The World

Sports tournaments are meant to be celebrations of youth. But last night’s World Cup final made me feel very old. First, there was the sight of poor old Nelson Mandela being trundled around the pitch – he’s about to turn 92 and I’m afraid he looks a little, how shall we say, past it. And then the cameras zeroed in on Jack Taylor, the last Brit to referee a World Cup final: the 1974 game between the Dutch and the Germans. I’m afraid, I remember that game with crystal clarity – as if it were yesterday, in fact. But the fact that Mr Taylor is now in his eighties, is a reminder that it was all a very long time ago – and I’m also getting old.

The recieved opinion here at the FT’s London offices seems to be that it was a terrible World Cup final – and that the Dutch disgraced themselves. I don’t agree on either count. I thought, by the end it was very exciting game – full of chances and with a proper climax of a winning goal scored in the last few minutes, rather than the desperate disappointment of a tie-breaking penalty shoot-out.

As for the Dutch, given their national taste in footwear, can we be surprised that they resorted to clogging? But they also played well in patches; and could easily have won the game if Robben had taken his chances. After the match, they seem to have collectively decided that their loss was all the fault of an over-harsh English referee. But I see that the ref has been condemned in Spain for being too lenient. This suggests to me that he probably got it about right. Technically, he would have been right to send De Jong of Holland off after just thirty minutes, but it would have ruined the game.

As ever, the best report this morning was from the FT’s Simon Kuper. It is perhaps a little amoral that Simon should laud his beloved Dutch for their tactical brilliance in committing most of their fouls away from the goal-mouth. But I think I know what he means. And Kuper also wins the prize for the single best anecdote about a new global superstar – with his claim that Andres Iniesta of Spain not only looks like a waiter but has been mistaken for one in a Barcelona cafe, and obediently delivered the order.

The Spanish play charming, mesmerising football – but it is a bit like watching a snake-charmer at work. It goes on and on and on, but the moments of real action are few and far between. They won their last four games by the same narrow margin: 1-0. I had the privilege to watch them play live twice in South Africa – and they were easily the most technically accomplished team I saw. So for all the narrrow misses, and refereeing mistakes, in the end the best team won. It is comforting to think that, over a month, the rough and the smooth even out – and the right result emerges.