The view from the stands: the UFL Cup Final

A lengthy prologue:

      The league cup final is usually the second most fought for trophy in association football, the domestic division title being the first, but fans are justly right to eagerly anticipate both all the same. The proverbial “magic of the cup” has worked its way before, pitting minnows against giants, becoming the stage for the most memorable matches and underdog stories ever. The knockout format of a cup from its earliest stages doesn't reward a team's long-run performance but foots itself on match results played one at a time. It's not uncommon for bigger teams to find themselves out of it after a few lapses against supposedly inferior competition, or for unfavoured teams to go on incredible cup runs to the final stages. The “magic of the cup” is fundamentally based on this insane sudden death system which makes it a more entertaining competition for the neutral as compared to the lengthy and oft-predictable division title.

      In an ideal situation of course.

      Pardon my purist sentiments but the local United Football League Cup only ensures the continued development of its top teams with a wicked 2-stage cup system where Division 2 teams play each other out in the first stage, only to meet first division teams in the next. Okay, that may still be excusable to a degree but instead of playing in knockout rounds at this stage, teams are seperated into groups, effectively playing a mini-league, securing the passage of first division teams into the quarter-final stages. For a domestic cup competition, that's absolutely criminal. This article however, wouldn't go into detail about these compromises and insistence made by the governing body to hawk local football's big names, but would rather see the game from a common, relatable perspective: the view from the stands.

      Kickoff was supposed to be at 7:15. It was 7:24 and the teams haven't walked onto the pitch yet. It seemed the organizers wanted to rid themselves of their sponsors' giveaways of shirts, footballs, and shoes first. I had to remind myself that this was Philippine football and perhaps the attitude towards sacrosanct fixture times was congruent to that of urban religiosity in general: at one's convenience.

      I found myself sitting beside a rather large man, who by his loud, crisp, and repetitive screams of “Oooo(eh)!” whenever a red shirt got into half-decent positions, led me to conclude he was a Stallion fan. My lenswoman and I were slightly amused by his schoolboy enthusiasm for the game. The deafening volume of his grunts and shouting (and the grimace-inducing moisture of his forearm), however, left much to be desired. The match, itself, was nothing short of spectacular, a football feast for the neutral, with its fair share of brilliance, controversy, and comic incompetence. The three-fourths empty stadium, however, was testament to the failings of a Metro Manila based league system featuring clubs with hardly any distinguishable geographic or cultural locality; Read: no fans. The atmosphere was dead. Good thing the game was a more than adequate consolation.

      In the 24^th minute, Doctora finished off a fine passing move with a clinical finish to put Stallion ahead. To everyone's surprise, fireworks burst upwards from the center bleacher's on the empty side. Fantastic. As some of the Stallion players were still congratulating themselves/taking an ill-advised water break, the referee restarted play while their formation was in disarray. An unmarked El Habbib struck to make it 1-1. More fireworks. Incredible stuff.

The referee restarts play while Stallion FC goes out for walk

      My friend and photographer, Pamela, at this time, was critically irked because other people just wouldn't stay in their seats, ruining her shots by walking non-chalantly in front of her. But hey, that's the beauty of watching from the stands. The game goes on. Sure. But it's not the only thing in sight- and it never should be.

      Patrick Reichelt was making quick work of the Stallions left side in the first half with some incisive passing and timely runs. If it's any consolation to Global, he all but proved his ability is a cut above the rest. His relative disappearance in the second half, however, placed him under more interrogative terms, at least from a pessimist's perspective. It seemed the Global game plan was to attack from the wings and take advantage of El Habbib's size in the box. Stallion's best moments came when Rufo Sanchez played his traditional center forward game, winning balls launched from deep and laying it off for the Stallion midfield to find the spaces between a stretched Global defense. It was a game where both teams attacking strengths were on show, as were their defensive frailties.

      Also, the aural battle between the fan groups of both teams was impossible to ignore. Don't be fooled though. It hardly possessed the quality of the match played on grass. To be quite honest, it was absolutely dismal, so awful it provided a novel distraction to the game. Again, devoid of any true local chant or song, it was really a showdown of the worse version of the overused football song, “Olé”, substituting 'offside', 'outside' (my personal favorite), 'diver', 'Stallion', etc. for its monotonous lyrics. Due credit to them, they did try their best to get everyone singing but everyone else couldn't give half a mind to participate in the drone-like activity, including my incredibly loud seatmate. And that's saying something.

