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Neymar Football Club

May 26, 2013 by jerradpeters.com

The following article was co-written by Jerrad Peters and Rodrigo Beilfuss for Soccer365 magazine in September 2010.

by Jerrad Peters and Rodrigo Beilfuss

NeymarCoaching changes are hardly extraordinary events. This is especially true in Brazil, where the top division’s 20 clubs have managed to sack, release or otherwise replace nearly 30 coaches so far this season. It’s an alarming rate of turnover, and it represents the extreme in club soccer. But it goes to show the expendability of coaches throughout the sport. Undervalued and under appreciated, they are hired to be fired—and nobody bats an eyelash in either instance.

Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule. Sir Alex Ferguson, when he eventually leaves Manchester United, will do so with no small amount of pomp and ceremony. And Jose Mourinho, soccer’s preeminent hired gun, always manages to create a stir when he changes clubs.

The same is true with Dorival Junior. At least it should be. The coach of Santos until late Tuesday night, he was dismissed from his job after a run-in with the board of directors over his handling of Neymar, the club’s—and the country’s—rising star. And while he is the Brasileirao’s 29th coaching casualty of the year, his exit is anything but insignificant. In fact, it speaks volumes about the imbalance of power in Brazilian soccer, the lingering frustration of the 2010 World Cup and the hopes and dreams of the nation ahead of the 2014 tournament.

Dorival’s dismissal, in other words, is something that transcends Brazilian soccer. And the direction the club and Neymar have chosen to take could have serious and far-reaching ramifications.

Intense scrutiny

The very presence of Neymar always meant that the Santos coach would be under intense scrutiny. The natural successor to Ronaldo and the player charged with delivering Brazil’s future glories, the 18-year-old was given special treatment not even afforded by the likes of Ronaldinho and Kaka when Santos fended off a handful of European clubs—and Chelsea in particular—and opted to develop the player on their own.

They paid dearly for it, and were forced to sell several good, young players in order to offer Neymar a better contract. But they did it because they knew they had something special on their hands. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Pelé and national team boss Mano Menezes lent their voices to the chorus calling for him to remain at Santos. Everyone seemed to agree that both Neymar and Brazilian soccer as a whole would be better served if he played a few more years at home.

Not surprisingly, Neymar found himself under even more pressure, and with significantly more power. Brazil’s disappointing performance in South Africa had brought about a shift in the stylistic philosophy of the national team. A switch back to the creative, spontaneous futebol-arte was in the cards, and Neymar became the face of the revolution. Menezes, in his first game in charge of the national team, named Neymar to his starting lineup and was rewarded with a goal in a 2-0 win over the United States.

Pear-shaped

Then it all went pear-shaped. Neymar, having just signed a lucrative contract and worshiped as Brazilian soccer’s stylistic savior, snapped. Snapped big time.

After Santos’ 2-1 loss at Ceara on September 12, Neymar confronted Ceara midfielder Joao Marcos about what he felt to be excessive violence during the match. He tried to pick a fight with Marcos, as well as the police officers and reporters nearby, and had to be restrained by his teammates.

His behavior became even more bizarre three days later in a match against Goianiense. Having drawn a penalty after being hauled down in the box, he quickly grabbed the ball and prepared to take the spot kick. But as he had missed his two previous penalties, Dorival instructed Marcel to take the kick instead.

Neymar threw a fit. As Marcel stepped up to the spot, the youngster ran over to the Santos bench and lambasted Dorival, tossing water bottles and spewing obscenities. When the match resumed, he greedily took possession of the ball at every opportunity and refused to pass it to his teammates. Captain Edu Dracena tried to pacify him to no avail.

After the match, Goianiense boss Rene Simoes remarked that Neymar’s behavior was unacceptable. “We are creating a monster,” he said. “Neymar is not a man.”

Indeed not. But that shouldn’t be surprising. Wealthy 18-year-old’s—worshipped by Brazil’s hero-craving culture—can hardly be expected to behave with humility and restraint. Nevertheless, Dorival made an attempt to rein him in. It cost him his job.

Following the Goianiense debacle, Dorival requested that the Santos board fine Neymar and suspend him for a minimum of 15 days, a period that would have kept the player out of matches against Guarani, Corinthians, Cruzeiro and Vasco da Gama.

The board agreed to fine the player, but remained mum on the issue of the suspension. Dorival kept Neymar out of Sunday’s Guarani match anyway, and that’s when things blew up.

