The Football Tragic

Valery Lobanovskyi's USSR side qualified for the 1990 World Cup, their third in succession, with little trouble. Theirs was a fairly weak qualifying group, and their toughest opponents, Austria, were dispatched without undue fuss in Kyiv early in the campaign. 

Comparing the Soviet squads from their two World Cups under Lobanovskyi's charge is instructive; in 1986, they were all based at home, mostly in Kyiv. In 1990, several key players were already playing abroad - along with many others who didn't make the cut, including the veteran Oleg Blokhin and the unfortunate Igor Belanov, whose injury troubles prevented his participation. He would be much missed.

Placed in a group which included the defending champions Argentina, Romania and Cameroon, the Soviets were expected to progress; it was still the era of the 24-team tournament with a Round of 16, in which an indifferent first round performance didn't always prevent a team from moving on to the knockout phase. The group was thrown wide open by the shock of Argentina's first-up defeat by Cameroon. On the following day, in the space-age stadium in Bari, the USSR faced Romania.

The broader significance of the match was palpable. The Romanians had only just emerged from the ghastly rule of Niculae Ceausescu, who represented everything that was hateful about the Communist regimes in eastern Europe - the puppets, of course, of the USSR. The more voluble members of the Romanian squad had attested to their newfound sense of freedom prior to the tournament, and they too would have half an eye on the European club scouts.

Nevertheless, Lobanovskyi's men went into the match as strong favourites, although the core of his team, barely changed since 1986, was aging. The celebrated Romanian playmaker Gheorghe Hagi was suspended for the opening game, and the Romanians fielded several youngsters with scant international experience.

The Soviets began the game in controlled fashion, and the Romanians initially showed them great respect. Chances did eventually arrive after some shadow-boxing, but the Juventus pair of Sergey Aleinikov and Alexander Zavarov both found the Romanian keeper Silviu Lung on his mettle. 

The Romanians were gradually shaking off their awe, and late in the first half, they went ahead. Oleg Kuznetsov, hero of the Euro semi-final, slid into a tackle in midfield but lost the ball. The Romanian midfielder Ioan Sabau spotted that Marius Lacatus was free on the right, and played him through on goal. In came the shot, and Rinat Dasaev was beaten at his near post, diving the wrong way almost before Lacatus had made contact with the ball.

Early in the second period, avos' had its say once more. When Lacatus again found space on the right - Vasily Rats, now playing at left-back, was frequently caught upfield - he played the ball back into the centre, and the sweeper Vagiz Khidiatullin handled. It was a good couple of yards outside the box, but the Uruguayan referee Juan Cardellino pointed to the penalty spot.

It was an appalling decision, and once again, after Lacatus confidently dispatched the spot-kick, the Soviets completely wilted. "[Winger Igor] Dobrovolski and Zavarov faded softly and silently away," was Brian Glanville's comment in his History of the World Cup, and although this was a little harsh on the young Dobrovolski, who tried to keep the fight going, it was entirely accurate in the case of Zavarov. Once again, the little playmaker showed himself to be a fatalist at heart, for he was simply not himself after the second goal. First pitifully throwing himself down in the hope of a penalty when he could have had a chance in the Romanian box, he then lost the ball limply in midfield and lunged into a petulant foul on his tackler, Iosif Rotariu. It was a sad sight.

But even more significant was the way the Romanians played, once they knew that a very sweet victory was on the way.

Although there was a certain amount of showboating, especially from Lacatus, the broader message was very clear. The Romanians were enjoying their football. Watching Lobanovskyi's teams, one was always aware that they were serious and devoted to their task. The Romanians were now playing in a way that would have delighted Loba's old rival Eduard Malofeev. 

Not only that, but there were impressive displays of individual skill and enterprise. The Soviets prided themselves on their teamwork; here, it seemed that the Romanians were more interested in expressing themselves. And not only in attack: one player who caught everyone's eye was a certain young defender named Gica Popescu, strolling confidently and stylishly out of defence on many occasions. He was a player of whom we would see a good deal more in years to come.

And the Romanians might have gone further ahead; in fact, it was probably because they were enjoying rubbing it in so much that they didn't. Daniel Timofte, Hagi's replacement, forced a save from Dasaev, Lacatus missed a sitter when played in by a young Florin Raducioiu, and then Timofte strolled unhindered through a totally passive Soviet defence, but failed to score. Four minutes from the close, following another save from Lacatus, a magnificent team move by the Romanians ended with Sabau shooting wide.

It was, in its own way, a humiliation as great as the Soviets' heavy defeat of Hungary in the opening game of the previous World Cup.

And like the Hungarians, they were never going to recover. Argentina, still smarting from their loss to Cameroon, defeated the Soviets comfortably in the next game. "Loba" tried his old tactic of flooding the midfield to stifle Diego Maradona, but this left the defence badly thinned out, and just after half-time it cost them dearly. When the midfield block was breached and the lightning-quick Claudio Caniggia, well onside, was all set for a dash at goal, Vladimir Bessonov desperately pulled him back and was, justifiably, sent off. The defending champions cruised to a 2-0 win. Lobanovskyi's team restored some pride with a 4-0 win over an already-qualified Cameroon in their last game, but it barely mattered. They were out.