      In the 60^th minute Rufo Sanchez made no mistake with a stooping header after a (nother) brilliant midfield masterclass from Stallion. Cue: fireworks. Doctora may have put in an invaluable contribution by scoring the first goal but Stallion looked more dangerous with Sanchez alone up top. Global FC, on the other hand, wasted a host of chances, unable to capitalize on their dynamic play down the flanks. It was a frantic game, ultimately decided by Stallion's unbreakable midfield calmness* and precision, and a peach of header.

      Chances came in spades for both teams to put the game away but neither seemingly had the desire nor the composure to do so. Wilson Munoz, the Stallion keeper, almost committed a howler miscontrolling a casual ball that rolled up and over his foot. Fortunately for him, the error was off-target. A heart-stopping mistake. Though he did make amends towards the death with a quick save to his low-right after an El Habbib header.

      It was end-to-end at this point. Global were pressing for the elusive equalizer and Stallion were getting fantastic counterattacking opportunities to seal the game. Both teams failed when it counted most but it did provide a great show. The large man beside sounded exasperated from cursing and shouting, beads of sweat forming on his head as his warm aura grew more humid. Exciting stuff, indeed.

A more than half-empty stadium

      After an Alex Ferguson-esque amount of extra time**, the referee blew the final whistle to Stallion's (and mine own) relief. The match was wonderful – no question – but the massive number of empty seats posed a monumental challenge to the UFL that is already showing the symptoms of an imbalanced league system despite having a low number of fans. Abroad, the consequences of unregulated recruitment policies and shady ownership issues is already being felt. I fear for the UFL because it seems to be rapidly developing without football's most valuable financial and social asset: the fans. The fans, despite the ignorance of many, keep the clubs and administration in check. Without them, the league and executives have no one to answer to.

      And what monster of a sustainable model would this produce?

Commodities (?) after all.

by Wacky Torres, photos by Pamela Carbonell

*[One should note that they seeemed too calm and, at times, leisurely, attempting to nutmeg or lift the ball over challenges and losing possession unnecessarily.]

**[Too much]

A game lost on the onset

     As soon as the first whistle blew, Singapore looked the part. Now, most people would say the opening half of the game was a rather cagey affair with neither team looking too sharp in the final third. Only separated at half-time by Khairul Amri's 19^th minute strike, one could be forgiven for thinking so, but such is the obfuscated lens of the spectator's view. A football match isn't won simply through an obedient adherence to a manager's tactical nous or individual moments of brilliance. To do so would be primarily dismissive of the players as objects of function. As much as the physical and tactical aspects of the game are important, the psychological condition (fortitude) of the players are just as indispensable.

     Case in point: The Leeds United side of the 60's, under the tutelage of Don Revie, was a fine group of players, but it wasn't only their superior technical abilities that took them to the top of the Football Leauge and immortalized them in British football lore. They possessed the bespoke grit, an unexplainable desire to win, that translated itself on the pitch through bone-crunching tackles, challenges on every ball, and relentless marking that took the life out of their opponents. Not only were they better than you on the ball, they could take it right off you and kill your confidence in the process. If one considers the mental state of the players as too abstract a criteria for judgment, just ask any of the ol' teams that took on Leeds in their glory days.

     The Red Lions weren't exactly Leeds 2.0 when they hosted the Azkals last night but they did seize higher ground early on before even going one-nil up. They broke the Philippines with confrontative – unapologetic, even – physical play that destroyed any chance for the Azkals to get into any sort of early rhythm. It's hard to forget the image of James Younghusband approaching the referee, demanding intervention, when Phil was felled again by another piece of strategic bullying. The Azkals weren't willing to match Singapore in this respect, and so dictated the rest of the game. They couldn't cope and they didn't want to. Initiative was given to Singapore, led by a knowledgable and experienced pragmatist in Radojko Avramovic who has been continually praised for getting results despite a small pool of talent and resources. The Philippines was in a fragile mental state for the entire half. The lapse that led to the goal was its inevitable product. It seemed rather unlikely the Azkals would wrest control away from the Red Lions who knew what to do, and knew themselves well to compensate for their limitations. The Azkals, in stark contrast, had a side brimming with ability and potential but was bogged down again by their constant on-pitch identity crisis.

