A salute to the slowcoaches.

Flicking aimlessly throughout the seemingly infinite satellite channels last Thursday night I eventually was drawn to ESPN and a quick look at the international career of Johan Cryuff. All of his seminal moments in Orange were present and correct. That slaloming run in ‘74 that led to a penalty in the final against West Germany. His trademark turn that would lead to countless imitation but retain the name of its originator and there were numerous other flashes of his dribbles, flicks and of course his passing that was as ubiquitous as the ticking of a clock. What struck me while watching was the pace or lack of it, whenever Cryuff had the ball his world seemed to slow. Defenders snapping at him were reduced to bullets floating past a Matrix-cracking Keanu Reeves. It is an old adage in the game that good players always seem to have time on the ball but this chestnut is losing force as a truth. Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo, two of the best players in the world currently operate in the supersonic. Theirs is the rapier game, a blur of twinkling feet and flashing shots. Even the controllers in the middle as the Italians call them are quick, elusive forces. Xavi and Inestia the two who Sir Alex Ferguson memorably whined could get you on a carousel and leave you dizzy are more darting than deliberate in their distribution. It is a relief than for those of us who still enjoy the old image of a quarter-back with one sock down below his shin-pad, who scoffs at a sprint and strolls with a smile that two fine exponents of the slow will try to navigate a path to glory beginning in a week.

The first is already a world champion and was the pivotal player behind that triumph. It has been somewhat forgotten just how big an impact that Andrea Pirlo had in the last World cup. Zizou’s “moment” and the blockbuster nature of Cannavaros defending, hell even Marco Matarattzi mouth is remembered more than the hypnotic rhythm of Pirlos passing. He was a constant source of fruitful possession. A conductor who made a mediocre orchestra soar. His pass in the semi-final against a typically stubborn Germany finally found space for a goal for Grosso who gave my generation our Tardelli celebration. Pirlo has been fitful in form since that tournament. His Milan have resembled him, some dizzy highs and frightful lows but he has regained his baton for Italia and alongside his carriers De Rossi and Gattuso will attempt to bend the great showpiece to his will once again.

The second will first have to navigate though the minefield of Diego Maradona’s team selection to take his customary place as the fulcrum of whichever side he plays in. Juan Sebastian Veron was until Dimitar Berbatov stole his crown, fleet streets favourite “enigma”. His time in the premiership was mixed with the sublime and the ridiculous but on the international stage where possession is the law he usually thrives. His passing can be devastatingly creative but only when a run or situation demands it. Maradona believes he can be Argentina’s Xavi, the man who can launch Messi. That remains to be seen but one thing is clear, the man they call “the little witch” will try to weave for his team and he will do it like Pirlo, in his own time.