The game against Romania was an interesting allegory of the fortunes of many of the individual players from the eastern bloc in the 1990s. The USSR players, however much they had impressed in the late eighties, generally found the adjustment to western club football difficult. Did the team ethic, championed by Lobanovskyi and generally copied by other Soviet coaches, militate against the sort of individual qualities which mattered more in the west? Such a suggestion is perhaps glib, but the fact remains that while players such as Popescu, Hagi, Hristo Stoichkov, Dejan Savicevic and others scaled the heights of the European game, the former Soviet players did not.

It was not until the next decade that a player from the former Soviet Union became a superstar at a western European club. Perhaps fittingly, perhaps ironically, this player - Andrey Shevchenko - had as his mentor and coach a certain Valery Lobanovskyi.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 9:54 AM 0 comments

1988 was a pivotal year for Soviet football. Players from some of the "satellite countries" in the eastern bloc had long been venturing to western clubs in their mature years. But now, with glasnost, players from the heart of the Red empire started to do so as well. With the stock of the USSR team never higher after their runners-up finish at Euro 1988, there was plenty of interest from clubs throughout the western half of the continent.

Yet most of the Soviet players failed to shine once they had made their long-awaited moves. Many of them were already veterans, and their best football was in the past. Others simply couldn't recreate the form that they had shown in Mexico and Germany. The renowned keeper Rinat Dasaev joined Sevilla in Spain and became a fan favourite, but his performances were mixed. Igor Belanov, in 1989, joined Borussia Moenchengladbach. The swift, incisive attacker, with his formidable international record, "should" have been a roaring success. But his period in Germany was barren.

That eternal issue for Soviet players, money squabbles, may have had an effect on the initial efforts of the overseas brigade. Vagiz Khidiatullin, the accomplished sweeper who had played an important role in the Soviets' run to the 1988 final, moved to Toulouse on a contract of $30,000 dollars per month. From this amount, the Soviet authorities took a staggering $29,000 in tax. The reason given to him? "Our ambassador [in France] only gets $1,200 a month. You can't earn more than the ambassador!"

Despite this humiliation, Khidiatullin did well in France. But the most high-profile move of all turned out to be the most disappointing.

Since the retirement of their hero Michel Platini in 1987, Juventus had been looking for a player worthy of wearing the coveted No.10 shirt that had belonged to the Frenchman. They decided on the Dynamo Kyiv and USSR playmaker Alexander Zavarov, and secured his services in the summer of 1988 after complex negotiations with the Soviet bureaucracy. Like Khidiatullin, Zavarov received a paltry wage after the Soviet state had taken its share. But there were consolations, such as a top-of-the-line Fiat courtesy of the Agnelli family.

Zavarov made an encouraging start, scoring twice in a Coppa Italia tie against Brescia and finding the net in his Serie A debut, against Cesena. As the season wore on, however, his form fell away. Struggling with the language, the culture and the new tactical demands of Italian football, and unwilling to face up to the intrusive Italian press, Zavarov ended up frequently warming the bench during the spring.

Juventus were prepared to put him out on loan, but decided instead to give him a comrade from his former days to brighten his time in Turin: they signed Sergey Aleinikov, his USSR team-mate from the 1986 World Cup and the 1988 Euros. Unfortunately, Aleinikov too found the transition difficult and the fans unforgiving; struggling for fitness and fluency, he was given the nickname "Alentikov" in reference to his supposedly sluggish play. And Zavarov's second season, punctuated by injury, was no more successful than his first.

In a very touching gesture, Zavarov's Juventus predecessor Michel Platini, only too aware of the tremendous pressures of the Italian game, helped to arrange a transfer to his boyhood club Nancy for the unsettled playmaker. Much happier in the less frenzied environment of French football, Zavarov settled well in his new digs and spent his thirties in France, easing into retirement at the little Saint-Dizier club. So much for Juventus.

Zavarov's experience was, in a way, typical of so many of the early Soviet expatriate footballers; reared in an environment in which the team ethic was paramount and the press was kept at arm's length, he ultimately found the pressures of a big club intolerable. It was probably with some relief that he, and Aleinikov, returned to the USSR team - and Valery Lobanovskyi - prior to the 1990 World Cup in Italy. The Soviet Union might be on the point of collapse, but Lobanovskyi's experienced players, now toughened by the rigours of European club football, were expected to make a good showing in their second World Cup.

The very first game in Italy shattered those illusions. To be concluded in Part 8.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 10:44 AM 0 comments

Italy were generally favoured to win their semi-final against the USSR at the 1988 Nations Cup. The Italian team had undergone rejuvenation since their limp exit from the 1986 World Cup, with a number of fine young players, mostly from AC Milan, joining the starting eleven. They would enjoy the vast majority of the support in Stuttgart, they had defeated the Soviets 4-1 earlier in the year, and they would have been buoyed too by the news that the Soviets' talismanic striker, Igor Belanov, would miss the game after suffering an injury against England in their final group match.