     The second-half was a lesson in soaking up the pressure, a gutsy move by Singapore and one they executed to near-perfection. It's difficult to believe a side this disciplined and tactically astute was only formed a year ago. They didn't have to defend their lead valiantly because they were comfortable keeping the ball out from deep. Also, the Azkals were too predictable, unable to stretch the Lions much at all. The best the Azkals could manage was half-chance from just outside the box, a left-footed snapshot by Phil Younghusband that was never going to beat the keeper following a deflected pass from Guirado.

     In the dying minutes, Avramovic was absolutely livid when his players weren't killing time, keeping safe possession, and putting the ball in the corners. They did so afterwards, effectively negating the Azkals' late siege, showing how footballing discipline and pragmatism can get results and their manager's crucial role in instilling these principles.

     In summary, to focus too much on the weaknesses and shortcomings of the Azkals would discredit Singapore and Avramovic who were all too aware of them as they did exploit.

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Appendix A- Positives from yet another semi-final exit:

• A. Guirado is a useful, useful boy/siege tank despite having a touch (and appearance) as cultured as a caveman. The only way the Philippines looked like they were going to score was if Guirado did something Guirado-like and the ball ends up in the back of the net (not necessarily from his own club foot).
• All this pre-match hype about Lucena must have sparked something in Mulders who overshadowed his partner in a much-improved, if unimaginative, performance.
• Cagara and Caligdong have a nice understanding between them. This is a partnership to watch out for. Now, if someone could just teach them how to cross...
• Ed Sacapaňo sans his comedic attempt to stain his good name with a ghastly clearance.
• A welcome absence of sand traps on the pitch.

Appendix B- Hilarious stuff from the game

• Phil spending more time lying on the turf than on the ball
• Caligdong playing as if it were the World Cup final when everyone else stopped because of a Singapore man down
• Caligdong blasting a shot high a good second after the whistle had blown
• Guirado's 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th touches
• Phil screaming at Guirado for the ball (again)

The Blame Game

     It would seem easy to pinpoint the reason for the Philippines awful first-half performance against Singapore in their semi-final clash last Saturday. The 'reason' was consequently withdrawn at half-time for a more even tempered, possession-minded player which led to a marked improvement in the second half. Contrary to popular belief however, this was no eureka moment despite what the TV pundits say, and should be no case for optimism. What this “improved” second half performance was successful at doing was mask the squad's on-field troubles.

     It is time to dispel some perceptions on a game which, bias aside, was really rather dull.

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1.) Singapore did not dominate the Philippines in the first half

     If the Azkals kept busy messing up for most of the first half, the Red Lions were just as terrific at being largely unspectacular. They were wary of the Philippines' tendency to dink-it-to-win-it so they kept a deep, solid line unbreachable by cheap balls over the top. They were also aware of the Azkals' ability on the break so they were reluctant to get numbers on the other half of the field. Singapore's primary mode of attack was to launch the ball from the back and hope a Red boot finds the ball behind Rob Gier's heavy legs. It almost happened for them, but the shot was rather tame and Sacapano dealt with it accordingly. If Weiss thought his team were cautious, the Lions had their hides insured and locked in a deposit box in a Swiss bank. This turned the first half into an unforgiving bore for the neutral.

2.) Angel Guirado is not a trequartista/playmaker

     The Azkals attempted to play a dynamic 4-4-1-1 formation with Phil YB up top and Angel Guirado behind him. The flanks were occupied by an eager Reichelt and a tireless workman in James YB. It seems a worthy and relentless attacking force but considering the two holding midfielders' lack of creativity, the burden of ensuring possession and unlocking the opponent's half was unsuitably Guirado's to bear. He is capable of making an inventive pass from time-to-time as shown by his neat pass to play in PYB for the Azkals' only memorable (half) chance in the game, but he is not a playmaker. He is a tireless bull, a less-refined and larger version of Carlos Tevez, who bullies defenders into submission; not bring the wingers in, or dazzle with sublime touch and composure before finding a pass to an open teammate.

