Physically, as far as location was concerned, I was in the Bounce Sports Bar on Second Avenue in New York city. Most of our family had convened to celebrate our son’s fortieth birthday, but by Sunday afternoon game time, only my wife and I remained. She decided to cruise the boulevards while I indulged my passion.

Having spent the previous afternoon in the same establishment with my son-in-law to watch the third place game involving Uruguay and Germany, I was well aquainted with its cozy confines.

The crowd started to arrive around noon for the 2:30 kickoff. Orange and black intermixed with red and yellow flags, scarves, banners, and yes, vuvuzelas were in evidence, and the nervous engery was electric.

But what do you do, personnally, when your two favourite teams are playing each other, and one of them has to lose?

My love affair with the Dutch started in 1974, when Johan Cruyff and “total football”  invaded Germany for the World Cup, and almost won the championship, losing 2-1 to the hosts. The Netherlands have been known for aggressive, free flowing football ever since.

Their loss to Argentina in W.C.1978, was once again to the hosts, on this occasion in extra time. It was a brutally physical match, and for the Orangemen, the result was a bitter pill to swallow.

That game, and tournament itself, formed the basis of the novel “Renaldo,” that I wrote several years later.

So, 2010 was the Netherland’s third appearance in a World Cup final. The Orange had not been touted to do very well this time out, mainly because of their “always a bridesmaid,” reputation. What made me perk up and take interest was how their star players were performing in the European Champions League playdown in April and May.

When Dutch super stars Arjen Robben and Mark Van Bommel of Bayern Munich met Inter Milan’s Wesley Sneijder in the Champions League final, it convinced me that there was enough talent on the Netherlands to make a strong run in the World Cup.

As for Spain, a perennial under-achiever, the 2008 European Championships showed the world that this was a different Spanish side, one of supreme talent, patience, and a killer instinct. Their final game performance against a strong German side was one for the ages. How could you not fall in love with long haired Fernando Torres, the crafty Andres Iniesta, and hunky keeper, Iker Casillas?

And so it came to pass that on July 11, 2010, the two teams I fancied the most were going head to head in the biggest game of their lives. One team had to win, there was no doubt about that. Would the Dutch be third time lucky? Could the smaller Spanish team withstand the withering physical play that the Oranje were certain to throw at them and reign supreme?

The game itself was the ultimate chess match. Two different styles of play, two different temperments. History was not on Spain’s side, for no team that had lost their first game of the tournament had ever gone on to win the prize.
Once the English referee blew his whistle, however, history was forgotten.

Anyone who thought that soccer was not a physical sport, that it was played by primadonnas who would tumble to the pitch at the slightest touch, would have their eyes opened during this battle royale. It was all out war, no quarter asked, no quarter given. In between the record number of fouls and bookings, there were countless occurances of brilliant, spine-tingling football.

In the end, as so often is the case when two teams are so evenly matched in skill and emotion, the crowning of the champion came down to goaltending.

Iker Casillas of Spain made all the saves he had to make on that fated evening, Maarten Stekelenburg of the Netherlands did not. Andres Iniesta’s brilliant stike in the one hundred and sixteenth minute gave La Furia Roja their first ever Jules Rimet Trophy, and sent Latin hearts soaring.

Back at the Bounce Bar, there were equal parts of elation and deflation. Red and yellow colours filled the room, and orange and black suddenly disappeared. It had been a breathtaking experience, and as I walked back to my hotel, I felt both of the above emotions.

The reality that the greatest sporting even in the world was actually over, and that reality beckoned, did not hit me until the next morning. Bummer!

The whole month had been an amazing drama right to the finish, culminating in the World Cup final game…and how I saw it.

photo credit: Rachel E. Chapman

Millions of people around the globe are suffering from World Cup postpartum blues.

It has been over a month since the vuvuzelas stopped droning. I never thought I would miss that sound, but I am not the only one.

How do we cope? For those who recorded the games from the live t.v. feeds, or those who can download them on their computers and relive the excitement from sites like FIFA.com, there are fleeting moments of remembered euphoria.

But real life has intervened, and returned us to our present day realities.

Sure, there is great football to be had just over the horizon with the start of the Premiership, European and South American League games. In North America, Major League soccer is in full swing, with several  World Cup participants plying their trade with considerable interest…Thierry Henri playing for New York Red Bulls as an example.

But oh, how I long  for the days of early June, when three group matches could be viewed in one day…and then the round of sixteen, where every game was sudden death.

The quarter finals, the eight who remained standing…Uruguay vs. Ghana, the Netherlands vs. Brazil,  Argentina vs. Germany, and Spain vs. Paraguay.