Only a few minutes into the game, there came another bad blow for the Soviets. Oleg Kuznetsov, the defensive brigadier whom Valery Lobanovskyi had always considered the side's natural leader, picked up a soft yellow card from the fussy, inconsistent Belgian referee, Alexis Ponnet. It was Kuznetsov's second caution of the tournament, and he would now be out of their next game.

It says something for Kuznetsov's character that he turned in one of his finest performances in what was to be his last game of the tournament. Maladyets Kuznetsov, the Russian commentator frequently cried during the game. Bravo, Kuznetsov. And the praise was not undeserved.

It was this game, perhaps more than any other, that demonstrated how Lobanovskyi's methods worked at their best. Facing a technically superior team, he relied on his tactic of flooding the midfield to reduce the space available to the creative players in the opposition. Kuznetsov, tackling furiously and venturing frequently into midfield to stop Italian attacks before they started, was the key figure, but the entire team contributed.

Up front, the Soviets offered less than they had in previous games. Oleg Protasov, Belanov's replacement in the lone striker role, was far less mobile, and the tight marking of Riccardo Ferri meant that he found the going very hard in the first half. Alexander Zavarov, too, was having an unusually quiet night. At the other end, the young Gianluca Vialli missed two good chances in the first half, and appeared to be out of sorts. 

The Soviet tackling was not always legal, and a struggling Vladimir Bessonov also received a yellow card for a clumsy challenge on the half-hour. Lobanovskyi took the shrewd decision to withdraw his usual right-back in favour of the more robust Anatoly Demianenko. Just before half-time, the reflexes of Rinat Dasaev rescued the Soviets again, when he made an excellent save from Giuseppe Giannini's header.

At half-time, the Italian manager Azeglio Vicini took the decision to replace Vialli's strike partner, Roberto Mancini, with the veteran Sandro Altobelli. It seemed more logical for the misfiring Vialli to have been withdrawn, but Vicini was always loyal to the Sampdoria striker, even starting him in the World Cup semi-final two years later in place of a firing Roberto Baggio.

The attrition continued for a while, with neither side looking likely to break through. But on the hour, the Soviets scored an unexpected goal, and fittingly it was Kuznetsov who started the move, winning the ball at the base of midfield and advancing to the edge of the box. The ball broke for the right-sided midfielder Gennady Litovchenko, who beat Walter Zenga smartly after his initial shot had been blocked.

The Italians were taken aback, and conceded another just two minutes later. Zavarov, finally coming to life, drew two defenders to him on the left before sliding the ball across to Protasov in the middle, who had for once escaped the attentions of Ferri. He finished confidently with his left foot. 

And that, in short, was that. The Italians, tired and short of ideas, never looked like getting back into the game, with a wild shot over the bar from Vialli on 80 minutes all they had to offer in the closing stages. The USSR had reached the final.

There they would meet the Dutch again, who had grown as the tournament had progressed, with van Basten now in peak form. They had gained some revenge for the 1974 World Cup final by beating West Germany in the semis thanks to a moderately dubious penalty; with Kuznetsov out, they looked like the favourites for the final.

Without Kuznetsov, Lobanovskyi made the decision to sacrifice one of his midfielders, Sergey Aleinikov, to a man-marking job on van Basten. It's tempting to think that "Loba" chose the outsider, the Dynamo Minsk man, for this task, to allow his Kyiv charges to continue their practised co-ordination further upfield.

The Soviets started the game well, but failed to create many good chances; this time Belanov was fit to start, but he was below his usual effectiveness. The Dutch worked their way slowly into the game, and just after the half-hour, they went ahead. Following another excellent save by Dasaev from Ruud Gullit's free kick, the Soviets rushed out when the subsequent corner was cleared...apart from the unfortunate Aleinikov, who was playing van Basten onside. Erwin Koeman's cross reached the tall striker, he headed back across goal, and Gullit powered a header past Dasaev.

Just after half-time came van Basten's famous volley, one of the most spectacular goals ever seen in the final of a major competition. In truth, however, his cross-shot from Arnold Muhren's innocuous cross was something of a fluke. And it was an incident after that goal which was truly decisive in the encounter. 

The Soviets were initially spurred into action by van Basten's goal, and Belanov hit the post following a free kick only a couple of minutes afterwards. Then, in a moment of utter madness, the Dutch keeper Hans van Breukelen chased after Sergey Gotsmanov, who was attempting to retrieve a ball heading over the by-line, well away from goal. van Breukelen clumsily upended him: penalty.

It looked like a perfect, unexpected chance for the USSR to get back into the game. Belanov took the kick, fired low to his left...and van Breukelen saved. There was just one problem: he was a mile off his line when the kick was taken. The penalty should, of course, have been retaken. But it wasn't: the "save" was allowed to stand.

After two such close calls, one of them a manifest injustice, our old friend avos' began to affect the Soviets. To say that they lay down and died after the penalty would be almost an understatement. The Dutch simply frolicked in the final minutes; the Milan colleagues Gullit and van Basten began to combine with ease and elegance, and the Soviets seemed utterly despondent. None more so than Zavarov, every inch a "mood" player.

2-0 it inevitably finished. The absence of Kuznetsov had been keenly felt, but not perhaps as keenly as the sense that it just wasn't to be their day.