     Still, Angel was arguably the best player that night but the team failed to capitalize on his strengths. His forward instincts drove the Azkals to play a bastard 4-4-1.5-0.5 formation, creating a massive void behind the two attacking players, and restricting PYB's movement. Once the ball was with JYB, Reichelt, or any of the holding midfielders, ready forward options were difficult to find so keeping possession definitely became a challenge. Guirado's advanced positioning was an open invitation for the Lions to simply mark the safe options and swarm the ball carrier. Result: the Azkals lost the ball easily and more often than they should've.

3.) What improved second half?

     What Barcelona FC exemplifies and always emphasizes is to control ball possession is to control the game, so much so that the whole world is starting to believe it. This myth, reinforced by Barca's success, is particularly the reason why everyone's been harping about the Azkals second half performance and upbeat about the second leg. Marwin Angeles' introduction changed the face of the game totally. Fine. But to call it an improved performance only shows how horrible they were in the first half. Controlling possession doesn't qualify as a good performance. Just ask any Arsenal or Liverpool fan. Barca are just simply that good. After all, only King Arthur was able to pull the sword from the stone. To use possession as a criterion to judge that bore-draw is like using shots-off-target as a tool for positive analysis. It's pointless. The Philippines lacked incisive passing and sharpness in the final third. They knocked the ball around in a rather jittery manner as if they were 1-0 up and were waiting for the whistle. Spoiler alert: they weren't.

4.) Singapore is a dangerous, if limited side

     I think someone forgot to remind the Azkals that they should be a superior squad to the Lions. For a squad composed of some players of European second-league caliber, they do make it awfully difficult for themselves against South-east Asian competition. Individual skill, however, is usually secondary to team organization and Singapore was a very, very disciplined side in contrast. They were tactically astute and deserved to win this game away from home. They neutralized the Azkals' attack and were more composed, almost making the Azkals pay for their lapses. They also have Aleksander Duric who is absolutely unmatchable in the air to add to the maturity and sound decision making he gives to the Lions. If Singapore continue to maximize their abilities and the Azkals are still at a loss as to theirs, Wednesday night will be yet another semi-final exit for the Philippines.

5.) de Jong isn't the problem, instability is

     Poor 'ol Jason de Jong was practically villainized for his dismal first half showing. No excuses, it really was awful, but it was just symptomatic of a continually changing cast of characters for international games. The Azkals' selection policy is as quick and fetishistic as the Philippines' overseas labour drive, prioritizing perceived short term success over a lengthy stable project. Even in light of this, the benefit of the doubt would and should be given to the coaching staff because they know their players the most. However, uncontrollable circumstances of foreign clubs recalling their players (as in Etheridge's case) and injuries aggravate this uncertainty, always casting this doubt in a problematic perspective. I mean, what the heck was the Peace Cup for? No one really knows which side or version of the team would show up because it always is something new. Saturday's tactical conundrum was a case-in-point. The team is in constant flux and though they are getting better on paper, results on the pitch are just as much to vary.

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     Wednesday night, as of most of the Azkals' games so far, will be another Weiss experiment with the inclusion of the now-available Jerry Lucena to (quoting Weiss himself) “add kalma” to that mess of a midfield. That could be very much a given but as to magically turning the Azkals into a purposeful side overnight remains a big question. Questions with regard to the Philippine football team have only been successful at begetting more questions. It is this intrigue and uncertainty which has guiltily kept a lot of us watching our group of men slug it out for 90 minutes against the region's finest. For the Filipino football fan, doubt and anxiety may be this week's general theme but we'll be watching Wednesday's match. If not to get some answers, then in the hopes to ask more questions.

     As our English friends are wont to say: It's the magic of the cup!

Educating the football illiterate

     Many problems- the midfield in particular- were laid bare in the Azkals' semi-final clash with the Singapore Red Lions. This time, there was no fortunate goal from over-the-top to spare their blushes. I could only imagine how loud the moans were inside the stadium at Jason de Jong's dismal performance. His consequent half-time withdrawal was met with discreet sighs of relief. The two-penny pundits who spoke praises of his substitute, Marwin Angeles and the more fluid game of the Azkals in the second half, also did little to lift the young Dutch-Filipino midfielder's spirits. It's hard not to feel sorry for the guy. To the credit of the visitors, Singapore looked disciplined and threatened on a couple of occassions. It seemed for the most part though that they'd rather take the game to the Philippines on their own home turf.