On Monday, board chairman Luis Oliveira announced his decision that Neymar be restored to the squad. Dorival dug his heels in over the issue, and the board dismissed him the next day. Having been forced to choose between the coach and the star player, they arrived at the obvious conclusion. And Neymar’s already incredible power grew even more.

Classically Brazilian

It’s a classically Brazilian set of circumstances, at least as far as soccer in concerned. This is a country where soccer is governed by personalities, not institutions, and where heroes created by the public and in the press exercise considerable power. Neymar is their latest creation. And who was Dorival to stand in the way of that?

This scenario is played out at every level of the sport. Brazilian Football Confederation (CBF) president Ricardo Teixeira is a similar character. The son-in-law of longtime FIFA president Joao Havelange, he runs Brazilian soccer like a fiefdom and is exercising similar control over the 2014 World Cup organizing committee, which his daughter chairs.

Teixeira doesn’t have to play by the rules. He’s too big for that. So, too, is Neymar. And the dismissal of Dorival was Santos’ affirmation of Neymar’s status, of his power. It signaled that they approve of what he has become, and that they won’t stand in the way of his persona.

Dorival was just a pawn in this saga. But his exit summed up Brazilian soccer to a tee.

Posted in Brazil | Leave a Comment »

In Ecuador, a thriving game and prospects galore

March 4, 2013 by jerradpeters.com

The following article was originally published on the New York Times’ Goal blog on February 26, 2013 and in the print editions of the International Herald Tribune.

by Jerrad Peters

It has been a difficult couple of weeks for Barcelona in continental competition. Last Wednesday the Catalan giants dropped a 2-0 decision to AC Milan in the Champions League and on February 12 their Ecuadorian namesake—Barcelona Sporting Club—were denied two points in their Copa Libertadores opener when Nacional’s Alvaro Recoba set up Iván Alonso for a late equalizer in Montevideo.

That the goal came in the third minute of second-half stoppage time wasn’t the worst bit. Throughout the night you got the feeling Barcelona was not only going up against the Uruguayan champions, but Chilean referee Enrique Osses as well.

In the 77th minute, with Barcelona still leading by a goal, Osses issued a second booking to Nacional’s Alejandro Lembo, but somehow forgot to eject the defender until the 83rd minute. At that point Barcelona were, themselves, a man down—José Perlaza having been given his marching orders with a quarter-hour to play—and just when it seemed the referee couldn’t possibly do any worse by them Osses overlooked a stonewall Barcelona penalty in the 90th minute.

Unsurprisingly, the Ecuadorians were furious when the final whistle blew shortly after Alonso’s header, for by and large they had been the better side at Estadio Gran Parque Central. But their anger, their righteous expectation of the win, also said something about the state of the country’s soccer: it’s at a very high standard—perhaps the highest in the barely 60 years professional soccer has been played in Ecuador—and it’s improving.

The signs of progress are easiest to spot at international level, where La Tri trail only Argentina in 2014 World Cup qualifying.

Their 17 points from nine rounds has them five above the three-team scrap for two berths that one of Venezuela, Uruguay and Chile will miss out on, and after losing 4-0 in Buenos Aires last June they’ve gone unbeaten in five matches—a streak that so far includes a 3-1 home win over Chile and 1-1 draw away to Copa America holders Uruguay.

Earlier this month they transferred that local success to Europe, where they beat Portugal 3-2 in an entertaining friendly in Guimarães. And they did it with a squad that included 11 domestic-based players, nine of which hailed from the country’s three biggest clubs: LDU Quito, Emelec and Barcelona.

Ecuador’s robust club game has both provided the backbone of its national side (all the goalkeepers and defenders named for the Portugal match represent Ecuadorian clubs) and given the more fancied teams of Brazil and Argentina something to think about in the Libertadores.

A recently vigorous economy has likely had more than a little to do with that. The Central Bank of Ecuador says GDP doubled between 1999 and 2007, and even though growth has dropped somewhat due to declining oil prices (oil makes up nearly half of Ecuador’s economic output) economic expansion of four per cent is expected when 2012 data is tabulated. Unemployment, meanwhile, remains under six per cent according to a CIA report.

Predictably, these factors have helped prop up a healthy domestic league, which in recent years has become a popular destination for players from Paraguay and Argentina.

