Gang of Four: Tournament Wonders Turned Top-Flight Flops

Despite being dull-headed and trapped in the fever dream of sleepless nights, NyQuil, assorted aspirins, and the nightmare of something not dissimilar to ague, I’ve been trying to think of those players that shine so radiantly on the international stage, albeit briefly, and then parlay that astounding period of time into a long, dissatisfying tenure in the heady spotlight of the EPL.

The rush of global transfers is still a relatively new phenomenon; though larger-than-life demi-gods like Kevin Keegan and Michel Platini managed to flit and swerve their way about European soccer, we’re living in a world where every single full-back from everywhere from Cameroon to Lithuania is scrutinized for worth before being shunted into the worldwide talent pipeline.

Not every player is able to rise above the fray—it feels like years since Owen Hargreaves was “unearthed”, derailed as his career has seemingly always been—but those that do advertise well in the World Cup or European Championships hitch a ride on bigger, better vehicles.

Some transcend, and plenty frustrate. These guys might top the latter list.

El-Hadji Diouf—Senegal/Liverpool, Bolton Wanderers, Sunderland, Blackburn Rovers, World Cup 2002
The 2002 World Cup was notable for many reasons; as Chris Mann posits, it was the first truly “modern” World Cup due to its location and convergence with technology and evolving geopolitics, and it also gave us a chance to really get into African soccer as we’d never really done before. Up to that point, we knew Cameroon and Roger Milla’s corner flag shimmy (around 15 seconds into the video), we knew the desperate comedy of Zaire’s Mwepu Ilunga in 1974, and precious little else.

Then along came the Lions of Teranga from Senegal, enjoying their first exposure to the World Cup and capping that arrival on the international stage by knocking off the holders France 1-0 in the tournament opener, a great sign of things to come. I remembered staying awake for that game, a sophomore in college struggling to maintain consciousness on a friend’s generic couch, jolted into life by Papa Bouba Diop’s goal midway through the first half. (The thing that really woke me up was Diouf’s spin-and-sprint move on Marcel Desailly, one of the world’s best center-backs at the time, leaving him for dead inside the first ten minutes.)

El-Hadji Diouf relieves himself of some mucus.

Diouf impressed that summer, operating as the attack-all, marauding pivot for the Lions, and though he didn’t score in that World Cup—a fact I had to confirm, so unbelievable it was to me upon second look—he made the All-Star Squad at tournament’s end for his early preview of what it meant to be a false nine.

Liverpool didn’t even wait until the end of the tournament to acquire the striker from Lens, announcing the five-year deal for the then-African Player of the Year on June 1, less than 24 hours after his bold announcement against the French. (Surely talks had begun a few days prior, but the whole signing and aftermath felt like a rushed affair, eager as the Reds were to lock up what was to be one of the stars of the tournament)

Despite an impressive first season at Anfield, it didn’t take long for the wheels to fall off. Emboldened by his newfound stature and fame, Diouf displayed the kind of disciplinary trouble that dogged him in France. Atop his shenanigans of crashing cars despite not having a license on the continent, he was heavily fined for spitting at Celtic fans during a Champions League game, and those spitting incidents continued even once he left Liverpool with a dismal scoring run of 6 goals in 80 appearances.

False Nine? More like false everything. The industry and dynamism that defined him in Korea/Japan dissipated shortly after his high-profile switch from Ligue 1, and plenty of English clubs have had the pleasure (or misfortune) of griping about his squandered talent in the many years since. Diouf’s now clogging up the flanks for Blackburn Rovers, displaying an unusual selflessness that has arguably developed over time as his maturity has been continually in question. He’s currently scoreless in 21 appearances in 2010/11.

Karel Poborsky—Czech Republic/Manchester United, Euro 1996
This one didn’t work through no fault of the Caniggia-haired attacking midfielder, such was the emphatic way with which he tore up Euro 1996. Instead, Karel’s tenure at Old Trafford lasted just a season and a half simply because Poborsky couldn’t exist in the same universe as an in-his-prime David Beckham.