Up next: the great Soviet exodus, and the last, tragic hurrah - the 1990 World Cup in Italy.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 10:03 AM 0 comments

Following the 1986 World Cup, Valery Lobanovskyi stayed on as USSR coach, while still taking charge of Dynamo Kyiv. It was a heady time for Soviet football; in the wake of their efforts in Mexico, Lobanovskyi was named European Coach of the Season, while Igor Belanov won the coveted Ballon d'Or (his partner in crime in the Kyiv and Soviet attack, Alexander Zavarov, came sixth in the voting). 

Further success arrived in the following season, with Kyiv reaching the semi-finals of the European Cup and taking out the USSR Cup as well. In the qualifiers for the Nations Cup, meanwhile, the Soviets had been placed in the same group as the defending champions France. Yet they shocked the French by beating them 2-0 in Paris early in the qualifying series, the first goal coming from yet another slick Belanov-Zavarov combination. Lobanovskyi's men went on to qualify handsomely.

It was a pivotal time for many of the Kyiv and Soviet stars, who were now mostly in their mid-to-late twenties. Glasnost and perestroika meant a new openness to the west, and that included western clubs. "Loba" had managed to keep his beloved club team together thus far, but after the Nations Cup in West Germany, a rapid exodus ensued.

The line-up for the 1988 Euros was impressive. As well as the German hosts, Italy, Spain, the Netherlands and England were all there, not to mention the Danes who had been so impressive in Mexico. The USSR were to face Holland, Ireland and England in the opening round.

In many ways, it was the first game at the tournament between the Soviets and the Dutch, rather than their meeting in the final, which was the more significant. The Netherlands team featured not only Ruud Gullit and Marco van Basten, both coming off a successful season with AC Milan, but several players from the dazzling young Ajax side which had succeeded Dynamo Kyiv as Cup-Winners Cup winners. 

Both sides, it must be said, began the game badly. The Soviets, playing a dour, defensive game, failed to find their rhythm and committed a surprising number of clumsy fouls. The Dutch coach Rinus Michels, 1974 hero redux, had surprisingly omitted van Basten from the starting line-up. Without his presence, they looked laboured in attack, and the unwillingness of the Dutch fullbacks to get forward meant that they were often smothered by the Soviets in midfield. It looked like their best chance to score would be from one of the many free kicks that the Soviets gave away, and indeed Ronald Koeman forced Rinat Dasaev into a superb save from one of them on 18 minutes. Once again, the distinguished Russian gloveman was on top form, making another important save from Gullit at the end of the first half.

There had been a good deal of whistling at the quality of the football in the first period, but in the second, the Soviets began to click. The quick crossfield balls to Belanov, such a feature of their performances in 1986, began to materialise: first it was Zavarov, neatly picking out the Ballon d'Or winner who advanced and forced the Dutch keeper Hans van Breukelen into a save. The Dutch failed to heed the warning, and only two minutes later there was a repeat, with Vasily Rats this time finding Belanov with his unerring left foot. The latter advanced, and sent a beautifully-weighted pass across the top of the box back to Rats, who had sneaked forward unnoticed. His left foot did the rest.

van Basten belatedly arrived, but with the game situation as it was, there was to be no sumptuous interplay with his Milan colleague; instead, the Dutch relied on the lofted ball into the mixer, with two tall frontmen to aim for. Gullit, strangely, buried himself out on the right wing, where he was far from effective. Although Dasaev had to make one more good save, from Jan Wouters, and although the new Soviet sweeper Vagiz Khidiatullin twice almost contrived to score an own goal, the score remained at 1-0. van Basten would not be left on the bench again.

It was an encouraging beginning for Lobanovskyi and his men, and just as in Mexico, they followed it up with a draw and then another win. The draw was against the physical Irish, for whom Liverpool's Ronnie Whelan scored a spectacular overhead volley (almost as spectacular, in fact, as the famous goal from the final), but Belanov once again saved his team's bacon 15 minutes from the end, making a good goal for another Kyiv striker, Oleg Protasov.

Against a creaking England, whose midfield hero Glenn Hoddle was in wretched form, the Soviets were dominant from the start. Although England responded to Sergey Aleinikov's early goal with a typical set-piece header from the young Tony Adams, who had been tortured by van Basten in the previous match, the Soviets ran out comfortable 3-1 winners in the end. Another newcomer to the team, the lively midfielder Alexey Mikhailichenko, scored a headed goal following a superb team move, and a substitute, Viktor Pasulko, added a third from close range.

Italy awaited in the semi-finals. An Italian team featuring a number of talented young players, including the core of the Milan side which was to dominate European football in the next few years.

The game was to be perhaps Lobanovskyi's finest tactical triumph. More in Part 6.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 1:27 PM 0 comments

Which was the greatest World Cup match of all? Plenty of votes would go to the Italy-Brazil match of 1982, in which the eventual champions beat the book and Paolo Rossi scored his redemptive hat-trick. The Italy-West Germany semi-final of 1970 is another perennial favourite, the Jahrhundertspiel which featured a flurry of goals in extra time. Then there was the Holland-Argentina epic of 1998, with its unforgettable deciding goal. A good candidate from the most recent tournament in 2018 was the wonderfully exciting Belgium-Japan game from the second round.