Drama in every match. A handball foul opens the door for Ghana to beat Uruguay, but the penalty is missed, and the South Americans win on penalty kicks. 4-2 Uruguay

Brazil stuns the Dutch with a goal ten minutes in, then falls apart with an own goal by Melo, and a perfect header from the Oranje’s Wesley Sneijder sends them onward. 2-1 The Netherlands.

Germany jumps all over Argentina right from the opening whistle, Muller scoring after only three minutes. Klose adds two of his own and the bewildered Argentines and Diego Maradona head home. 4-0 Germany.

Spain has some nervous moments turning back persisent and tenacious Paraguay, but striker David Villa’s eighty-third minute tally ensures the European champions will be in the semi-finals. 1-0 Spain

The semi finals began on July 6th., with The Netherlands facing a surprising Uruguay in Capetown. Eighteen minutes was all it took for Dutchman Van Bronckhorst to paste a cannon shot into the top right corner of the Latin’s onion bag. But Diego Forlan, the blond and stylish heart and soul of the South Americans, tied the match with a superb strike at forty-two minutes. Lady luck would shine on the Orangemen on this day, however, and goals by Sneijder and Arjen Robben would be enough to give the Europeans their third trip to the World Cup Final. 3-2 The Netherlands.

Germany, perhaps the most improved and unexpected team in the final four, would take the field in Durban against tournament favourites Spain on July7th. Would the German’s offensive prowess be able to overcome the tiki-taka passing game of their formidable opponents? From the outset, Spain controlled the pace and flow, frustrating every German attempt to show their scoring skills. The Mannschaft chose to sit back and let the Spaniards come at them, and hope for an opportunity to counter attack. Well, La Furia Roja came, and came and came, so close to scoring on so many occasions. Only twice was Spanish keeper Casillas really tested. The killing blow came in the seventy-fourth minute, when stout defender Carles Puyol leapt and headed a  Xabi corner kick into the back of the German twine. 1-0 Spain

 The stage was set for a new country to hoist the World Cup trophy on July eleventh, and we fans had not discovered the World Cup postpartum blues…yet.

Sixty four games, sometimes three in one day. I can still remember how excited I was back on June 11th. I was up early to see the opening ceremonies, but then had to leave to play in a golf tournament, that was an all day and evening affair. Thank goodness for television recorders.

I very much wanted the South African team to do well…which meant beating Mexico in their opening match. Trouble was, I like the way Mexico plays football…I like their offensive style and their enthusiasm. So, the 1-1 result was not a disappointment, especially when I heard that South Africa had scored the first goal of the tournament and the entire country went nuts.

Each day revealed a special gem, or two.

England-U.S.A. drawing 1-1 on July 12th., the Americans receiving a gift goal from the English keeper.

 Germany drubbing Australia 4-0  and Ghana beating Serbia 1-0 to give Africa its first win on the 13th.

Shades of things to come on the 14th. when Italy had to score late to tie Paraguay 1-1. The 15th. had another shocker, co- favoutite Brazil squeaking out a 2-1 victoy over the mysterious North Koreans.

June 16th. was the day that reigning European champion and tournament favourite Spain went down to little Switzerland 1-0,  sending shock waves through the football universe. Host South Africa had its bubble burst that same day, with a 3-0 loss to Uruguay.

Mexico thumped France 2-0 on the 17th., and Maradonna’s Albiceleste’s from Argentina spanked South Korea 4-1.

The German Mannschaft came crashing down to earth with an unexpected 1-0 loss to upstart Serbia on the 18th., and the U.S.A. had to come back from a 2-0 halftime deficit to tie Slovenia…and endure a winning goal that was called back by the referee. That same fateful night, mighty England was held to nil-nil draw against Algeria, and the knives were coming out over’ome.

On the 19th. the Netherlands beat Japan 1-0, to land their second victory, and June 20th saw the Italians manage only a tie 1-1 tie  with a game New Zealand squad. The Azzurri looked slow and uncertain.

Portugal had a feast at the expense of North Korea running up a 7-0 scoreline, the most lopsided win of the tournament, on the 21st.

Uruguay beat Mexico 1-0 to win Group A, and wonderful South Africa topped the French 2-1 and sent them home on the 22nd. Unfortunately for the Bafana Bafana hosts, the goal differential meant that their tournament would be finished that same day.

The 23rd. decided Group C, England sneaking through in second place after a 1-0 win over Slovenia, and the U.S. topped the group with a fantastic late goal by Landon Donovan, 1-0 over Algeria.

