posted by Baggiesboy

(To get you all riled up for tonight’s Nigeria/Argentina gold-medal men’s soccer game (CNBC, 12 midnight, but then you already knew that because you read Large Screens TV), Baggiesboy brings us some of his thoughts on the Argy/Brazil semi this past Tuesday night. Was he there, you ask? Obviously you don’t know The Bag. It was a bit of an ordeal, but true to form, he got the job done… -L)

The budding USA-China sports rivalry is going through a growth spurt at these Games, but frankly it has a long way to go. Watching the uneven bars gymnastics final on Monday, I was a tad disappointed that Cold War-style bad blood did not permeate the film of hairspray and chalk dust that hung in the air. Tuesday night, the Games of the XXIX Olympiad saw the real thing: Brazil versus Argentina.

No manufactured buzz was needed for this encounter. For the first time in my experience at these Games the media lane was clogged all along the main drag to the stadium. The thousands of people milling around the Worker’s Stadium needed no introduction to the names on the marquee: Ronaldinho and Lionel Messi replica jersey’s dominate the knockoff emporiums of the Pearl and Silk Markets. The Holy Trinity of sports merchandizing was completed by the presence of Kobe Bryant. My arrival coincided with his. Make no mistake though dear reader, the explosion of popping flashbulbs was all for him. Right then, I should have realized this was going to be no ordinary evening.

The penny began to drop when I encountered the rugby scrum at the foot of the stairs leading to the media seats. There’s a certain sense of entitlement among the Olympic press corps (any press corps for that matter) that extends to automatic observer seats for any, and all events. Alas, every scribe worth his salt knew that the recently renovated remnant of the Mao-era along the Gongti Road was the place to be on Tuesday. What followed was my first glimpse of a crack in the Great Wall of congenial hospitality that has been ever present here in Beijing. Mandarin is not my language, but body language is universal. A squat, thick-necked man with a short fuse to match his stature suddenly appeared to scream something, to me at least, that sounded a good bit stronger than: ‘No observer seats for you.” When the jostling continued a non-Chinese venue official informed an intrepid newshound: ‘You can talk to me or you can talk to the police.” I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and bid what I hoped was a graceful retreat. It was the best thing I’ve done at these Games.

A quick glance at the airless media room led to a Plan B for the ages. I’d buy a ticket. After pointing at what I took to be the ‘Full House” sign, one of the wonderful Olympic volunteers gave me directions for just walking into the stadium. Perhaps something was lost in translation, but the standing room only nirvana of Section 210 had been reached.

There I encountered soccer-crazed locals bearing Brazil flags, Argentina thunderstix, and all manner of replica shirts, including a vintage Manchester United Eric Cantona sighting. But Beijing isn’t Buenos Aires or Rio de Janeiro, so the fever pitch in the stands was the product of giddy excitement rather menacing hostility. A gentleman to my left happily waved his Brazil flag to the beat of the Argentina national anthem. A posse of Messi-shirt clad fans to my right pounded their plastic instruments of torture at every giant screen close-up of Ronaldinho. And a volunteer with a bullhorn, happily ignored the action on the field to launch the wave. Never let it be said that they don’t follow instructions in China. One moment, Messi is picking up steam in the Brazil half, the next he’s lost in a tidal wave of raised arms.

For the record, it should be noted that the pandemonium-meter hit 11 when about 20 minutes into the first half, someone recognized Kobe sitting less than 100 feet away in the adjacent section. For the second time in less than an hour, I was caught up in Kobe-mania. It is a sight to behold. For a country that has a reputation for frowning on photography, the good citizens of China all seem to own cameras. The last time I’d seen so many people climbing on seats, railings and each other to get a celebrity money shot was David Beckham’s Galaxy coronation last year in Los Angeles. How big is Kobe in China? Fans ignored orders to stop snapping for at least 15 minutes. But the Lakers guard did have one detractor. When the photo frenzy finally died down, a young boy, sitting just in front of me, drew a big laugh when with a giant subversive grin on his face yelled out: ‘Celtics are better!”

Out on the field Argentina were better. The Olympic gold medal is not a top priority for Europe’s soccer powers, but down South America way it’s a great prize. Brazil has never stood atop the podium, and their arch-rivals don’t let them forget it. Argentina won gold in Athens, and fought off legal challenges from Barcelona to bring Messi to Beijing. They also have Sergio Aguero, Javier Mascherano, Fernando Gago and the elegant Juan Roman Riquelme in town to defend their Olympic title. Brazil responded by bringing Ronaldinho, Diego, Anderson and Alexandre Pato. China is a long, long way to travel to fall short in a gold medal quest, and neither team wanted to suffer the fate of a bronze medal game with Belgium on Friday. That fate, as you know by now, falls to Brazil.

While Ronaldinho teased and tantalized the Argentina defense, his younger teammates are not quite on his wavelength yet. With Riquelme pulling the strings in midfield, Argentina was in complete sync. Brazil’s Alexandre Pato has pace and power to burn. He’s going to be a big star, but Messi is already a giant. His dazzling runs created all kinds of problems for Brazil, and plenty of room for his strike partner Aguero. In the second half, the Atletico Madrid man took full advantage, scoring the game’s first two goals. When a joyous Riquleme sealed the 3-0 win from the penalty spot, it was only a matter of time before trouble would ensue.

Tiny tots in sparkling leotards may fight back the tears and remember to recite the mantra of their handlers in the wake of defeat to a nemesis, but nobody has to tell one of the boys from Brazil what to do when his team is three goals down against Argentina. (The reverse, of course, also applies.) So, Lucas and Thiago Neves both got red cards within eight minutes of the Riquelme penalty kick, and three minutes of each other. That’s a rivalry.