Paraguay international Enrique Vera plies his trade for LDU Quito—the only Ecuadorian side to have won the Libertadores—as does Argentina’s Ignacio Canuto, who has picked up three caps for his country. Emelec, the current league leaders, boast two Argentines and two Paraguayans, among them former River Plate icon Cristian Nasuti and Alibirroja striker Pablo Zeballos.

And Barcelona, the reigning champions, got their two goals against Nacional in the Libertadores from Argentine playmaker Damian Diaz and countryman Ariel Nahuelpan—both in their mid-20s and spending the primes of their careers in Ecuador’s Serie A.

But Ecuador has been busily developing its own players as well, many of whom have been scouted by some of the biggest clubs in Europe.

Foremost among them is Frickson Erazo—the Barcelona centre-back who just might be the country’s best defensive prospect in years. Tall, elegant and mature at 24-years-old, he has a good command of the box, will take the ball off an opponent without breaking his legs and plays the sort of perfectly-weighted long pass that can turn defense into attack in a matter of seconds.

Erazo says both Manchester United and Real Madrid have scouted him recently, and in an interview with the Daily Mail last week admitted there had been “initial contact” with United.

Not that any of this should be surprising. Big clubs with big scouting networks will always turn up where the good players are. It just so happens that Ecuador is churning out those players at an increasingly rapid rate, and at prices the suddenly belt-tightening European clubs find more palatable than, say, what the Brazilians are demanding for their prospects.

Take Vasco da Gama’s Dedé, for example. He is the same age, has the same body type and plays the same position as Erazo, but where Vasco want upwards of £15 million for his signature Erazo could be had for well under half that amount. And he just might be the better defender.

There are other Ecuadorian youngsters catching the eye as well. Just last month Juventus snapped up 18-year-old midfielder José Francisco Cevallos Jr. (son of the former Ecuador goalkeeper of the same name) from LDU Quito, and Fortuna Düsseldorf recently reached an agreement with Independiente’s Cristian Ramírez that will see the highly-rated left-back play his football in Germany next season. They paid only €500,000 for him.

While Ecuador’s Serie A continues to improve, its clubs are still not in a position to hold out for astronomical transfer fees. But given the trajectory of the domestic club game that reality will surely change over the next few years, and as it does the country’s teams will both develop prospects and compete for major, continental honours even more frequently than they are now.

Ecuador’s time has come. And the effects of their arrival are being felt throughout the soccer world.

Posted in Ecuador | Leave a Comment »

The only sensible, quality-inspired Oscar picks you’re likely to read

February 24, 2013 by jerradpeters.com

by Jerrad Peters

I hate the Oscars, and for a very simple reason. Most films are crap. I mean, I’ll never figure out why the Academy increased the roster of Best Picture nominees from five to nine a few years ago. In no 12-month span have nine movies of quality ever been made. Come to think of it, I’d be hard-pressed to come up with a year where five movies of quality were made.

Getting ready for the 85th Academy Awards. Quality suit.

Getting ready for the 85th Academy Awards. Quality suit.

The Oscars would do well to adopt a new slogan: “Less is More.” Because even in the acting and directing categories there’s absolutely no need for more than two nominees. Most actors are crap, anyway, as are most directors. There are only ever one or two actors and one or two directors who produce anything of quality in any given year.

And with that, I give you my predictions for the 85th Academy Awards. Although, I prefer to look at them as truths rather than predictions. For I  used a very simple method in determining the winners: the presence of quality.

Best Supporting Actor: Tommy Lee Jones, Lincoln

Best Supporting Actress: Sally Field, Lincoln

Best Adapted Screenplay: Tony Kushner, Lincoln

Best Original Score: John Williams, Lincoln

Best Production Design: Rick Carter and Jim Erickson, Lincoln

Best Cinematography: Janusz Kaminsky, Lincoln

Best Costume Design: Joanna Johnston, Lincoln

Best Actor: Daniel Day-Lewis, Lincoln

Best Actress: Jennifer Lawrence, Silver Linings Playbook

Best Picture: Lincoln


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Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

The first time is always awkward

January 22, 2013 by jerradpeters.com

The following article was originally published by the Spectator Tribune on January 21, 2013.

by Jerrad Peters

Have you ever broken up with someone, and then got back together with them? Do you recall how it felt at first—experiencing the familiarity that for so long was shared and happy and a part of both of your lives yet at the same time withdrawing into the safe, solitary place that sheltered you when what you needed most was refuge and protection?

