Argentina fire early warning

Group of Death? We should know better than to apply such language, especially with teams at this World Cup who literally know the meaning of life and death in their countries. Ivory Coast had taken both these relative giants of their group to a single-goal contest, and now all that remains in this group is for Argentina and the Dutch to re-enact their 1978 World Cup final, in a game in which they can afford the relaxation of merely playing for position in the final group table.

Yet let us concentrate on Argentina. We might not see a better performance, better harmony, better skills, better belief than we witnessed in the AufSchalke Arena. The roof was closed to prevent shadows distorting the image for television viewers, and the Serbs were shut out. They had come with a reputation for defence, their coach preached even on the eve of the match: “The first rule in this sport is not to concede a goal. I’ll never change my thoughts on that.” Since the Serb coach Ilija Petkovic is now 60, the likelihood of him ever changing his philosophy is remote.

Thank goodness then that the positive humiliated the negative in this stadium. The viewers had a clear sight of it, the air under the roof was trapped and stale, and from past experience at World Cups, whenever the steel girders above are closed, the play becomes parched and stagnant.

It took barely five minutes for us to realise that something different was afoot. Argentina simply shredded the supposedly tight defence of the team that was wholly Serbian, despite this being the last remnant of the union of Serbia & Montenegro, which technically no longer exists. The president of the Serbian FA, Tomislav Karadis admitted: “We are not in the same bracket as Argentina, but this is unacceptable. We will make wholesale changes if we have to.”

One of those changes, inevitably, will be the removal of the coach, Petkovic, and his boring philosophy.

To the end, this coach cannot see the wood for the very dark trees. We had begun to wonder, after the triumph at Euro 2004 by Greece, a team perfecting the old Arsenal 1-0 mentality, whether the game was turning back to an era of defensiveness.

One observer who claimed not was Franz Beckenbauer. He believed this summer was ripe for enjoyment, he mentioned Brazil and he did not overlook the alternative philosophy of Argentina.

Even so, to see it turned on full throttle on Friday, to witness players who had trailed home in shame four years ago, now so proud, so cocky and so full of joy, was a revelation. I hope it was the first stage in that revelation, because it is a privilege to be inside an arena when anyone is playing with this vitality.

What is at the heart of it? In England, where we think we know that there will be a continuation of Sven-Göran Eriksson’s cautious policy when Steve McClaren takes charge, we can expect progression. In Argentina, after Marcelo Bielsa, the 2002 coach quit, there was a hue and cry from many people, including Diego Maradona, when the Argentine FA chose as his replacement Jose Pekerman. Pekerman as the youth trainer, had started the international careers of most of the current crop of players, and that seemed to be a reason to doubt that he had the strength of character to succeed in the cauldron of a World Cup.

Maradona is everywhere the team performs, clad in his replica blue and white Argentina jersey, taking his daughter to the games, a man reborn as a fan, now that his playing prime is over and his flirtation with a premature death induced by drugs appears to be history.

It is wonderful to see him in such uninhibited acclaim of younger players. Pekerman, in fact, had agreed a year ago that, if the Argentine FA decreed it, he would welcome Maradona at his side. It didn’t happen, Maradona has remained a critic until now.

And yet, in a way, he is inside the thrilling events unfolding. Lionel Messi, one of several emerging Argentina players, had been excited on Friday, even though he was a substitute, because Maradona had personally wished him well for the game, and endorsed the view that if anyone is to be his equal, this indeed could be the player.

“Vamos a salir campeones como en 86” — We are going to be champions, like in 1986. That was Maradona’s year, the year of the Hand of God. Nothing so devious, but something approaching the harmony of that 1986 side built around its little genius is unfolding.

It is difficult to begin with a single player from this performance. Roy Hodgson, the Englishman who had the duty as Fifa technical delegate to name a man of the match, went for Juan Roman Riquelme. A deserving candidate, to be sure, but Hodgson admitted there were many. You might almost say eleven, because this was team work at its finest.

The captain, Juan Sorin, is nominally a full-back: he doesn’t regard his responsibility as a defender, he rampages forward, down the left flank, giving the team urgency, impetus and attacking ideals. He links there with Riquelme, and on Friday with Maxi Rodriguez. They mesmerised the Serbian right flank, toyed with them.

And yet there was a bewitching player, no taller than Maradona, but several inches more slender all round. His name? Javier Saviola.

Surprisingly, because Argentina play carpet football, weaving their passes from foot to foot, there have been doubters for years about whether Saviola has the strength, the will to be the master of his own hypnotic talents. Now we see the benefit of a youth team trainer becoming almost a father figure to the national side as it matures. There is trust between Pekerman and Saviola — and that trust manifests itself in an exciting vision. Against Ivory Coast, from the kick-off against Serbia, he had no intention other than to run at players, to slip around them, or through them, or to find a colleague with passes of swift, deft and delightful style.

In the six-goal rout, Saviola was supreme for an hour. When he went off, he had the supreme accolade: at least six or seven of his fellow players turned and applauded. They know, at least they do now, that size is of no consequence compared to the gift.

This was in an atmosphere that began with the supposed threat from within the group, which turned the instant that Argentina showed their delightful touches, and turned again when the Serbs could not take it without some vicious kicks that would have broken legs but for the ability of Argentines to see the boot coming, to ride the rough tackle, and to rely on the Italian referee, Roberto Rosetti to do his duty.

He almost did it perfectly. He gave out yellow cards, culminating in a red for Mateja Kezman, the former Chelsea forward who we know has a spiteful streak, and whose vile two-footed lunge at Javier Mascherano could have ended the tournament for both players.

Fifa has set a tone for this tournament to outlaw certain tackles, as well as cheating and dissent.

It is going well, and it will go much better if there is a review of the way Serbia reacted to the beauty that outwitted them, and issue retrospective punishments to the players who believed they were licensed to maim.

Not that it quelled the Argentine players. Carlos Tevez and Messi both came off the bench to score, and to show that the tradition of promoting youth, and of imbuing those players with a belief that this is a game played on the ground, is a gift to this tournament.

Pekerman even tolerated four back-heels from his team during open play. Two of them contributed to goals, and we will probably never witness one that was better timed than the one with which Hernan Crespo fashioned the second goal for Esteban Cambiasso.

By now the team was showboating and their most famous fan was yelling at the top of his voice, “Ole, ole, Ar-gen-tina!” The night ended on a downer for that fan, Maradona, when, driving his daughter Ginnina back to their hotel, he was stopped by the police and fined €200 for driving at 120kph (74mph), over the limit.

It will not break the bank, and we must hope that nothing now breaks the new resolve of Argentina to play their game this way. It cannot be an accident; it is not possible to harmonise skill in this fashion without endless practice.

Had we realised it, England last winter were a part of that rehearsal. We met Argentina, remember, in Geneva. Argentina dominated England with hints of this type of movement, control and ambition. But in the last quarter of an hour, England unveiled their secret weapon, the 6ft 7in Peter Crouch, the long, high ball of old England, and two goals at the death by Michael Owen. Argentina had become distracted by the height of the England substitute — there is nothing to suggest a recurrence would have the same effect. This is football, real football. Long may it run.