But let’s rewind a moment. Poborsky dazzled from the flanks for Slavia Praha and Viktoria Zizkov, getting his big break on English shores with a Czech team laden with players that would go on to big things around Europe: whipsmart, Patrick Swayze lookalike Pavel Nedved; gangly blond enforcer Radek Bejbl; the pacy, handsome Patrik Berger; the wiry nous of Vladimir Smicer. Though Nedved brought well over a decade of consistent brilliance to Serie A, it was Poborsky that stood out. His skill on the ball was remarkable, and his Messi-esque stature made him impossible to shrug off the ball.

Equipped with the kind of pace that would make Wayne Bridge weep in his cleats, Karel was the star of the European Championships, dragging the Czechs through the tournament and shocking plenty of notable nations along the way: I watched them beat Italy 2-1 at Anfield as well as their improbable 3-3 with the Russians, an 88th minute goal by future LFC midfielder Smicer sealing safe passage.

Then came the attrition of the quarter-final, a back-breaking 1-0 win over a Portugal side teeming with bigger stars—Rui Costa, Joao Pinto, Luis Figo, and the great Vitor Baia—capped by Poborsky’s goal of the tournament, a feather-light chip over Baia that left the Villa Park crowd in rapture.

Right then and there, I willed Liverpool to sign him, but United beat all comers to the winger’s signature just a couple of weeks after the Czechs fell to Oli Bierhoff’s golden goal in the final. At Old Trafford, Karel did bag a league winner’s medal on account of his 22 appearances and 3 goals in 1996/97, but the rise of David Beckham, winner of the 1996 PFA Young Player of the Year award, left the critics feeling that Poborsky was always surplus to requirements. Despite his abundant skill, the winger’s place was seized time and again by Becks in his prime, and as such, the Czech wizard never seemed to fit amid the overstock of United-grown products that populated their all-conquering squad.

After just 10 appearances (2 goals) the following season, United let him depart for Benfica that January, where he became a household name alongside Euro ’96 nemesis Joao Pinto. Poborsky also enjoyed cult status at next stop Lazio, but it was back home in the Czech Republic where he’d win his next league title (with Sparta Prague).

Poborsky was seemingly from another planet with his skill, but his difficult move to the Old Trafford galaxy showed that not every dream move turns out to be so transcendent. With another club and a different kind of spotlight, Karel could have joined the legions of great EPL players; instead, we recall his sublime lob against Portugal, a string of impressive Karel-versus-the-world solo goals, and his tousled hair.

Andrei Arshavin—Russia/Arsenal, Euro 2008
Here we go into the realm of contentiousness. Seriously though; how many of you non-anoraks knew much about Arshavin before Euro 2008 rolled around? Sure, by the time it was done, everyone was praising the Russian side for their emerging presence in world soccer after many years in the wilderness, but it took a Jonathan Wilson-like knowledge for Eastern European footy to make wee Andrei into some kind of can’t-miss prospect destined for big things in Western Europe. To that point, the striker, 27 heading into the Euros, had enjoyed mild bursts of prolific scoring for his one and only club, Zenit St. Petersburg, winning a handful of trophies but bagging Russian Premier League Player of the Year in 2006.

Dammit, Andrei! Let me finish!

Then, in 2008, the Hiddink-led Russian squad knocked off the Netherlands—easily the best team to that point—in the quarter-finals with a fine counter-attacking performance.

Arshavin scored the third goal in the 3-1 win, and it didn’t seem to matter that the Russians lost twice to eventual champs Spain in the tournament by an aggregate score of 7-1; Arshavin had made his mark. And he’d even missed the first two group games thanks to a red card picked up against Andorra in the last round of Euro qualifying.

After a long flirtation with the North London club, Andrei finally signed with an hour left of the January, 2009 window for a reported $24m, immediately becoming Arsenal’s club record signing.