For a time you will have told yourself things to make you feel better, to justify the situation. Things like, “I’m the only person I can trust,” and, “We’re better off apart, anyway.”

But the feelings remained, burdening the heart and the lungs during the day and turning what were once sweet dreams into nightmares. And after a time, the thought: “We could always give it another try.”

And so you do, and you get back into it knowing full well how awkward the first meeting will be, how before things can ever be like they were you’ll have to go through an awkward period where conversations only skim the surface and trust is a far off thing.

But you have an end result in mind. Restoration. The thought of it is what brought you back together in the first place, and if you can survive the awkwardness and discomfort you just might stand a chance of realizing it.

Oh, but it’s uncomfortable at first. So, so uncomfortable. And there are moments when, after something has happened that has left you both red-faced, you think to yourself, “Is it really worth it?”

—

I had a hard time getting my head around the atmosphere inside MTS Centre on Saturday. Less than two weeks earlier the National Hockey League and its Players Association had been at loggerheads over a new collective bargaining agreement, and the number of people in my circle vowing to never again embrace the NHL product was growing by the day.

Some were uncharacteristically apathetic; others were furious. A few, like jilted lovers, moped about in search of something to fill the void, a sponge to soak up the hurt. Everyone drank too much.

Many of the 15,000 people who filled the arena to see the Winnipeg Jets raise the curtain on a shortened season could have fit into one of those categories before they decided to give it another try. The January 6 announcement that a tentative deal had been reached to end the lockout was the first step in the healing process; reengagement was the second. And just in case things got too uncomfortable to be productive, beer was half price.

By the time I reached my perch in the box the building was already filling up. I had arrived early to see exactly that—to watch the fans come in and to see how they would come.

They did not come all at once. There was none of the mid-season concession rush before the opening faceoff. That would have been too familiar. Instead, they trickled in from the freezing cold for two hours before puck-drop, slowly and individually re-establishing their place in the comfort zone.

If there was anything of a mob about this crowd it was difficult to detect. Sure, they gave their Jets a raucous welcome during the pre-game introductions, and true to form they harassed Ottawa Senators goaltender Craig Anderson and Norris Trophy-winning defenseman Erik Karlsson. But after the first 10 minutes their energy seemed collectively sapped, and as the game wore on their attempts at “Go Jets Go!” sounded disjointed, even half-hearted.

The Senators, and their stifling brand of hockey, had more than a little to do with the peculiar quiet that quickly overwhelmed the building. Although Dustin Byfuglien had given the Jets the lead with a hard shot that evaded the otherwise solid Anderson, Milan Michalek’s goal less than four minutes later restored level terms; and after Chris Neil put Ottawa ahead in the second period the guests smothered the game as a spectacle.

At times it was well near unwatchable—inferior, even, to some exhibition games I’ve seen. If it was, as Senators coach Paul MacLean later described it, “a dog’s breakfast,” even the dog must have been starving to consume the fare presented him.

And yet, there were some moments of genuine quality. Byfuglien’s dangle early in the third period drew pockets of applause, and some offensive zone pressure from the Jets in the final few minutes created as much excitement as there had been to that point. By then, however, Ottawa had taken a two-goal lead thanks to the excellent Karlsson, and with only two minutes left on the clock Kyle Turris put the finishing touches on a Senators win with an accurate wrist shot.

By the final buzzer the arena was half-empty. A red string of tail-lights was already inching its way through the northeast parking lot and collars were being pulled over frost-bitten faces awaiting the transit buses that always seemed too long in coming. Someone picked up the 50/50 winnings, more than $52,000. Some things never change. On the coldest nights, in the most awkward of circumstances, familiarity is still the blanket that keeps you safe and warm.

As are the jerseys, the cardboard pizza and the people in the seats next to you. Those are the things you remember fondly from before, even if you didn’t realize it. Yes, there is the game, but the game is always there, somewhere. It’s the experience that’s irreplaceable, the familiarity that crushed you most of all when it was taken away.

—

The first meeting was never going to be comfortable. Do you hug? Do you shake hands? Do you lightly kiss the cheek? And who pays for the coffee?

You’ve been worrying that you’ll run out of things to talk about. That you’ll just stare into your cup and drink it way too fast and excuse yourself to go to the washroom where at least you can breathe a bit more easily.

