Renaldo (74 page)

JAMES McCREATH

it was a matter of well-misplaced kicks to each other’s shins that saw both

players shown the red card. The fact that the Hungarian had struck the first

blow incensed the crowd, but Cruz’s retaliatory offering was done with blatant

attempt to injure, giving the referee no alternative. That did not mean that the

volatile Cruz would depart in a gentlemanly fashion. He had several choice

words for Señor Garando before Octavio Suarez ordered him off the field from

the sideline.

The dilemma for Suarez was immediate. Because of his expulsion, Cruz

had to sit out Argentina’s next match against France. As the final whistle

sounded, ringing in Argentina’s initial victory in their quest for world football

supremacy, Octavio Suarez was a worried man. He knew that the four days

of preparation that his depleted team was afforded before battling the French

was not nearly enough time to put the pieces together. There was no time for

retrospection, and there was no time for savoring this victory. The future was

all that mattered!

France had lost to Italy in a heartbreaking 2-1 game at Mar del Plata that

afternoon. To avoid elimination, the French had to beat Argentina. Suarez knew

that his charges would face a tenacious, determined opponent. Thoughts of

Napoleon’s gallant armies marching to victory after victory filled the manager’s

mind with anxiety. Luckily, the boss was able to conjure up the one thought

that finally erased the scene from existence. It was the fact that there had been

one Waterloo for the French already. Hopefully, the contest at the River Plate

battlefield would be the second.

The eleven names that illuminated the giant scoreboard under the

host country’s name on the evening of June sixth provided ample cause for

speculation. The starting lineup for this decisive match against France had

been the best kept secret in Argentina. All press and visitors had been barred

from the practice pitch, which had been shrouded in a twelve-foot high, solid

wood fence. No one, players, coaches, or the manager himself, was allowed to

discuss strategy during the inevitable interviews decreed by FIFA. The starting

lineup tended to give credence to a rumor that had been circulating freely

in the press. There was talk of a falling out between Octavio Suarez and his

Independiente players, and the resultant purge by the manager had left only

one of their number on the starting roster.

That player, the indomitable and irreplaceable Juan Chacon, had given

veiled hints of his dissatisfaction with the player selection in an interview the

day before the French contest. The real story had Chacon and Suarez almost

342

RENALDO

coming to blows over the replacement of Arzu, Argueta, and now even Enrique

Rios from the A squad. With Miguel Cruz’s suspension, the number of

Independiente players that started the tournament’s second game for the home

side fell to one. Five had started the previous game. Juan Chacon interpreted

the action of the National Team manager as an affront to his club-mates and

himself, and confronted Suarez in his office. Rumors abounded that ‘The Ugly

One’ had to be physically restrained from attacking Suarez by coach Estes

Santos.

The answers that the Gallery Gods were waiting for were about to be

revealed as the Swiss referee blew his whistle and pointed to Ramon Vida. The

young center forward was grinning from ear to ear as he nodded affirmation

and flicked the ball back ten yards to center half Renaldo De Seta. The strategy

of manager Suarez’ game plan was now evident for all to see.

He had moved the ‘dynamic duo’ to the middle of the playing field, the

location where they felt most comfortable. Enrique Rios had been removed

from the center forward spot due to his indifferent play, and on the wing,

Nicholas Pastor, the perennial A squad forward, was nowhere to be seen.

In his place stood veteran Caesar Castro, the River Plate winger who was

on his home turf and patrolling the same terra firma that he owned during

club matches. Suarez was gambling that the thirty-year-old Castro would

feel comfortable in the well-known confines of River Plate Stadium. Vida and

Castro had worked together as B squad forwards many times since the start of

training, so they were well acquainted. Only Ruben Gitares remained on the

front line from the original A squad eleven.

The half line held two surprises. One was De Seta, but the other was even

more of a shock. Instead of either of the two Independiente halves available to

him, Suarez had chosen to go with another B player in the often overwhelmed

Leopoldo Anariba. Again, the manager was sending out the message that there

were no secure postings on the starting eleven. Four B players now patrolled

the Argentine middle and left side. Cruz’s expulsion had opened the door for

Suarez to regain control of his team. The eleven men in powder-blue and white

stockings had received the signal loud and clear.

The red stockings of the French embraced legs that possessed startling

speed, intelligent improvisation, cleverness, and imagination. France had

scored on Italy after only thirty-eight seconds of their opening match. It was a

goal that would stand as the prettiest and best executed end-to-end rush of the

tournament. Italy had managed to regroup and emerge victorious, but Suarez

was afraid that a similar opening flurry by the French would severely rattle his

young charges.

Although Junior Calix was tested twice in the early going, the Argentines

parried their opponent’s opening assaults and then countered with a skillful

343

JAMES McCREATH

attack of their own. The match had an energy level that Renaldo De Seta had

never experienced before.

Gone were the clutch and grab tactics of the Hungarians. This was pure,

fluid football, and the boy loved it. The navy-blue-shirted, white-shorted

Frenchmen were every bit as cagey as Suarez had warned. The flow of play

never ebbed for a moment as both teams played poker with their opponent’s

defenses.

De Seta and Vida had several bright moments together, none culminating

in the sought-after reward, however. Castro and Anariba seemed to be holding

their own, and as the last minute of the first half loomed, manager Suarez was

generally pleased with what he had observed.