     However, my main point of discontent centers not on the problematic midfield system per se or on poor Jason de Jong – these are issues that should be sorted out by Weiss and the coaching staff – but how this midfield conundrum was presented by the media. Football, despite its proclaimed “history” in our country, is still relatively new, only rising to national popularity seven years ago. The recent (little) triumphs of the Azkals, para-celebrity status, and overall-good-looks, has turned them from Sunday sports page footers to (trivial) headline grabbers. Philippine football's fast-track to fame, however, belies an ugly tumor that has steadily grown to a sickening size: the issue of football illiteracy.

     From television to print, everyone reporting on the Azkals hardly knows what they're talking about once they go into tactics and conduct match reviews. It clearly doesn't help at all to have sports media personalities performing these duties. Yes, they may have coaches and (ex-)players tag along most of the time but their input is bogged down and obfuscated by their non-footballer hosts' inability to tell between a linesman and an electrician. The bigger concern for these outlets is satisfying the pressing need to report on the biggest Philippine sporting phenomenon of late (sans Pacquiao who has all but gone to the bin anyway), rather than providing an accurate and truthful story of the game itself. This disjunct, however, is not just a function of time or locality. It is an old and still prevalent issue even in the traditional footballing nations. Perhaps, then, we could learn a bit from Eamon Dunphy's diary-cum-book, Only a Game? Dunphy is an outspoken football pundit, ex-professional player in the English Football League, and Irish national (earning a respectable 23 caps for the Republic).

“On that level, the journalists views have some validity. But on a deeper level, they don't know what's going on on a pitch. All of them can do straightforward match report. But they don't understand what they are seeing most of the time. They may see that Millwall won the midfield battle. But they don't know why. They have no idea we were pushing up tight on them when they had possession, forcing them to go deeper... You say that to a journalist, and he won't know what you're talking about. Whereas theatre critics and film critics do know what the mechanics of a production are, most football writers don't. So players tend to despise journalists.”

     The disagreement between the story of the game and the story in the papers is the product of media's inherent crisis of representation, given the need for the story and importance/popularity of the object of the report. Add to that the ills of local football as an emerging industry (with the fledgling UFL) and profitable venture and you've got quite a mess on your hands to sort out. To understand what happens in a football match, then, cannot simply be done by watching games in a stadium; more so on the telly. Really, one has to know what Dunphy referred to as the “mechanics of production”, the details oft-forgone that keep broadcasts short and wallets thicker. The politics and nuances of football ownership, management, and player rights and salaries vis. that of the local media conglomerates should always be kept in mind. As long as these necessary facts are kept away from the camera and hidden from the public eye, the development of football as a successful national endeavor is a shaky prospect (among other things). If the broadcasters cannot be reflexive (reflective, even) of their own practices, the burden of educating the audience is placed uncomfortably on the shoulders of the audience themselves. And sadly, most of them don't know any better.

     Pierre Bourdieu, in the appendix, entitled The Olympics- An Agenda for Analysis, to his book, On Television, would refer to this mediated sports spectacle as the “two-step social construction”. The first level to this construction would be of the “sports event” and second, the “media event”. Discussing the Olympics, he goes:

"All of which means that to understand the games, we would have to look at the whole field of production of the Olympics as a televised show or, in marketing terms, as a "means of communication." That is to say, we would have to assess all the objective relations between the agents and institutions competing to produce and sell the images of, and commentary about, the Olympics."

     As long as local broadcasters and print media are reluctant to review their football reportage, their audience and readers will be kept wallowing in the mire of their constructed ignorance. The Azkals will forever remain in memory as handsome faces. No one will realize how much MVP is invested in local football and football broadcasting. Dyan Castillejo will continue providing cringing in-game commentary. A talk of tactics would be an impossible affair. Why Gonzales and Uy were dropped despite good performances in the Peace Cup will remain a mystery. The chances for a national grassroots development project would still remain slim. And commentators will continue milking that damn “TRAFFIC SA EDSA” line whenever Sacapaño makes a save.

     Seriously, guys. It's not that funny.