But then you talk. You don’t talk about anything, really. You just talk. Somehow the words come easily and there is even laughter. Sometimes the eyes meet knowingly and then you both look away and smile. You blush. It’s so familiar. So, so familiar.

And you feel comfortable. You sink way back into your seat and dig that end result from the back of your mind. Restoration. It might actually be possible. It’ll take a whole lot of work, but it just might be possible.

And you tell yourself, “We could always give it another try.”


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Posted in Hockey | Leave a Comment »

Ottawa & the CFL – a Rough Ride

January 14, 2013 by jerradpeters.com

Renegades.ticketsby Brad Gillies

The city of Ottawa has a tumultuous history with the Canadian Football League. What was once a charter city in the formation of the league has turned into a laughingstock. It has tried (and failed) to run a successful franchise on two separate occasions, yet here we are—looking at a third attempt.

The original Ottawa Rough Riders began operations in 1876, joined the CFL in 1958 and ceased operations in 1996 due to ruined finances. Then, after a five year hiatus, the city was again granted a franchise and the Ottawa Renegades played to mediocre crowds from 2002 until their demise in 2006—a downfall that was once again financially induced.

The city of Ottawa, and specifically owner Jeff Hunt, has been granted an “expansion” franchise due to begin play in 2014, assuming they can have an appropriate venue operational by then.  Meeting this requirement will ultimately require a large-scale, expensive renovation of the existing Frank Clair Stadium or a fresh start with a brand new ground. Either way, this will be wasted money.

The CFL will not work in Ottawa, and here’s why:

The CFL is hugely dependant on local fan bases to support its clubs. Every geographic region has its team within proximity, and chances are good that if you grow up in that area then you’re a local fan for life.

With only 8 teams (soon to be 9), there isn’t enough of a draw for cross-geographic fan bases. There aren’t enough marquee stars to draw young fans to this team or that. New fans simply become a fan of the team that is most accessible. For example, if you were born in Manitoba you’re automatically a Blue Bomber fan, and anything else is blasphemous. Same goes for Saskatchewan and the Roughriders; same goes for British Columbia and the Lions, and so on.

The problem with Ottawa’s geographic region is that Ottawa is a politics city, and nobody who lives in Ottawa is actually from Ottawa! Ok, that’s exaggeration, but the point remains.

Being the capital city of this great country means Ottawa is the center of all politics and the headquarters for everything related to the federal government. This means representatives from every part of the country are stationed in Ottawa either on a permanent or temporary basis. These people, if they are even CFL fans in the first place, already have well established relationships with their team of choice.

A Manitoban who moves to Ottawa is still a Blue Bomber fan, and doesn’t automatically change his or her allegiance. This means that these people are most excited about seeing their own team when they come to town. They won’t buy tickets for Ottawa vs. Montreal.

This is why Ottawa’s CFL franchises fail at the turnstiles. Nobody cares about the home team; tickets are being sold because of the visiting team, and anyone will tell you that financial reliance on this method is ill-advised.

The city of Ottawa, and the new franchise owner, will argue Ottawa has had relatively little trouble in running NHL or NLL teams of late, and therefore the future is bright for the CFL. This train of thought is flat out wrong.

When it comes to Canada, the NHL is as close to a godly sport as it comes. It doesn’t matter who the home team is or who the visiting team is or who your own geographic allegiance is to. Canadians will line up in droves for a chance to see professional hockey at its finest. As for the NLL, it’s a relatively new league and there are relatively few franchises in Canada for people to obtain any sort of geographic allegiance. The novelty of the league itself is the draw here.

As for the CFL, league brass are hoping 20,000 to 30,000 new fans will fill the stadium in Ottawa week after week and finally keep the team afloat. The problem is that nobody in Ottawa is a NEW fan.

Once again, the league will fail in Ottawa. This being the third attempt, I wouldn’t be surprised if the league and owners prolonged admitting their failures for as long as financially and humanly possible, but they will eventually admit it. This incarnation will likely last longer than the most recent Renegades, but it will be based on stubbornness and unwillingness to admit failure.

The CFL routinely and repetitively says it is attempting to continually grow the league and increase its popularity throughout the country, but then they follow up by awarding a franchise to a city that is a perennial failure; and what’s worse, they continue to explore the option of a third franchise in southern Ontario—a geographic region which is already overcrowded with other CFL, AHL, OHL, NHL, NFL, NLL, MLB, MLS ticket-sales competition.