But it's still hard to go past the enthralling game between Belgium and Valery Lobanovskyi's Soviet Union team from the second round of the 1986 tournament. It had everything: drama, controversy, a frantic finish, an infinity of talking points, and, of course, seven goals.

Belgium had given little indication so far in the tournament that they would have much of an impact on it. Although placed in one of the supposedly weaker groups, they had struggled in the first round, losing to the hosts, and finished third in the section, only just scraping into the next round thanks to the new knockout format of the 24-team competition. The Soviets, on the other hand, had impressed all with their teamwork and energy. The Belgians had "a mountain to climb," according to the Sunday Telegraph. "Belgium has its hands full here," suggested the Boston Globe, suggesting in passing that the Soviets "could win it all".

Lobanovskyi's men had history on their side as well: the Soviets had twice beaten Belgium at the World Cup, handsomely in 1970 and somewhat tediously in 1982, when the Belgians had been badly affected by injuries.

That the Belgians confounded the predictions had a lot to do with their own unexpected improvement, a little to do with an almost inexplicable decision by Lobanovskyi at a crucial point in the match, and a bit to do with the hand of fate - avos' at work again - which dealt the Soviets a cruel blow.

Andrey Bal, another Kyiv player brought in to replace Nikolay Larionov after the first two games, has been partly blamed for the defeat by some critics. But the truth is that the entire Soviet defence had its deficiencies exposed in the course of the game. 

Lobanovskyi's men certainly looked like the favourites early on, and Igor Belanov scored a glorious individual goal on 28 minutes. Receiving from, inevitably, Alexander Zavarov, he took a touch to evade the attention of young Stéphane De Mol and sent an unstoppable right-footed thunderbolt past Jean-Marie Pfaff in the Belgian goal.

Although the Belgians showed some signs of life after the goal, the Soviets still looked likely to run out comfortable winners early in the second half. Following an excellent team move, Belanov headed against the post, with Pavel Yakovenko having his subsequent shot cleared off the line. 

On 56 minutes, however, the Belgians equalised, and the manner in which the goal was given away was undoubtedly sloppy. Frank Vercauteren sent a deep, benign-looking cross over from the left. Anatoly Demianenko leapt to head it clear but missed completely, and Enzo Scifo had time to take a touch at the far post and score, with Ivan Yaremchuk, his marker, turned to stone.

Rocked by this unexpected setback, the Soviets went into their shell somewhat. The two men who kept the flame of invention burning for the side were Belanov, still toiling incessantly up front, and Zavarov, still finding ideas just behind him. After nearly playing Belanov through just after the hour, Zavarov hit paydirt with an absolute signature move: surging through the centre and drawing three Belgian defenders to him, he released the ball perfectly for Belanov, who sent a cross-shot expertly past Pfaff. "That deadly duo click again," enthused an American commentator.

But that was the last time they were to click at the 1986 World Cup, for a strange reason. Three minutes after the goal, Lobanovskyi did something which rarely attracts a mention in accounts of the game, but it was surely crucial.

He took Zavarov off.

The one player who had been a torment to the Belgians in the second half with his vision, his enterprise and his close control (he had drawn a foul which merited a yellow card just prior to the goal), and who provided the springboard for Belanov's brilliance in the box, was withdrawn.

The reasons subsequently given make little sense. Was "Loba" resting him for the quarter-final? Never mind the fact that a one-goal advantage hardly justifies such a luxury, Zavarov could hardly have been exhausted; he had only played half an hour of the previous game. Did the coach want to stiffen the defence? Unlikely, because he brought on another striker in Sergey Rodionov.

In any event, after Vasily Rats missed a good chance to seal matters when the ball broke to him on the left, came the controversial second equaliser.

A long ball forward by De Mol reached the veteran Jan Ceulemans, having an excellent game, completely unmarked in the Soviet box. He pivoted to score, but...wasn't he offside? Although it is impossible to tell from contemporary replays, it seems very likely. And most importantly of all, the linesman, Arminio Sanchez of Spain, actually raised his flag...only to lower it again. 

It was a dreadful blow, but the Soviets initially fought on. Yaremchuk hit the bar after good work from Rodionov on the right, and when Scifo tried a repeat performance at the far post, Dasaev made a brilliant point-blank save, earning sporting applause from the young Belgian midfielder.

In extra time, the Soviets' defensive lapses became more serious. Shortly before the end of the first additional period, a corner was played short to the Belgian right-back Eric Gerets; his cross found De Mol at the far post, with the Soviet defenders standing around like cattle. The young Anderlecht defender powered his header home.

Seven minutes later, the Soviet defence went to sleep again, and Belgium went further ahead. Following another right-wing corner from Vercauteren, the ball was played into the centre and headed tantalisingly upwards by the Belgian substitute Leo Clijsters: Bal, in a daze, lost track of Nico Claesen, who volleyed past Dasaev. 4-2.

