#Fifa world cup 2002 patch series

The walls of my bedroom were plastered with a multitude of magazine cut-outs and player posters, creating a crinkled collage of unashamed fanboy obsession and decimated matt emulsion, much to the dismay of my mother. I had memorised the groups off by heart and meticulously plotted the pathway towards potentially monumental clashes between the game’s biggest hitters. I educated myself on every team, studied each team’s chance of progressing to the knockout stages and learned the names of every nation’s touted star (from the Belgian talisman Marc Wilmots to Slovenian maverick Zlatko Zahovič to Mexico’s graceful forward Jesús Arellano). I had read absolutely anything and everything I could about the tournament. It was also the first tournament where I had ensured every prerequisite of any young World Cup fanatic had been duly met. If the Far East, then why not Northwest Wiltshire? I sat there in naïve optimism that my hometown of Chippenham - a community with a population of under 50k and famous for being the birthplace of Jeremy Corbyn and where Eddie Cochran died - would one day be chosen to host such a historic event. I imagined the blissful blend of sounds and smells, basking in a world momentarily united: from the street food to the soft drinks from the deafening roar of the sea of South Korean fans to the passionate percussion of the Senegalese supporters. I imagined the streets of Seoul and Tokyo, the venues at Daegu and Osaka, flooded in colour, alive with exuberance, littered with adoring fans, each one with a beaming smile permanently etched across their face. Naturally, it was the action unfolding on the pitch that I came for, but for the first time, my mind began to tail off towards matters on the other side of the white line. It was also the first sporting event where I began to comprehend and embrace the magnitude and significance of what I was witnessing. While Euro 2000 plays out in my memory like a blurry, elliptical day-dream, jolting randomly between hazy images of an ill-timed Phil Neville slide tackle and David Trezeguet’s half-volley against Italy in the final, the 2002 World Cup was the first tournament I watched in its entirety.

#Fifa world cup 2002 patch series

Senegal weren’t given a hope against the World Cup holders /9sdFboT2OHĪs a fresh-faced pre-teen, 2002 also marked a series of personal firsts. Remember watching the opening game of the 2002 World Cup? And, for the nations of China, Ecuador, Senegal, and Slovenia, the first time they had ever experienced life at a World Cup finals.

The first to have countries sharing hosting responsibilities. It was the first tournament of the new millennium. Objectively, 2002 was a landmark year in FIFA World Cup history. In these unprecedented times of lockdown and social distancing, with the majority of sporting events put on hold and little to fill the evenings beyond watching golden age episodes of The Simpsons and perpetually failing to acquire the signature of Tuncay Şanlı on Championship Manager ’07, more than ever I find myself returning to the goals, the drama, and the controversy of 18 years ago: moments that continue to fascinate and enthral me more than any other football event to date. Nearly two decades on from that evening in Yokohama, when Brazil’s marauding right-back Cafu held aloft his second World Cup trophy (and his nation’s fifth), it remains the tournament I revisit most often. As a wide-eyed 10-year-old who lived and breathed the beautiful game, four weeks felt like four years, in the best way possible. Specifically, the month of June, when the FIFA World Cup made its inaugural visit to the Far East. “That summer seemed to last forever,” is perhaps the one line that feels somewhat relatable, however.

And, if you believe the theories being bandied online about what the song is really about, then any common ground quickly becomes almost non-existent. I’ve certainly never had a girlfriend whose mother had a porch. I can’t say I’ve ever played something until my fingers bled (with the possible exception of Mario Kart: Double Dash on the Nintendo GameCube).

Despite gracing a rather unhealthy number of Oceana cheese rooms, as a largely tone-deaf bloke from the West Country, there isn’t much of Bryan Adams’ iconic ballad ‘Summer of ’69’ I can really empathise with.