Day 18; An emotional Sunday of World Cup football

The dressing down of Spain, form of Robben and fact that their manager is one of sports media's most sought after, due to filling Sir Alex Ferguson's Old Trafford dugout after Moyes had kept it warm and probably sweaty for him, are all reasons which have put Netherlands right in the spotlight at this World Cup, as they've emerged as one of favourites. Day 18 saw them enter the knockout stages against Mexico on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Whilst enjoying the chicken dinner on offer, the first half action witnessed over my grandmother's shoulder was struggling to maintain heat, unlike the gravy drenched potatoes on my plate, as Mexico disrupted Holland from finding any real rhythm, as sent out by their repeatedly enjoyable to watch manager, Miguel Herrera. Arjen Robben going down in the box, not for the first time in his career, more like the thousandth time, provided the only real Dutch threat in the first half, but his trademark open-mouth, wrinkly faced appeal, fell on deaf ears.

Never have I seen someone so determined to win a penalty. Big fan of a spot kick is Arjen.

With Holland still struggling to create, things looked uncharacteristacally bleak for the vibrant Oranje, when Gio Dos Santos fired in a long range strike to beat the slender frame of Jasper Cillessen, with a goal which defintely fits the 'if a more world renowned player (ie; Messi/Ronaldo) scored that goal we'd all be raving about it,' category.

If Messi/Ronaldo/Suarez/Rooney/Van Persie/Shola Ameobi scores this, we'd all be going on about it... 

                                                                                                                        ...cos Ameobi's shit.

As the Sunday roast began to settle down, so did the Mexican, keeping a sturdy, organised shape behind the ball, forcing the Dutch to work overtime in the melting equatorial heat. Obvious saviour, Robin Van Persie, had left the field as a sub with Klass-Jan Huntelaar replacing him, giving Holland the option to put crosses into the box towards an aerial threat which they apparently desperately required, more commonly known as 'Plan B.' But plans A, B, and all through the alphabet didn't seem to be working, with time ticking down quickly, Robben going to ground often, and the yet again outstanding, Guillermo Ochoa in the Mexico goal, denying anything which came close. This was until about 'Plan V,' when Huntelaar's off balance but cushioned header sat perfectly for Wesley Sneijder, on the back of a poor game, who smashed the ball past Ochoa to equalise with two minutes of the ninety left on the clock.

As a result of the plus thirty degree temperatures, and the resulting drinks breaks, the games's additional time surpassed ninety minutes greatly, giving Arjen Robben one last chance to fling himself to the floor. This time, in his defence, a defence which he gave himself after the game publicly also, Marquez of Mexico did dangle his leg in the general area of the Bayern Munich winger, proving a more than tempting offer for him to fly into the air, arms and legs spread wide as if free falling from 10,000 feet. When Robben finally landed, a penalty was given, to the dismay of the Hispanic contingent.

It was Huntelaar versus Ochoa, the golden gloved keeper of the competition so far, with the chance to elevate himself to an even more impressive status should he save the penalty, not to mention keep Mexico in contention for a quarter final place. Yet it wasn't to be, Ochoa was sent the wrong way by a cool penalty from Huntelaar, of which the celebrations were not. The ecstatic scenes after the goal and after the whistle underline just how close Holland were to being eliminated, in what should've been a straightforward game, but instead was another outstanding game, of this terrific World Cup.

The goalkeeper dropping to knees celebration is usually reserved for cup finals, a sign of well contested this game was.

After the outsiders' bet crashed out the day before (Chile), the two simply outsiders met, Greece and Costa Rica in the 'They'll be happy to have just made it this far derby.' Costa Rica, now no stranger to causing shocks, are unbeaten in the tournament so far after amazing wins versus Uruguay and Italy and a draw they'll probably be disappointed with against Group D whipping boys, England. Greece had sneaked out of their group with a late, dubious, Samaras penalty, but were still regarded as slight favourites pre-game. But the game followed suit of the form books, with Costa Rica opening the scoring via their captain, Bryan Ruiz, who looks nothing of the player that Fulham tried so hard to get the most out of. There was just an element of good fortune about the goal, as the ball was rolled across Ruiz's body for him to miss-hit ever so slightly, and thus send the ball slicing off of his foot and forever spinning away from the keeper, as it trickled into his net. The first mentionable moment in what was an anomalistically uneventful game as far as this World Cup is concerned. 

Ruiz hugging Tejeda, surely a Costa Rican relative of Phillipe Coutinho?

But as Greece desperately tired to push for an equaliser the game's excitement grew, if not in qualify of play, but in the emotional value of how much a win would mean to either nation. Greece, a country in an extent of turmoil after financial problems crippling the country once so prestigious, now known more for it's welcoming of Geordie Shore-wannabe boys and girls to it's islands such as Kavos, Kos and Zante, surely progression to a World Cup quarter final would help them forget about this travesty, even just for a while. Costa Rica are a team with very little football history or even funding, making their fairytale World Cup story such a good copy, and having already overcome Italy, Uruguay and England, a slip up against Greece would be far from welcomed, and when full back, Oscar Duarte was dismissed for a second yellow card in the second half, an extra dimension of steely determination was added to the game.

With a man less in the heat and humidity, Costa Rica valiantly tried to hang on, running themselves into exhaustion leaving nothing but stud marks in their path, and they so nearly crossed the line with their lead intact. But Greece's desperation was evident, throwing everyone forward and overloading the box in a text book last gasp effort to salvage the game. Then finally they struck, to the relief and exuberantion of their fans both in-stadium, and back home. Gekas' shot on the turn was saved, but it fell to centre-back and hard to spell, Sokratis Pappasthoupireallydontknowhowtospellitpapos, who panickingly shin padded the ball into the floor and into the goal, causing the scene below.

'Let's just call him Sokratis', in scenes of joyous relief after his late, scuffed, winner.

With ten men, and after about an hour of clinging on to the tie with their lowly FIFA ranked fingers, Costa Rica dragged the game through extra time, with help of goalkeeping heroics and nervous finishing from the Greeks. Suddenly the dull game had become an unmissable spectacle, with more emotion being spilled into it than a heartbroken fifteen year old girl's Facebook status. Again we were treated to a penalty shootout, and again there would heart sinking lows for one team, and pure joy for the other, all mixed in with the sheer exhaustion both teams must experience after 120 minutes of a game which gave the feeling that neither side were thinking of the next round, all that mattered to each player was to either beat these 'bloody Greeks if it's the last thing I do,' or to overcome 'these pesky Costa Ricans.'

The 12 yards from goal based drama conjured up an outstanding top handed save from Navas of Costa Rica, denying Gekas' fairly well placed penalty. This caused those emotions I've spoke so much about overspill for some, whether they be due to nerves on the cusp of victory, or realisation that a World Cup dream may be about to be torn up in front of ones eyes, with the kick of one ball, the two states were hard to differentiate, with only the colour of their shirts giving the answer, or in some sadder cases, where sad-cases had their faces painted.

Too much for some, if not many

The only man's who nerves mattered however were those of Umaña, who with a focused gaze and large exhale of air with puffed cheeks, sent Costa Rica into the first World Cup quarter final in their history.

The epitome of focus.