The USSR were given a lifeline when Belanov won a fairly soft penalty straight afterwards, banging it home to complete his hat-trick. But in the breathless final minutes it was the Belgians who came close to adding to the scoreline: another Belgian substitute, Leo van der Elst, shot just wide of Dasaev's far post, and the keeper had to make a smart save from Vercauteren soon afterwards. In the last minute, Yevtushenko's desperate attempt to lob an out-of-position Pfaff had the Belgian keeper momentarily in a panic, but he got back in time to tip the ball over.

It was a heartbreaking way for Lobanovskyi's young side to exit the event, but they had won many friends in Mexico. And two years later, in West Germany, they were ready for another shot at an international title - and they almost got there. To be continued.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 12:33 PM 0 comments

The USSR's first opponents at the 1986 World Cup, Hungary, came to the tournament with quite a reputation. They had stormed through what looked like a tough qualifying group, featuring both the Netherlands and World Cup regulars Austria. The Soviets, on the other hand, had limped into second place in their group with a series of narrow home wins, and their form in friendlies heading into the event had been mediocre. 

But they had, of course, undergone a major change since then: Valery Lobanovskyi had arrived, bringing a number of his Dynamo Kyiv charges with him. The national team was essentially a carbon copy of the club side which had recently triumphed in the Cup-Winners Cup.

The USSR defeated Hungary 6-0, and it could have been eight or nine.

The result was not all about tactical or physical superiority; had Pavel Yakovenko not scored a somewhat fortunate goal after only a couple of minutes, and Sergey Aleinikov not followed it up with a superb strike from distance to make it 2-0 before the Hungarians knew what was happening, it is unlikely that the Magyars would have collapsed as they did. But it is fair enough to say that the game was a tactical lesson writ large.

Above all, the Hungarians were completely unable to deal with the constant, bewildering movement of Igor Belanov up front, and the quick release to the lone striker in which the Kyiv crew had become so adept. The third Soviet goal was a perfect illustration of the strategy in action; following a turnover, an alert Vasily Rats sent a pinpoint crossfield ball through to Belanov, who had once again drifted away from his marker. Into the box he went, out went a defender's leg, penalty. And Belanov himself converted it. Only a few minutes later, Belanov had another such chance when played in by Alexander Zavarov, having a splendid game.

It remained 3-0 at half-time. A storming run through the midfield by Yakovenko set up the winger Ivan Yaremchuk for the fourth, and soon afterwards the substitute Vadim Yevtushenko provoked an own goal with a killing through-pass, after one of Zavarov's signature straight-into-the-traffic runs had pulled the Hungarian defence out of shape. The final goal saw Zavarov at his best again, dodging a tackle in midfield before playing an exquisite pass through for Aleinikov. The Dynamo Minsk man miscontrolled the ball and allowed the Hungarian keeper Peter Disztl to smother, but another USSR substitute, Sergey Rodionov, was on hand to slot the ball home.

And there were other chances. Yevtushenko missed a penalty late in the second half; and later miscued a simple header in front of goal. Rodionov, too, should have scored a second when the shell-shocked Hungarian defence presented him with a clear run at goal. It was a thorough humiliation, and the Hungarians duly went out of the tournament in the first round. They have not been back to the World Cup since.

Next up for Lobanovskyi's men were the European champions, France. Although this tournament would be the last hurrah for the glorious French side of the eighties, with Michel Platini, Jean Tigana and Alain Giresse all the wrong side of 30, they were still a formidable proposition.

It was a pleasingly even game, with a draw a pretty fair result. The Soviets might have had a penalty early on when Zavarov, his close control impressive as always, surged into a crowd of French shirts in the centre and appeared to be fouled in the box. At the other end, a shot from the young French striker Yannick Stopyra was well saved by Rinat Dasaev in the USSR goal.

A few words ought to be said about Dasaev, one of the few non-Kyiv players in Lobanovskyi's side. One of the revelations of the 1982 World Cup, in which he had excelled despite an otherwise underwhelming USSR performance, Dasaev was now recognised as one of the finest keepers in the game. It would clearly have been churlish of Lobanovskyi to favour the Kyiv goalie Viktor Chanov, although the latter would make an appearance in the Soviets' next, less relevant, match. 

Dasaev needed to be on his mettle at free kicks, because the Soviets certainly gave away a fair few. From one of these, shortly before half-time, Platini hit the post. But it was the USSR who went ahead on 54 minutes, when Rats' magnificent left foot sent a bullet of a long shot past Joel Bats in the French goal. 

To their credit, the European champions did not lose their heads, and scored a fine equaliser eight minutes later, when Luis Fernandez sneaked into a hole in the centre of the Soviet defence to beat Dasaev. Lobanovskyi liked to play with only a sweeper and a rather adventurous centre-back in the middle of defence, and the Soviets' weakness in this area would be a thorn in their side in this and subsequent tournaments.

Although Rats continued to trouble the French with his insidious inswinging corners from the right throughout the second half, France finished the stronger side, and Dasaev had to make another excellent save from a young Jean-Pierre Papin twenty minutes from the close.

Against the group minnows Canada in their final group game, the Soviets fielded several reserves, including the old Kyiv hero Oleg Blokhin. One of the players rested was Belanov, and in the first half it was clear how much his enterprise and off-the-ball movement was missed. Soon after he arrived as a substitute, he cleverly set up Blokhin to score the opening goal. The veteran injured himself in the process, and made way for Zavarov, who combined superbly with Belanov to score the second.