Italy would bid South Africa arrivederci, after its shocking 3-2 loss to Slovakia,who advanced, and South American team Paraguay would secure top spot in Group … and a ticket to the round of 16 with a  0-0 draw against New Zealand on the 24th.

The last day of the first round saw Brazil and Portugal play to a safe but dull 0-0 result, to both go through in Group G. In Group H, Spain and Chile would move on, in that order, after the Europeans beat the Chileans 2-1.

Whew, that’s a lot of football. Upsets and surprises galore.

A month in paradise recap will continue, and  I will give you my thoughts on the round of sixteen, when every game is sudden death.

Set in Argentina during the 1978 World Cup, “Renaldo” tells the story of a young soccer prodigy, whose fate is swept up in the passion, power and politics surrounding the greatest sporting event ever held in his native land.

Historically precise, and graphically depicted, “Renaldo” takes the reader behind the scenes to the boardrooms and locker rooms, boudoirs and the terraces, on a journey that ends one fateful afternoon in a temple known as “Monumental.”

This book is a perfect reading companion during the upcoming World Cup in South Africa.

Let this story ignite your own passion!

“Renaldo” is available at amazon.com and on the Kindle reader. An electronic, downloadable version will be available shortly at www.renaldo.com.

I want to write about football today, because the soccer world just witnessed one of the all-time greatest games ever played this past week.

The setting was Moscow, Russia, and the match was between two British giants, Manchester United, and their arch rival, Chelsea of London.

This was the Champions League final, the culmination of nine months of qualifying for the best club teams in Europe. The venue for the final game changes every year, and this was the first time the championship game had been played in Moscow. Over 50,000 British fans made the trip, and from all reports the Russian hosts were up to the task.

It was the first time two English teams had ever met in the final. Teams are drawn into pools initially, and as it turned out, the last four teams to reach the semi-finals included a third English team, Liverpool, and Barcelona of Spain.

The game had extra emotion for Manchester United, because it was exactly 50 years earlier that a plane carrying their team home from a European Cup game crashed in Munich, Germany.

Eight of the United players died in that crash, and it took a decade before the United club was able to win the championship again.

The game in Moscow was pure magic for football fans. The red-shirted United team versus the blue shirted Chelsea squad. Full out, non-stop rugged action from start to finish.

United scored first, on a brilliant header by their Portuguese idol, Cristiano Ronaldo, in the 26th. minute. Englishman Frank Lampart, equalized for Chelsea in the 45th. minute.

There was no scoring in the second half, although many close calls were witnessed. The frantic pace never let up. Caution was thrown to the wind, even though one mistake could turn out to be disastrous.

Thirty minutes of extra time were then played, two fifteen minute halves, with no sudden death goal to decide the outcome. No goals were scored during overtime, so penalty kicks would decide the champion of Europe.

The 67,310 fanatics in Luzhniki Stadium held their breath, as a driving rain poured down on the tense scene below.

Each team would select five players to take alternating shots on their opponent’s goalkeeper from the penalty spot.

Manchester United won the coin toss and elected to go first. The initial two payers scored for their respective teams.

Then, to everyone’s shock, European player of the years, and the man that had given United their only goal during the match, Cristiano Ronaldo, missed the net.

The game’s other goal scorer, Frank Lampart of Chelsea, promptly “tickled the old onion bag,” as the British announcers often say.

Chelsea seemed destined to be champions.

The soccer Gods are fickle, however, and strange things can happen when the elements and emotion are combined.

John Terry, the Chelsea captain and fifth shooter, had a chance to put the game away with a goal, but his footing gave way on the slippery turf as he took his shot.

The United goalie was able to bat the ball to safety. United were still alive.

After five shots for each team, the score stood at four goals each.

As the rain turned into a downpour, the ultimate champion awaited to be crowned under the dark Russian night.

The teams would continue to rotate shooters until a result was arrived at.

Anderson for United scored on his shot, and Kalou for Chelsea responded.

Ryan Giggs, the oldest player on the United team, was true to form for the Reds.

As fate would have it, the blue shirted Anelka of Chelsea was not. United keeper Van Der Sar parried away his low drive to the left post.

United were champions of Europe!

In a game such as this, it really is a shame for anyone to lose, but that is sport.

Faith, hope, and passion…in sport and in life.

This is not the first time I have been to BEA. In June of 1997, I took a solo road trip with ten hardcover copies of RENALDO, the first batch of books ever produced, and motored from Toronto to Chicago.

I had reserved an exhibitor’s booth at the show in the small press section. Upon arrival at McCormack Place, which was the venue, the first order of business was to deal with the tradesmen that would physically set up my booth.

