Holland according to Argentina

Editor's note:
Marcela Mora y Araujo, Argentine journalist based in London writes in the Guardian blog.
She was born in Argentina and, in 1978, was one of the 25million who played the World Cup.
She celebrated in the streets after the final.
By 1982, having recently moved to England, the World Cup was watched on TV, mostly alone. In 1986 she was travelling in Brazil, hoping to get to Mexico, but plans changed somewhere between Canoa Quebrada and Porto Seguro.
She celebrated in the streets of Rio (very quietly) after the final. 1990 saw her back on hometurf, although she did board a Varig flight half way through Argentina v Italy.
The pilot announced the result. In 1994 she was working as a producer for the World Service, and in 1998 she was in the dugout filming for FIFA's offcial film. 2002 was spent writing from home, where a young son took up more than half of her attention span.
Still, she was published regularly in Japan, Israel, Holland, Mexico and - of course - England and Argentina. The 2006 World Cup is her first in cyberspace.
Now read her.

Holland according to Argentina
June 21, 2006
What Argentina knew about Dutch football in 1978 was the bitter taste of defeat at the hands of the masterful Johan Cruyff back in 1974. Holland had knocked Argentina out of the tournament in Germany with an indisputable 4-0 victory, and according to Brian Glanville's historical overview, "heavy rain in the second half was the saviour of Argentina, who would have probably lost more heavily".
Although considered one of the biggest embarrassments in our footballing history it was a humiliation we accept because of the admiration evinced by "La Naranja Mecánica"- the "Clockwork Orange".
Even though Holland didn't go on to lift the trophy,most Argentinians agree they were the best team in that tournament, and one ofthe best ever. By 1978, La Naranja Mecánica was less in evidence and Cruyff had decided not to travel to Argentina.
Commentator Victor Hugo Morales once told me that he felt the Dutch had not come fully prepared: "They had come with their wives, very few days before the start of the championship, had only got together to come over here, almost like a tourist trip. And suddenly they were playing a World Cup final, facing a team which was highly motivated, cheered on by thousands of fervent fans in an act of profound nationalism".
Morales is not alone in spotting that the Dutch squad lacked the passionate delivery they had displayed in 1974. Nevertheless, the 1978 World Cup Final between Argentina and Holland has since been subject to much scrutiny.
There are always two ways of looking at World Cup final, or any football match for that matter. One is to focus simply on the events on the pitch. The other is to attempt to take in allthe events surrounding the match and see if we can reach any conclusions as to how these may have affected the match narrative.
In terms of the 1978 final both of these viewpoints lead to spectacularly good stories. Off the pitch, the military government in Argentina had mounted an unprecedented propaganda campaign.
The World Cup had brought Argentina technological innovations such as colour TV, and the presence of the world media on such a scale was new to us. The local media were by and large complicit in the government's portrayal of the national reality, and although most people didn't know the extent of the political underhandedness we were very aware of the dictatorial repression that was the norm in daily life.
The people's love of football was genuine, but its manipulation by the government and the media was an outrage. One of the most shocking incidents for me was the publication by El Grafico, the country's oldest and most established sports magazine, of what they claimed was a handwritten letter from the Dutch captain Ruud Krol to his daughter, saying things like: "Don't worry about my safety, soldiers whose rifles shoot flowers protect me".
The letter was a fabrication.
These small acts of grotesque manipulation are the main tools of a totalitarian regime: the detailed manufacture of a subliminal sense of national pride. Somehow, in the subconscious of thousands of football fans, the seed was sown that the Dutch footballers thought we were a great nation. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Tens of thousands of political activists and innocent people had been jailed without trial and tortured by the military. Their whereabouts was unknown and the mothers of those who had been "disappeared" would march every Thursday around a square in front of the Pink House, the presidential palace. TheArgentinian press rarely reported this - presumably some feared they would meet the same fate, while others had decided to toe the government line.
It was the Dutch press who broke the story, interviewing the mothers and portraying a little of the horror of what was going on. Nowadays, we complain at the number of journalists who linger at the World Cup desperately seeking something towrite about when the games aren't on.
But had Holland not still been in the tournament, the plight of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo might still be unknown. Argentina owes a huge debt of gratitude to Holland for the inadvertent introduction of the notion of a democratic free press.
On the pitch Argentina's players were politically untarnished, and for the duration of the tournament they had been protected and groomed by coach César Menotti to focus only on football.
They believed, rightly, that they were playing for the people - fortheir fathers, their brothers, their neighbours, their friends. The final against Holland is nevertheless also shrouded in controversy, right from the start when legend has it that Argentina delayed kick-off to provoke a psychological impact on the Dutch.
Osvaldo Ardiles told me recently the truth about the delayed start: "We had to exchange a little banner with the opposition, and when I went to shake Van de Kerkhof's hand I felt something hard on his arm. It wasn't exactly a cast but it was harder than a bandage. So I mentioned it to [team-mate Daniel] Passarella, which with hindsight I wish I hadn't done, because of the fuss that ensued."
Eventually, after Menotti hadtold his men "we are 90 minutes away from glory", the match kicked off. Juan Sasturain, an Argentinian novelist and football lover, says: "The match was played out like a horror film, a suspense thriller. In our memory what stands out is the euphoria of Mario Kempes' second goal in extra time - and that verygoal is full of suspense.
It's a never ending bit of playmaking. But the moment of most tension is that silence, two minutes before full time, when that ball comes along, silent, long ... reaches Rensenbrink, he touches it, Fillol doesn't get it, Olguín doesn't get it, one second, two seconds, the ball hits the post. Between euphoria and infinite sadness there was a distance of 2 or 3cm. That'sthe distance between heaven and hell".
The hearts of a nation stopped when Rensenbrink's shot hit the post. History recounts that Argentina lifted the cup. The nation rejoiced - the Dutch must have felt very much on away turf. The next encounter, in 1998, was different in every way. Both countries were againplaying on neutral ground. It was Holland who had a single genius - Bergkamp -and Argentina who probably felt too big for their boots having defeated England.
But again, the narrative spelt out on the pitch has all the ingredients of good drama. Ariel Ortega, a humble boy from the north of Argentina, lost his cool and resorted to the form of violence of the back streets: the headbutt, for which hewas sent off.
Could Argentina have won the game if this hadn't been so? I doubt it.
Holland had their own superhero, a master artist able to weave a line drawing of delicate precision. Bergkamp's goal has made its mark in the history books right up there with one, and only one other. Need I say more?