The Soviets had surprised and delighted the neutrals in the first round. In the second phase, now a knockout again after the bizarre experiment of 1982, their opponents would be Belgium.

The story of that game, one of the most lively and dramatic in World Cup history, follows in Part 4.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 10:35 AM 0 comments

It so happened that the two teams which made everyone sit up and take notice in the first round of the 1986 World Cup emerged from the same European qualifying group. Denmark, with three first-up wins including a 6-1 trouncing of Uruguay and a victory over the mighty West Germans, were one of these two. The other, of course, was the Soviet Union.

The Danes and the Soviets had faced off twice in the qualifiers, of course, and the first encounter took place in Copenhagen in the June of 1985. Denmark had been serial underachievers in the qualifiers up to this point, but the stars (in both senses of the word) finally aligned leading up to the Mexican tournament. A core of hardened European professionals, including the renowned striker Preben Elkjaer, now had the support of a number of talented youngsters, among whom Michael Laudrup stood out.

Against the USSR in Copenhagen, the Danes, led superbly from the back by the venerable attacking sweeper Morten Olsen, were simply imperious. Although the final score was only 4-2, they had made the Soviets look one-paced and tactically naive. The USSR did win the return clash 1-0 thanks to Oleg Protasov's smartly-taken goal, but doubts remained about the ability of the coach, Eduard Malofeev, to get the best out of what was considered a very promising crop of Soviet players.

In the meantime, the avatar of scientific football, Valery Lobanovskyi, was waiting in the wings. His Dynamo Kyiv teams had gone from strength to strength, and in 1986 they achieved their second European title, winning the Cup-Winners Cup. Their 3-0 victory in the final, against Atlético Madrid in Lyon, was garnished with a goal which perfectly embodied Lobanovskyi's philosophy of a football team functioning as a well-oiled machine; a precisely-executed left-wing move, involving four players, ended with a goal for the club's beloved veteran star, Oleg Blokhin. 

An incident earlier in that match also demonstrated the Lobanovskyi belief in his players' tactical flexibility: poor Sergey Baltacha, Lobanovskyi's sweeper of choice and a veteran of the 1982 World Cup, succumbed to an Achilles tendon injury which was to keep him out of the Mexico event. Unperturbed, Lobanovskyi sent on his reserve right-back, Andrey Bal, and shifted the incumbent right-back, Vladimir Bessonov, into the centre of defence. Bessonov would remain there in Mexico.

Malofeev's team continued to creak in the run-up to the World Cup, and after yet another disappointing friendly performance, Lobanovskyi was drafted in at the eleventh hour. It was good news for Lobanovskyi's Dynamo protégés, and everyone knew it; it was less pleasing news for those who were expecting to figure in Mexico under Malofeev, but were not likely to please the authoritarian, "scientific" Lobanovskyi. One of the non-Kyiv squad members who survived the cut was Sergey Aleinikov, the versatile Dynamo Minsk midfielder who looked, and played, somewhat like Graeme Souness. In his autobiography, he described what life was like in the lead-up to Mexico:

Lobanovskyi made us train harder. To say it was difficult would be an understatement. In the evening I was just looking to get to bed as soon as possible. For Lobanovskyi the game was about the result, not about fun. Football had to be rational. For him, 1-0 was better than 5-4.

It was not Lobanovskyi's first time in charge of the Soviet team; two brief, unhappy spells in the previous decade, in which he had notably favoured his Kyiv players, had not done his reputation much good. But this time, he was determined to make things work, and he needed players who could enact his philosophy. 

In short, he essentially made his Dynamo Kyiv side into the USSR team. 

It was certainly the right time to do so, because the recent Cup-Winners Cup victors were a strong, confident unit. Apart from Bessonov at the back, there was the muscular Anatoly Demianenko, a full-back by preference, and the team's de facto leader, Oleg Kuznetsov, who nominally occupied the stopper role but was never averse to coming forward to join the midfield. Tough in the tackle and in the air, Kuznetsov was one of Lobanovskyi's key men.

In midfield, apart from the interloper Aleinikov, there was the busy little winger Ivan Yaremchuk and the all-action Pavel Yakovenko, a Lobanovskyi player par excellence. Vasily Rats, with his catapult of a left foot, patrolled the left flank and lent a hand at corners and set-pieces. And that left the one concession made by "Loba" to old-fashioned midfield creativity: the gifted playmaker Alexander Zavarov.

Zavarov was a player with distinct Dostoyevsky qualities about him. A boy from a small village who lived for football, his talent was first spotted, appropriately enough, by a great playmaker of the past: Joszef Sabo, a hero for the Soviets at the 1966 World Cup. After starring for the USSR's youth team at the 1979 Junior World Cup, at which the Soviets lost to Diego Maradona's Argentina in the final, Zavarov became a prolific scorer with SKA Rostov-on-Don, despite some disciplinary issues. In 1983, Lobanovskyi enticed him to Kyiv.