The way things got done in this show was that every tradesman was unionized, and they could perform only their designated task. So, one man brought the desk, chairs, and display table to the booth, another man put them in place, and a third man stapled the decorative drapery on the front of desk and display table.

The building was a whirlwind of activity and it was really fascinating to see the show take shape. Huge forklift trucks where buzzing everywhere depositing colored panels and carpeting to the right location so the other tradesmen could assemble the booths.

The location of my booth was quite good, as it turned out. I was adjacent to the large autographing area, which was mostly open space. Over the next three days I would see many of the world’s best selling authors mere yards away.

Because I was by myself, it was difficult for me to leave my booth and really take in the show. This is a lesson I remembered when I exhibited in Frankfurt Germany a few months later. Basically, in Chicago, the show had to come to me, I couldn’t go to the show.

Nevertheless, hundreds of people stopped by my booth to chat. I made friends with many of the exhibitors in the adjacent booths, so there was always someone to compare notes with and have a drink or dinner with after the show ended.

Two events stand out from my experiences at BEA. The first was the autograph session with Richard Simmons launching his new book, “Sweating to the Oldies.” Richard was walking around the show the entire three days in his tank top, short-shorts, and Afro hairdo held in place with a matching headband. He was extremely gregarious and funny, and actually put on an exercise show right in the autograph area. The place was packed, and many of his fans passed by my booth after the show.

The second event was much more ominous.

The booth directly across from me was rented by an Englishman by the name of David Irving. He was an independent author of some repute, or perhaps I should say, disrepute.

Mr. Irving’s claim to fame was that he insisted that the Holocaust in Europe during Hitler’s Nazi regime never took place.

He had written several lengthy books on the subject, which he proudly displayed in his booth at the show. The worst thing though, was that he constantly ran black and white videos showing the glory days of Hitler and the Nazis.

Mr. Irving was a large, friendly, well spoken man, probably in his mid-fifties. He was not dogmatic about his subject matter when I engaged him in general conversation, but I never queried him on his topic.

My father had fought in Germany during World War Two, and the whole premise that the Holocaust didn’t take place made me shudder with disgust.

It seems that I was not the only one upset with Mr. Irving’s presence at the show. On the second afternoon, I noticed three men engaged in a heated discussion with the controversial author. These men were dressed in the black traditional clothing that is worn by Orthodox Jews. They were obviously agitated with Mr. Irving, and all of a sudden, they took cans of spray-paint from their clothing and started to deface his entire display.

A scuffle ensued, in which Mr. Irving was punched and knocked to the ground. The three men were gone in an instant, and it was several minutes before BEA security, and then the police arrived.

All of the exhibitors that had witnessed the attack, including myself, were interviewed by the authorities. The end result was that Mr. Irving’s material was deemed too controversial for the show, and he was told to pack up and leave. He did this with much protest and fanfare…but really, good riddance.

As far as promoting RENALDO at the show was concerned, I met a publicist from Santa Barbara, California that was willing, for a fee, to investigate trying to get the novel sold through his contacts in the film industry.

I told him I would be in touch with him on my return to Toronto, gave him all the books I had left, and set off down the highway with some amazing experiences fresh in my mind.

I have attended several World Cups personally, and I must admit that when I am asked “who are you cheering for?” the answer is not always straight forward.

I was born in Canada, and our international Canadian ice hockey players have given me many, many occasions to be justifiably proud. But our national soccer program, at the highest level, is an absolute shambles.

Canada has played in one World Cup, in 1986, scoring zero goals while losing all three of their matches. I would love them to participate in another World Cup tournament in my lifetime, but they seem unable to beat the likes of Honduras and Cuba, let alone the U.S. and Mexico, to qualify.

My heritage is Scottish and Italian. The Scots always try so very, very hard to make things work, but they inevitably fall just a wee bit short.

The Italians, on the other hand, are a source of great pride and passion for me. When Italy won the World Cup in 1982, every city around the globe that had an Italian community went absolutely nuts. I know for a fact that Toronto had never seen a celebration the likes of what went on that Sunday night in June 1982.

As I write this, the Italians are the reigning world champions, and will remain so for the next two years. Viva Italia!

I am also extremely interested in the European Champions League, a tournament that pits the best club teams from each and every country in Europe against one another.

The final is to be played in Moscow later this month, with two legendary English teams facing off, Manchester United versus Chelsea of London.

Then in June, the FIFA European Championship tournament for the best national sides on the continent takes place in Switzerland and Austria.

So, my new friends, if you have a passion for football, let’s start a dialogue.