This whole World Cup was boring, I hear some folks say. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:
Siphiwe Tshabalala's rocketing first goal of the tournament, for the host nation;
Winston Reid's stoppage-time goal for New Zealand to salvage a draw with Slovakia and create
general Antipodean delirium;
Maicon's wicked inside-out cut for a goal against North Korea;
A stony-faced Cannavaro consoling the weeping Quagliarella upon Italy's exit;
Messi darting about and creating Higuaín's hat-trick against South Korea;
Michael Bradley's brilliant sliding with-the-studs goal to secure a draw against Slovenia, after
a long hard comeback started by Donovan's blast just after the break;
Donovan's shocking winner against Algeria, on a rip-roaring four-man fast break in stoppage time
(which I will always associate with Ian Darke's giddy call);
Germany's utterly assured combination-play against Australia, England, and (above all) a
befuddled and helpless Argentina plus the joy they evidently took in their own playing;
Dirk Kuyt's brilliant headed flick-along to Sneijder, from Robben's cross, for a crushing goal
against Brazil, plus Kuyt's zany, mazy slow-motion run later in the match that didn't yield a goal
and therefore hasn't shown up in any of the highlights and that's how I will choose to
remember the Dutch from this tournament;
The manifest respect the Spanish and German players had for each other in their semifinal, a
match in which there were sixteen total fouls and zero yellow cards;
Diego Forlán's incisive, threatening energy in every Uruguay match, right up to his
near-equalizer with the last ball played against Germany in the third-place match;
And finally Spain: not Villa's constant threats, or even his wonderful looping 45-yarder against
Chile, so much as Puyol's header, Sergio Ramos's runs up the right, and, above all, the wonderfully
contrasting pair of Xavi and Iniesta: the former always vertical, calm, still, the latter zippy,
darting, ridiculously clever with the ball on his feet and constantly disrupting defenses.