There he was transformed from a second striker into a deep-lying playmaker, with a habit of running purposefully at defences from behind the lines. By 1986, he had matured into a player of real quality. He had superb close control, a fine range of passing, and a good shot with either foot. In many ways, he was not a classic Lobanovskyi player: although more than willing to drop deep, he contributed little in a defensive capacity. He had a habit, too, of trying the near-impossible at times, running into dense midfield traffic in the hope of dancing his way through the minefield and picking a killer pass at the perfect moment. When it worked, however, it was spectacular.

Zavarov was not a player to die for his coach; this had been evident even early in his career. But Lobanovskyi was shrewd enough to realise that the element of surprise offered by his young midfield maestro made up for the fact that he may not have had the workrate of a Yaremchuk or a Yakovenko. 

Above all, Zavarov was important as the chief provider for the final piece of the puzzle: the tireless, prolific, positionally astute striker, Igor Belanov. In days of old, it was Blokhin who fulfilled this role both for Kyiv and the national side; the veteran would be present in Mexico, but he was no longer a regular starter.

The fitness and tactical fluidity of Lobanovskyi's players meant that his approach to a game was impressively flexible. He could set out his troops to attack, or he could stifle the opposition by flooding the midfield and reducing the space available to a Platini or a Maradona. He was certainly not opposed to the long ball, but unlike the British advocates of "direct football", he preferred his teams to use their long passes into the channels to connect with the runs of Belanov and others, to catch the opposition off guard.

Next up, the story of Lobanovskyi's Soviets at Mexico 1986 - the brilliant beginning, and the sad but thrilling end.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 12:22 PM 0 comments

In Russian, there is a word avos' which can be used either as an adverb or a noun. In the former case, it means "maybe" or "hopefully". As a noun, it means something like "fatalism". Some have argued that the long, tragic arc of Russian history has made avos' a central feature of the Russian character; a shrug of the shoulders and a fond but ultimately faint hope that everything will turn out all right.

One person who did not believe in avos' was the legendary manager of the last great Soviet Union football side, Valery Lobanovskyi. Perhaps significantly, he was Ukrainian, not Russian.

Although Lobanovskyi is only faintly remembered by most football fans today, historians of the game know just how important an innovator he was, and how widely his influence was felt. The laptop crew at every major club (formerly the clipboard crew), the ones who studiously count the passes, measure the distances covered, study the heat maps and all the rest, are all heirs of the great "Loba", if often unwittingly. 

If avos' meant leaving things to chance, Lobanovskyi was having none of it. He was probably the first manager to bring the full weight of science to bear on the game of football, and unlike many others who purported to do so, he made a serious success of it.

Yet when it came to the heights of international football, avos' had its say, and Lobanovskyi couldn't quite get the most out of the gifted, cohesive side which he simply transplanted from Kyiv to the World Cup and the European Championship. 

A distinguished footballer himself, "Loba" was known particularly for his free kicks and corners. With his accuracy and his ability to "bend" the ball, he frequently scored directly from corners, and it was perhaps fitting that his great Soviet side featured players with similar capabilities - notably the adroit midfielder Vasily Rats, whose powerful left foot was a constant danger to the opposition.

After a frustrating end to his playing days, Lobanovskyi began his coaching career at lowly Dnipropetrovsk, whom he took from obscurity to a high finish in the first division within only a few years. His old club Dynamo Kyiv took notice, and brought him back to the club as manager in 1973. He was to stay there, with one brief hiatus, for 13 stunningly successful years.

Along with the sports scientist Anatoly Zelentsov, Lobanovskyi designed a comprehensive, scientific approach to training and tactics at Kyiv, and results followed. Under his aegis, Dynamo won the Soviet title eight times, and twice triumphed in the Cup-Winners Cup, in the days when it was decidedly rare for eastern bloc clubs to lift the major European trophies. For a fuller description of Lobanovksyi's revolutionary methods, I commend you to the relevant chapter in Jonathan Wilson's excellent book Inverting the Pyramid.

Above all, Lobanovskyi believed that outfield players ought to be able to fulfil all roles on the pitch. This was generally considered a Dutch specialty, but Lobanovskyi took the philosophy a good deal more seriously, and unlike the Dutch, he persisted with it beyond the heyday of "Total Football". It did not always work out for the best, as we shall see. 

A droll figure on the bench, with his customary back-and-forth rocking indicating intense concentration on the game, Lobanovskyi was the antithesis of the "one of the lads" type of manager, and his obsessive insistence on maximum effort and fitness and tactical flexibility did not always go down well with his charges, although they always respected him. Wilson, in his book, quotes the Dynamo Minsk goalkeeper Mikhail Vergeenko, comparing Lobanovskyi to his predecessor as USSR coach, the former World Cup striker Eduard Malofeev:

Lobanovskyi was a coach by mathematics; Malofeev was more romantic. The main thing he (Malofeev) wanted from the players was that they should express themselves on the pitch. If you give your all, he said, the fans will love you.

In Part 2, a more detailed look at the USSR's qualification for the 1986 World Cup, the handover from Malofeev to Lobanovskyi, the "Kyiv takeover", and an introduction to the other main character in our story: the richly talented but perpetually ill-starred Alexander Zavarov.

# posted by Mike Salter @ 2:10 PM 0 comments