If the CFL truly wants to grow its league it should be looking at regions of the country that aren’t already saturated. Many have suggested the CFL expand in to the Maritimes, and I whole-heartedly support this idea. Canada’s east coast has little in the way of professional sports, and no geographic allegiance to anyone in this instance. They are starving for professional sports.

As proven in recent experiments—matches the CFL has hosted in New Brunswick—this area can draw a crowd. The CFL, however, sees the lack of acceptable stadiums in the region as a drawback to expansion, but if they’re willing to promise Ottawa a franchise without a serviceable stadium, why not the Maritimes?

Hopefully, after the CFL has failed in Ottawa for a third time, they will understand why this league will not work in that city. And hopefully we will never hear the words “Ottawa”, “CFL”, and “franchise” in the same sentence ever again.


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Posted in CFL | 1 Comment »

Bebeto and the offside confusion at the Cotton Bowl

January 8, 2013 by jerradpeters.com

bebeto-brazil-celebration-world-cup-1994by Jerrad Peters

In the course of my research for a piece about the South American Youth Championship I found myself watching this famous goal from the 1994 World Cup.

My interest lay mainly in the celebration following the goal (I’ll tweet the link to the article on 09 January) but in listening to the play-by-play I found myself back at Old Trafford where, in late December, a Jonny Evans own-goal and Papiss Cissé’s seemingly offside position had everyone talking about the offside rule and its various interpretations.

At issue was whether Cissé was involved in the play when the ball slipped into the back of the net—the very same talking point that arose after this Bebeto beauty. Listen to the commentary:

“It’s the classic case of the new rule…I think it was Romario initially who was walking back, who was in an offside position. But because the new rule says he was not interfering with play, in fact, the Dutch just assumed he was and they stopped.”

“One is reminded of the remark of the late Danny Blanchflower: ‘If you’re not interfering with play, what are you doing on the pitch?’ But it’s been made clear to players that if you’re coming from an offside position and not seeking to get involved the linesman will not put up his flag.”

Now, as I pointed out in this extensive piece on the offside rule for theScore, it was more the interpretation of offside that had changed, and continues to change, rather than the rule itself. By my count, we’re on the 10th interpretation of FIFA’s Law 11 and it almost certainly won’t be the last. Offside has historically been used as a tweakable mechanism, re-interpreted whenever tactics have caught up to what is commonly held to be acceptably stylistic football.

As it happened, by the 1994 World Cup finals FIFA were keen to have the idea of “interfering with play” recast as “gaining an advantage by being in that position” rather than “seeking to gain an advantage.”

A slight change in language, but one with astronomical consequences. As the Dutch found out that afternoon in Dallas.


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Posted in Offside | 1 Comment »

Football and the Great War: A Christmas story

December 23, 2012 by jerradpeters.com

Christmas truce soccer

by Jerrad Peters

A first snow. Not much of one but when the sky cleared yesterday you could feel it getting colder and this morning there was frost on the ground. Then at sundown it started to snow. We’ve had so much rain a bit of snow is almost welcome. All month it’s been mild and damp and the wafting stench of bloated corpses has clung to your garments. Now in the cold the smell of war has been frozen somewhat although the staccato of gunfire seems louder than it did a few days ago and the whole notes of heavy artillery echo longer through the river valley. Sensitivity to one sense exchanged for another, perhaps. I’ll gladly make the trade.

But it’s quiet now except for the singing. Soon after dark we started to hear them, quiet at first, and then emboldened by booze or the fact we hadn’t shot at them, or both. When they got a little braver they stuck branches and small trees atop their trenches and hung lanterns from them. Then we noticed the occasional glow rise up from the earth and go back down again. The beam of their fags, like orange fireflies hovering just above the ground. A man with a fag in his mouth who sticks his head up is as good as dead, but most of our boys don’t feel much like shooting tonight. We’re thinking about home, the home-fires of Chester or Northwich and a better helping of Christmas pudding than we’re sure to get from behind the line in the morning. Besides, I know quite a few of the carols. The tunes, at least. Some of the others are humming along.

Then, at first light, the battlefield is changed. We notice a head poking out from their trenches and a bare hand waving high and slowly. A drunk from last night, no doubt. One of our fellows yells out to him.

“Fritz! Good morning Fritz!”

No answer, but for more waving.

