With Germany's dismissal of Argentina, widely regarded as the most sophisticated side in the World Cup following its spectacular group-stage 6-0 drubbing of Serbia and Montenegro, football romantics now find themselves in a quandary. Brazil, the traditional exponent of soccer at its most graceful, have been patchy at best, and are in any case so successful (they've won the competition five times and have appeared in the last three finals) and Nike-ified that soccer purists are beginning to regard them with about as much affection as they showed the U.S. national team. Much has been said about the good vibes emanating from the new, unified Germany, able to express its patriotism openly at last, but the German team itself is unimaginative and dull. As for England, they are coached by a Swede whose idea of expressing joy is to stand up rather than sit down, and (so far) they have played remarkably tedious soccer given the talent (Rooney, Gerrard, Lampard) on their roster. Few would object to their winning the whole thing, but unless they suddenly catch fire it's unlikely to be counted as a victory for passionate, lively soccer. Italy looked mighty impressive -- even adventurous at times -- in a comfortable 3-0 romp over the Ukraine, but the Roman game is a byword for calculation rather than thrills. France, which won in '98, still warms a few hearts as an embodiment of today's multicultural French Republic, but until its surprisingly convincing win over Spain, "Les Bleus" had become an emblem of faded glory, mired in infighting and bureaucratic tedium. One of the oldest teams in the competition, too many of its players appeared to believe -- like a lot of French people -- that they were entitled to lifetime jobs, even if these involved running up and down a field rather than sitting behind a desk and acting snooty.
Which leaves us with Portugal, a team that has a likeably volatile Brazilian coach and an attractive style of play. Should the Portuguese beat England in the quarter-final, they will be the only team left in the competition never to have hoisted the World Cup. They have great names -- Maniche, Deco, Pauletta, Figo -- and play with an artful melancholy befitting the birthplace of fado, the world's saddest music. What is appealing about their country is that, in an age of branding, it represents nothing. Brazil means sex and fun. Germany means power. Italy means the good life, France means perfume and riots, and England, courtesy of David Beckham, probably means hair gel. But what does Portugal mean? Unlike a Ghana, it doesn't even qualify as a bonafide underdog. The eleven Portuguese men who will take the field against England today are simply the citizens of a small southern European nation which was once a great colonial power but no longer is. In that ambiguous status lies its charm.
-- Brendan Bernhard
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