World Cup Qualifying (continued)
So we'd won our first game, had our celebration (in about 10 different languages), and traveled to the airport.
It was there that we parted ways with most of the first team. They all boarded a plane to Frankfurt, Germany to make their return connections to their respective clubs.
Rob Watkins,
Walter Milito, and the newly dubbed
Speedy Fernandez boarded the jet to ride with us back to Qatar. Since those three hadn't found clubs, they'd be training with some Qatari clubs (arrangements were already made) until the national team was called back together in about 10 days.
Milito and
Speedy chatted in the forward part of the cabin, in Spanish of course, and seemed to be in relatively good moods.
Watkins, clearly tired after the game (and whatever adventure had caused him to show up so late), went to the rear of the jet, and sprawled across a few seats and promptly began to snore. Once during the trip, the two up front pointed back at
Watkins, looked at us, and said together
Oily Pants before cracking up.
"So what happens next?" asked Fleming, a few minutes after this happened.
"I'm not sure," I said. "I guess we go to Qatar," I looked around for one of the pin-stripes and asked, "We
are going to Qatar this time right?" He nodded. "And then we prepare for the next game."
"Right," said Fleming firmly. After a pause he added, "and what exactly does that entail?"
"Beats me. Our next game is against Iran, I think they are playing one week from today, so we'll scout that... or have someone do that for us (Iran won that one, by the way)... and then we'll call back all the team to get ready"
"Right. And in the meantime?"
The meantime was spent getting accustomed a bit to living in Qatar. Doha, to be precise.
We made ourselves at home in the apartments which the QFA had acquired for us, tried to get used to the city, where actually almost everyone spoke English. Construction everywhere. And not just small structures, but enormous buildings.
It's not the most exciting place in the world. Good beaches though. Of course, you could say the whole country was a beach, but...
I've never been any place, anywhere any the world that gave the distinct impression of so much.... money.
The two weeks passed quickly. As the game approached, Fleming and I tried to look like we knew what we were doing.
The players, on the other hand, tried to look like they didn't know that they knew that we didn't know what we were doing. (Got that?)
We announced our starting line-up:
<pre class="ip-ubbcode-code-pre"> HealdWatson Watkins di Chiara Vergeylen XenãoLandstrom Milito Fernandez Power G P </pre>
Which seemed okay to everyone.
Lucas' club training with Guingcamp seemed to keep him a bit tired, so he told us he was content to come of the bench.
Vergeylen was chosen just because he hadn't gotten his first cap, and it just seemed right.
Golubev... well we just really didn't know what to do with him.
In the team meeting before hand, we noticed that most of the squad was calling
Watkins "
Oily Pants". "Guess it stuck," shrugged Fleming.
Qatar vs. Iran
"Why do all those Iranian players look Spanish* to me?" remarked Fleming as the game begun. "Is there something wrong with my eyes?"
"I think so." I looked at him closely. Nope, couldn't tell what he was on.
In the opening minute,
Gigi Papa hit the dirt in the Iran penalty area, and screamed as though he'd been sawn in half. The referee just looked at him disgustedly, and let play continue.
Our players looked up for the game, but disjointed in their play. Eventually they'd have better understanding with each other. Iran forced the ball into our half multiple times, shooting wide once, and after winning a freekick, flashing a shot over the bar.
After winning another freekick, Iran made the most of the opportunity as their striker outjumped
Oily Pants (yup, they've got us doing it too), and headed past
Heald for a 1-0 lead.
Iran seemed content with that scoreline, and with a little more room to build up play,
Max Power drove a lot shot that was saved, after having been set up by
Gigi Papa.
Iran was still getting chances, but
Di Chiara was playing with a great deal of maturity, and keeping things calm.
Heald had to save well on one-full volley, but he made it look easy.
Landstrom had a few headers that went goalbound, but not with enough power to trouble the Iranian keeper.
We went into halftime, and out again, not outplayed, but not really showing that we could find a goal.
Lucas came on for
Power, who fumed a bit, but nothing to serious, as even he admitted he wasn't "uber" in the first half.
In the 57th,
Heald had to palm away a header from about 6 yards from goal in an instinctive save that impressed even the Iranian head coach, who gave us the thumbs up.
Milito was beginning to find that he could control the game a bit from his side of the field, and he put in a ball to the near post that
Speedy nearly turned on target, but he had been squeezed between two players to get to the ball.
"Things are looking up," said Fleming. I could get used to watching soccer like this, it was fun. Well, funner than the nightlife in Doha, at any rate.
In the 65th,
Di Chiara calmly controlled a loose Iran clearance, and with calm deliberation, hit a long ball to the right for
Watson.
Watson hit the ball into the penalty area first time, and
Landstrom again got the ball with his head, this time, he hit it backwards to
Speedy. Our Mexican tapped it forward again to
Gigi Papa, who turned on the ball and struck a shot in one movement... and it went in.
Our youngsters ran around like madman again, with Fleming and I hoping around like James Brown. Oh yes, we felt good.
The Iranian team looked quite put out by this indignity, and started to send everyone forward again to get their lead back. It nearly backfired, as
Speedy fell twice in the box, under fairly rough challenges too, but the referee was having none of it.
Golubev came on for
Xenao (who'd had a quiet, but strong performance) and
Ortiz came on for a struggling
Vergeylen.
Now the players were all about holding on for a draw.
Di Chiara was... well, brilliant. Fleming and I tried to count the number of tackles he had, but gave up after reaching 10.
Heald had to make another point-blank save after an Iranian player was unmarked in our penalty area, and then he had to parry away a header that would have given Iran the win just before the whistle.
It hadn't been pretty, but we'd held our own against the best team in the group. A
1-1 draw was good for us.
*
This is the first time I've ever noticed this, but when not using real players in 01/02, the Iranian team gets Spanish names. Strange. It happened in the other game I have too. 
and good story 
Beginner's luck for Jenkins & Fleming?
Linear Mode