“Good morning Fritz! All sung out, Fritz?”

“Good morning.” A reply.

“We’ve Christmas pudding, Fritz. Come over and get some.”

“If I come you shoot.”

“No we won’t. No fear, Fritz. Come over and get some fags and Christmas pudding.”

“I come part way. You come part way. I meet you.”

“Alright, Fritz.”

Our boy bounds over the top, his pockets stuffed with fags. He shakes the Saxon’s hand and slaps him on the back and exchanges the pudding and the fags for the sausages Fritz has brought. Then a few from their end lift a barrel over the edge and get out and start rolling it toward us. They stop where Fritz and our boy are having a laugh about something and dig a cup of beer from the barrel for each of them.

“Come over, fellas,” says our boy, holding his cup of beer for us to see and taking a long, hearty drink from it. A few go over. Then some more. And then I climb over with some others and we mosey into no man’s land. More from their side are making their way to the barrel as well until there must be a hundred or more, shaking hands and sharing a puff and slapping backs. When the barrel is spent they roll out another one and we send back for more Christmas pudding. We must make quite the sight.

By now I’m properly softened up and in the middle of everything. I hover over a German newspaper with a Saxon and then someone gets one of our Cheshire papers. My Saxon doesn’t speak English and we point at photos in the papers and make gestures with our hands. Ypes. He knows it, too. Was probably there, too.

Around midday someone produces a football. How a football was in a trench along the front I’ll never know but suddenly there is a football and I find myself chasing it. Instinct, really, to chase down a football. When I finally get it I find it soaked and heavy and I cross high and well to a Saxon running cross-field from me. Then the barrels have become uprights and a second goal is made between two piles of topcoats.

By the time everyone joins in we’ve got a right kickabout going and while you hear a “Hurrah!” when the barrels are split or topcoats breached I don’t think anyone is actually tracking the score. I have a few more runs with the ball and manage to do quite well despite the awkward boots and there is a Saxon who likes to keep quite close to me when I have possession. On one occasion I stop with the ball and try to pass it to myself by stabbing it through his legs. Clever, I think, until I slip on the slick surface and land squarely on my ass, the ball having gone nowhere. Laughter all ‘round, and my Saxon takes my arm and lifts me to my feet.

I’m not sure how long we’ve played before the game starts to break up, but you can tell spirits are starting to sink with the sun and by late afternoon many of the men have gone back into the ground. Those of us who remain glance awkwardly at each other, as if only now realizing what we’ve been doing. Our boys form a line and one-by-one shake the Germans’ hands. I’ve come to recognize several of their faces from the match and I slap those ones on the back. Then the quiet really sets in and thoughts of tomorrow, too, and we begin to saunter back to our trenches.

“Frank,” I begin to one my mates, “wasn’t a game of football just the thing? I thought of nothing else the whole time we were playing.”

“Precisely the thing,” he replies. “You work up a sweat like that and after a time forget all about your boots.”

“But wasn’t it funny, too? I mean, in this place?”

“It’s funny now, I suppose. Although when we were playing I didn’t find anything funny at all. I just wanted to play a bit of football.”

“You’re right,” I add. “It didn’t seem funny at the time.”

Someone calls that there’s hot coffee a ways down the line. Coffee would be wonderful. You can feel the cold again, and it looks as though it might snow. But I want to just rest in the quiet a moment. I peak above the trench and look across the ground we tore up today in pursuit of a football. We’ll tear it up again tomorrow.

But that’s tomorrow. Today is Christmas and today is still today. Today we took off our coats and forgot everything and played a bit of football. Tomorrow will come, but today we played upon ground we wish to destroy and had a game with good men who tomorrow will be bad men.

Amid death and destruction, a bit of soul restoration. A measure of salvation through song, through Christmas pudding, through football.

Exactly what happened on the Western Front, 98 years ago today, remains unclear. But various accounts, provided by both sides, point to a game of football being played during the Christmas Truce just west of the Belgian town of Wolverghem, near the River Douve. It’s also important to note that the Truce was not followed at every point along the front. I’d like to thank Operation Christmas Pudding for compiling letters and articles related to the Christmas Truce and making them available for public use. One such letter, written by Sergeant-Major Frank Naden of the 6th Cheshires and published in the Stockport Advertiser was particularly leaned upon in writing this story.

This story first appeared on thescore.com on 24 December 2011.

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