italian equivalent for match, which is so different from either the last final in 2010 or that of 24 years ago.

Bartels seems to try to be objective, a commentator of things totally alien to his own set of mind, let alone his emotional set-up. He’s part of a tradition of German reporters who have been covering World Cup Finals since 1954, distancing themselves ever more from the legendary though much too martially-minded Herbert Zimmermann who was on the air for the 1954 and also the 1966 Finals. Since the two major TV channels have taken turns in broadcasting the final, it has so far always been the first channel which was in charge when the German side actually won the World Cup. Tom Bartels is the successor of Gerd Rubenbauer and Rudi Michel who commented for ARD in 1990 and 1974. If I had thought of that during the match I might have been more optimistic about the outcome.

Throughout the second half, it became clear that this referee wouldn’t award a penalty nor show the necessary number of cards to stop the Argentinians. As far as cards were concerned, his attitude had been quite similar at Wembley, though he awarded Dortmund a penalty for that vicious foul on Reus committed by Dante. Tactically, the situation had changed in that the coach of the Albiceleste was about to substitute his third player when Löw was still only thinking of fielding his no. 19, Mario Götze, for his record-breaking striker Klose after 88 minutes.

Tuesday, 15th July 2014, 7.20 p.m.


[1] London: Little Brown, 2012.

[2] 1989 (November 15) West Germany 2-Wales 1 (World Cup Qualifier).avi – YouTube (Accessed: 18th July 2018).

[3] Coupe du Monde de la FIFA, Italie 1990 - Matches - Italie-Argentine - FIFA.com (Accessed: 20th July 2018).


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