Day 17 (and 16); Brazil shoot out Chile, and King HA-MEZ Rodriguez.

As day sixteen was the first time that no games were played since the World Cup began with Pitbull in those white trousers, I shall brush over it and go straight to the seventeenth day, and the start of the knockouts. On the day off, news stories seemed to conveniently emerge back home rather than in Brazil, with transfers being sealed, swooped and confirmed as well as players arriving at training grounds for medicals, proven by footage of them walking in and out of parked cars, and even players holding up the shirts of their new clubs with fixed-smiles.

"Day 16."

But as this day passed, all attention was once again blinkered back to Brazil, and Brazil quite literally, as the hosts kicked off the knockout stage against Chile, whom had already impressed many and overtaken Belgium as the genuine outside bet. After a goose-bump growing rendition of the national anthems, both with backing tracks and acapella, the game began. The man creating the most decibels of all was the one to open the scoring, with David Luiz just about getting the final touch after it was helped on by a defender on it's way from centre back partner and boyhood friend, Thiago Silva.

But to the joy of Chileans, football hipsters, underdog fans and neutrals, Chile hit back quickly. Their own poster boy, Alexis Sanchez, gobbled up Marcelo's awful throw, going on to finish well and not only draw Chile level, put push Marcelo in the direction of Rory Delap for throw-in lessons.

The mistake was a reminder, not just for Brazil, but also to Chile, that no further calamities could be afforded, creating a nervy remainder to the first half. And the nerves did not expire there, in fact they went on and on, past ninety minutes and beyond. Hulk, who for the first time in front of English receiving TV cameras, seemed to be playing well, and he was almost rewarded with scoring the heroic goal to reopen the deadlock. A long diagonal ball over to the right, inside the box, Hulk brought the ball down and sliced the ball beyond Chile off of his shinpad, clearly feeling his boots would not suffice, snobs would deem this understandable as his are manufactured by sportswear minnows, Mizuno.

However, the big man's gigantic heart (in the literal not metaphorical sense) was broken (in the metaphorical not literal sense) when the only remaining English team in the competition denied him the goal. Howard Webb and his officials deemed the ball to have come off Hulk's arm, rather than his chest, as he plucked it from the sky. Replays were inconclusive, even with an array of slow motion, HD, or even 4K replays for the upper classes, Mr Webb's decision was hard to scrutinise nor easy to praise. The only alternative I can offer is the law of odds, with Hulk's chest covering the vast area of the pitch that it does, it's likely that the ball was brought down by it, and not by his narrowly smaller, but still gargantuan arms.

Hulk's short lived joy, but I'll refrain myself from telling you that you won't like him when he's angry...

This meant the tournaments first knockout game, would venture into extra time, with help of a great save from QPR's goalie, Julio Cesar, who was kept out of the Loftus Park goalmouth by Rob Green last season. Extra time was an anxiously watched and played as the ninety minutes which came before it, with only the occasional and obligatory cramp providing relief. But for Brazil, the additional period ended in huge relief, as a nation held it's breath whilst Pinilla danced through their defence to thunder a striker past Julio Cesar, only for the crossbar to be struck rather than the sweet sound of the ball hitting the net. Gutting for Chile. Enthralling for Brazil. Brilliant for the sofa sitters, as we were treated to a Saturday night shoot out, which sounds like an awful television show.

The worst penalty was taken by a Brazilian, Willian of Chelsea stuttered in his run up, waiting for the keeper to move, the keeper moved to his right, leaving at least 50% of the goal for the winger to aim at, but he dragged it wide, and at this point the penalty pendulum seemed to be swinging towards Chile.

The best penalty, not just of this particular occasion but possibly of all time, was taken by the Chilean, Charles Aranguíz, who via a straight run up, giving nothing away, smashed the ball of his laces, with what must have been a hint of the outside of his foot, to smash the ball in the top right hand corner, postage stamp, top binz, stanchion.

STANCH'. 

Yet it was somehow, but still inevitably, Neymar who recieved more plaudits. Julio Cesar shared them with him, after creating a sudden death situation inside the regulation number of pens by pulling off an outstanding save prior to Neymar, strutting up to take the biggest penalty of his young life, and many other lives, and placing the ball far, far away from the keeper, burrowing it into the bottom left. This meant that Championship journeyman, Gonzalo Jara, had to hit the back of the net to prolong the tie. But what he hit, was the post, ending the game and what was a heroic World Cup Chile, qualifying in a group with Holland and Spain, beating the dethroning the world champions en route, evidence of the cruel game that football is. Tears flowed for both teams, Neymar and co in joy, and hard man now with an apparent soft centre, Gary Medel was caught booing by FIFA's cameras. 

Colombia and Uruguay took the stage next in what was a day of South American clashes, underlining the strength of the continent and often underestimation of teams other than Brazil and Argentina in the region by Europeans. 

The game was a more one-sided encounter than the match that had preceeded it, and in terms of the headlines, it was a one player encounter. Uruguay struggled to threaten the Colombia back four, with the ancient Yepes not coming under too much hassle by the young whipper snappers around him, helped hugely by the ban of FIFA's enemy of the state, Luis Suarez. The lack of Uruguay pressure allowed Colombia to flourish, like they had done already in this tournament via Cuarado, Monetero and the wonderkid, well and truly dubbed as the new Carlos Valderama (surely an understatement), James 'HA-MEZ' Rodriguez. 

The manner in which he opened the scoring can only recieve it's justice in description via comparing it with Tim Cahill's stonker of a volley against the Netherlands, and in my opinion it was even more spectacular than that. 

King HA-MEZ the first.

Yes, Cahill's goal was a marvel, extraordinary and one which we are unlikely ever to see on such a stage again. Yet, with the skill of Rodriguez, and the perfection of technique displayed, you get the impression that the Colombian could do this again, and possibly has already whether it be in training, his back garden, or in a South American playground playing heads and volleys, and this for me makes it more impressive. 

With his number 10 cladded back to goal, and the ball in the air approaching, he looks around him for nearby defenders, or even teammates in his way, before bouncing the ball of his chest, swivelling and pinging a left-foot looping volley against the underside of the crossbar and into the goal, all in what seemed like just one smooth motion of perfected timing. Football porn.

"HHHHHHAM-EZ" added his second of the game and his fifth of the tournament in the second half, with a right foot effort from close range, a wildly more pedestrian effort than his previous but worst the same amount of goal points, one. Uruguay consequent of Rodriguez's brilliance were eliminated, but still greeted home as heroes, as they can seemingly do no wrong in the eyes of their refreshingly adoring fans, even if the wrong doings was biting someone.