And therein lies with problem with Mr. Arshavin. He’s turned in some incredible performances for the Gunners since joining, but the price tag itself, coupled with the fact that such high-profile, fan-pressured signings are so unlike Arsene Wenger, has meant that most Gunners fans might characterize his Emirates tenure to date as being one of disappointment. Yes, he tallied all four against Liverpool to derail the Reds’ title chase in 2008/09, but since then, the highlights have been frustratingly sporadic. His goals, when they come (to the tune of one every four games in the last two seasons) are spectacular, but most games find him disinterested and ineffective from the left flank. It’s this dearth of danger from Andrei that throws his price tag into a harsher focus; though plenty of other teams have blown a lot more cash on far worse players—cough cough Andrei Shevchenko to Chelsea cough cough—but for the normally spendthrift Gunners, Arshavin appears needlessly extravagant.

There’s no doubt that he has plenty of time with which to dispel such criticisms, it’s hardly a stretch to say that the little Pixie hasn’t been the dominant force he was for the Russians in 2008, the player that Arsene and Gooner Nation thought they were buying.

Stephane Guivarc’h—France/Newcastle United, World Cup 1998
A tricky one based on the timing—the French striker was inked by the Magpies on June 12, hours before Les Bleus’ opening game vs. South Africa—but one wonders whether Kenny Dalglish may have called off the deal had he witnessed the blond frontman’s tournament in full before putting signatures on papers. Perhaps we call him a one (or two) season wonder whose World Cup win bumped up his stature before his EPL tenure swiftly bashed it all down.

Stephane

Guivarc’h was coming off a stellar Ligue 1 season in 1997/98, topping the scoring charts with 21 goals in 32 games for Auxerre (though his side still finished a distant 7th), and the same in 1996/97 with Stade Rennais (22 in 36). When Newcastle came calling for Stephane, waving £3.5m in AJA’s face, they could hardly refuse, and neither could Guivarc’h, parlaying as he had the two best seasons of his life into a big-time switch to the EPL.

Then the World Cup happened, and although the French were triumphant thanks to their phenomenal defense, the nascent majesty of Zinedine Zidane, and the calming presence of Didier Deschamps in the middle, they didn’t need to give much credit to their striker-turned-deadwood. Sure, he played 6 of the 7 games en route to the trophy—including starting the quarters, semis, and final—but he was a veritable dud, subbed out around 70 minutes in those games he started or rumbling off the bench in the final 10-15 earlier in the tournament.

Zero goals. Zero assists. One yellow card. A slew of missed sitters.

Guivarc’h was the proto-Heskey, though not the all-conquering Emile that began his career as a pacy attacking midfielder or goalpoaching striker. More like the proto-2010 Heskey, all muscle but no aerial threat, no pace, no positional awareness, and no real eye for goal. He was initially hailed as that target man who didn’t need to score to contribute, but further review confirms that he didn’t really do anything at all. He was just… there.

Notable for his lack of notability, the swift manager change at Newcastle—Dalglish was fired two games into the 1998/99 season, replaced by Ruud Gullit—doomed Guivarc’h, and the Dutch boss quickly dumped him onto Rangers after four games and one goal. Though it’s fair to say that Guivarc’h was perhaps a victim of circumstance and could well have become a legitimate striker partner for Alan Shearer, we can also note that his rapid decline following his rip-roaring run with Auxerre told us the whole story: perhaps a big fish best suited for a smaller pond.

Naturally, the Daily Mail got lost in the hyperbole, ranking him #1 in their 50 Worst EPL Strikers list—eliciting a hilarious, and accurate, evaluation of the the newspaper in response—but my memories of Guivarc’h in the black-and-white aren’t too far off. Slow, confused, off the pace and timid, Guivarc’h wasn’t a good fit, and though he wasn’t quite a World Cup wonder, he will always be able to look to his shiny World Cup winner’s medal and find all the solace he’ll need.