Renaldo’s heel was holding up well to this point, and he had not seemed

out of place among the artful French playmakers. The pace of the game had been

hectic, with numerous fast-breaking counterattacks by both sides. Nevertheless,

Argentina’s youngest player remained stalwart in defense, managing to mark

his opposite number with suffocating efficiency.

With the clock set to summon the two teams to the dressing room for the

interval, the French mysteriously seemed to let up for a few moments. Ramon

Vida was able to undress French defender Yves Herve from the ball deep inside

the European zone and relay it to his young friend, De Seta. Renaldo gathered

in the pass on the full run and beat a path directly toward the French goal. He

was met inside the penalty area by France’s captain, defender Christian Thiery.

The powerfully built Thiery wasted no time in diving at his opponent’s feet

and sending both men sprawling to the turf.

The tackle had been legal, but as the Frenchman fell, his left arm seemed

to make contact with the ball, sending it safely out of harm’s way, over the

touch line. Ramon Vida was instantly at the referee’s side pointing to his hand

and vehemently stating his case for a hand-ball foul. The Swiss official strode

to the sideline to confer with his linesman, who had had a better vantage point

from which to see the disputed play. Vida was on Mr. Raabsamen’s heels the

entire width of the field. He kept up a constant chatter as the two officials

conferred and his persistence paid off.

Turning to make his way back across the pitch, the referee gave a slight

flick of his wrist to indicate that he concurred with Señor Vida and ran directly

to the penalty spot. The crowd erupted in sheer delight as league leading goal

scorer Ruben Gitares stepped up to the ball and awaited the referee’s signal. On

the whistle, he deftly nestled the orb in the back of the French goal, blasting a

shot in the opposite direction from the sprawling keeper, Jean-Marc Poullain.

Referee Raabsamen again brought the whistle to his lips, this time signaling

the half. The home side was ecstatic, the visiting Europeans stunned.

344

RENALDO

There were no substitutions for either side as the second half commenced.

The French took to the attack like a team possessed, and well they should, for

a loss would send them home disqualified. The Argentine defensive back line

had remained intact after the Hungarian contest, and as usual, Juan Chacon

was handing out his greeting cards to any French player who came close enough

to collect one.

Twenty-year-old wing half Martín Palance was the heart and soul of the

French offensive thrust. Time and time again, he defied the ugly Argentine

with lightning sorties into the shadow of the powder-blue and white goal. He

was rewarded for his dexterity in the sixty-first minute with the equalizing

tally, converting a finely honed shot that had rebounded onto his foot off the

crossbar. Countryman Didier Onze and two Argentine defenders were actually

inside the net when the ball passed over the line. The great cliffs fell silent. The

scoreboard did not lie! It was a tie game, and anybody’s contest.

Among the advantages held by the home side at this particular point in

the match was the fact that the starting French keeper, Jean-Marc Poullain, had

to be carried from the field at the fifty-eighth minute. The unfortunate goalie

had been injured by crashing his back into the upright post while making a

particularly acrobatic save. His replacement, Michel Delaroche, was the older

of the two men by five years. At age thirty-one, many thought that he had seen

better days.

Despite this setback, Palance continued to be the spark that rallied the

men in the dark-blue shirts. Forward, forward, like Napoleon’s Imperial Guard,

they wore the coq proudly. Didier Onze was to come the closest to being

crowned the emperor when Palance set him free on a magnificent run. With

only Junior Calix to beat, from twelve yards out he pulled the lanyard of his

cannon. Calix sprawled to his left, clutching nothing but air.

The solid shot projectile hurtled unobstructed toward the enemy’s

headquarters. Onze followed its trajectory, confident in his ability as a master

artilleryman. This would be the coup de grâce! The foe was finished. France

would be victorious. But wait, what was this? For some unexplained reason, the

shot misfired. His attempt wide by inches, the despondent Frenchman fell to

his knees and grabbed his flowing mane in both hands. Agony!

There was action in the other goalmouth as well. The Argentines had

adapted to the attacking French style, and the use of the offside trap allowed for

some hasty counterattacks into European territory. Often the dark-blue-shirted

midfield would be caught too far forward in attack to assist their rear guard.

It was the surprising Leopoldo Anariba that seemed to be constantly

pressing forward. He had received yeoman’s support in the first half from

both Daniele Bennett in the rear and Caesar Castro up front, and now the

rookie National Team member from Racing Club was gaining in poise and

345

JAMES McCREATH

confidence. Chances were to be had continually. Vida hit the crossbar twice only

two minutes apart. Gitares came close to putting the hosts back in the lead, but

he was uncharacteristically inept in his finish.

Renaldo De Seta was more concerned about marking his man and not

allowing the French an opportunity at his expense. He would feed strong balls

to his teammates, but always with an eye on the gathering French hurricane.

Less than fifteen minutes remained to play when the decisive moment arrived.

It started with a save by Junior Calix and a fast clearance out to Daniele

Bennett on the left flank. Bennett looked upfield as the ball arrived and one-

timed it thirty yards up the sideline to Leopoldo Anariba. The underrated

halfback had acres of space since the French midfield was, once again, too

far forward. Anariba made a run diagonally into the center of the pitch, and

Renaldo De Seta, who was also unmarked, pressed forward ten yards in advance

of his teammate.

Twenty-five yards from the goalmouth, Renaldo stopped dead, worried

about a fast-breaking French counterattack should his line-mate cough up the

ball. Anariba’s run had, by now, drawn a crowd of French defenders, and from

the left wing, Caesar Castro was making a strong push into the penalty area,