Contrarily, my perception of the Zidane film was already influenced by knowledge of his entire career, from the time I was first introduced to him in the 96-97 Champions League final via a borrowed VHS tape from a middle school teammate, all the way through to the infamous incident in which he decided to mark the end of his career.  I have to only assume that the era and football world Best played in was far different from that of Zidane, but that Best played a major part for the existence of the modern football superstar. So what follows is a raw attempt to interpret Best as the player and what he brought to the game, technically, through the limited focus of the 6 camera lenses. (The film is rarely screened in the United States, but I was lucky enough to catch it recently at an indie filmhouse in Chicago.)

The film flyer set the tone, Football as Never Before was a work that followed “the mercurial George Best” for an entire 90 minutes of a 1970 match between Manchester United and Coventry City. In absolute terms, a camera following George Best for 90 minutes is exactly what we were treated to.  But it is the “mercurial” nature of George Best that allowed a football aficionado to derive more of his footballing lore from only the limited view of what met the eye. Whether he was out wide on the left letting loose raking balls towards the final third, or at the corner of his own 18 beginning a counter-attack, there was an immediately apparent higher quality to everything surrounding Best.  This quality is somehow different than the word “quality” we loosely throw around describing players or the game today.  This sort of quality, in the most literal sense, is the type that words do no justice, the one that sets players possessing a rarefied singular talent apart from the rest of pack.  The once-in-a-generation quality, if you will.

This being my first exposure to any sort of extended footage of Best in action, his talent was instantly recognizable and the impression left on my mind was a lasting one. Such was his life that, as a twentysomething football junkie, I knew far more about his off-the-field exploits than the specific skills he possessed while on it.  And those skills were nothing short of brilliant. Once again, a word that is thrown around so much these days to the point where it’s nearly devoid of its meaning, but brilliance seems well suited to sum up the play of Best.  Watching the film I had to think back to the Northern Irish phrase “Maradona good, Pele better, George Best” and wonder if it wasn’t something more than just an exaggerated witty colloquialism…

Languid, yet not lazy – extremely quick, but still efficient with his runs – he held the ball well under pressure, while not afraid to get stuck in himself – and had that shared quality that all the Greats possess, a true vision of the game which allowed him to stay one step ahead of the pace.  Yes, perhaps it is a stretch to ascertain so much of the player and his importance to the team while watching with such a limited viewpoint, but I think in a way this restricted profile only magnified his incredible talents.

By my count, there were only 2 or 3 legitimate tackles where Best lost the ball, and to the credit of Coventry City players in this match, they were well-timed and well-executed tackles.  It seemed that only such would do to dispossess the ball from the feet of Best.  Weaker challenges were shrugged aside, and even if they were momentarily successful, Best was quick to regain possession of the ball and continue the play forward.  His sublime approach looked cool under pressure, as Best was never hurried and decisive with his actions.  If we only relied on the limited frame of the picture, it would indeed make it hard to say he was certainly playing the right ball… but for this conclusion we owe to the Old Trafford faithful.  Often times in the middle/attacking third the ball Best played forward would eventually be met with a collective sigh from the crowd, followed by applause – which leads us to assume that the ball went on to be part of a chance (or near-chance) on goal.  An interesting way of deducing the end product, but at the same time it was a pleasure to see Best observe the play he orchestrated.

His pace was blistering, but what impressed the most was how quickly he reached that top gear.  At the drop of a coin, Best was off and flying down the flank in support of an attack, or starting the attack itself.  Numerous times Best dropped into the middle of the pitch to receive the ball around the center circle, turned and off he went.  The turn, in many instances, was where the beauty of his play truly shone through.  Almost an afterthought, he changed the direction of the ball with his thigh or outside of the boot and was off and running.  He had the mind to look for what was next, while making the turn with an effortlessly second nature-like approach, while a lesser being may have been caught up in the turn itself and fault all that followed.  After the turn, how the ball stayed glued to his foot as he slalomed past defenders was another element of wonder.

Best had obviously mastered the simple drop of his shoulder to leave challengers yards behind scrambling in a futile attempt to catch him. We were lucky enough to see this move executed to ultimate perfection, as 10 minutes into the second half Best dribbled a few defenders to leave him one-on-one with the Coventry keeper. The ball ever-attached to his boots, the keeper came to meet Best at the top of the box. At full speed, Best merely suggested of a dipping shoulder feint to the right, and the goalie went to ground with the intention of getting the ball, Best, or both.  None troubled by this mortal creature in his path, as the prey bit hard on the feint to the right Best simply cut the ball across to his left and he was well alone for a tap-in. All the while so eloquently executed.

The workrate George Best displayed was perhaps the most surprising thing to me about the film. The idea of him as a glamorous footballer, even the first glamour footballer, led me to believe I would be watching a somewhat relaxed player spraying passes around the pitch as he pleased.  Much to discredit my thoughts, Best worked tirelessly to receive the ball, in the build-up and during the attack, as well as the occasional tracking run on defense.  One sequence showed Best dispossess the opposition near his own 18, and go on a rampaging run for a good 40-50 yards as the people in the front rows of the terrace blurred in the background, releasing an unseen player, followed by an assumed near-missed opportunity and a round of applause a few seconds later.  The second goal of the match was scored in a similar fashion, where Best beat a few defenders, unleashed a shot towards goal…. and after a presumed botched effort by the goalkeeper or a Coventry defender, Best is running towards his teammates in celebration.  And 2-0 is the way it ended.

There are some points during the match that he appears to be standing around, but never is it in a disinterested fashion.  To the unaware eye this may be interpreted as laziness, but it would be foolish for any player to be running for the full 90 minutes. Even in his idle moments, Best was keenly aware of the right moment to unleash a flying run on the side, or when to come to and receive the ball.  He even cracks a smile here and there, leaving us only wondering what could be playing out on the rest of the pitch.

Later on this workrate and pace must have dwindled, accelerated no doubt by his social excesses off the pitch, so it was a blessing that we have this game preserved while he was still fully fit.  It’s not hard to imagine Best still dominating without the pace, though, as this was clearly not only aspect of his game.  One of the first clips I can recall of Best in his later years, showed he had kept that mastery of the dribble after his physical prowess was on the decline.

Judging from where Best was filmed most often, United were the better side and Coventry appeared to rarely threaten the opposing goal.  This experience was not really one of watching the game itself, but it was the act of seeing the game through the eyes of a genius that gave us an understanding of what was happening on the pitch. To be so focused on a single player for the entire game carries the inherent risk of monotony, but with Best the dull points are carried as an exercise of watching a man operate in his natural surroundings.  The focused cameras give us an opportunity to get an almost primordial feel of what is like to see the game as a top class footballer…. and a legend who shaped the groundwork for the lifestyle and scrutiny afforded to those superstars that followed after his playing days were long gone.

The local food proprietors who wish to serve fans within these walls are therefore forced to oblige with UEFAs preferred choice of beverages. These overbearing corporate restrictions can make for interesting dining combinations. Any ethnic restaurant is unable to offer customers a traditional brew to match the fare – rather, a fan can only pair the available food options with the most mass produced Danish lager on the market, Carlsberg. As a beer drinker, it is easy to cringe at the lack of options but the Austrians in particular took this as a collective slap in the face to their country’s rich beer heritage.

All of these restrictions and endless corporate logos covering every possible surface points to the most obvious and commanding denominator: money. UEFA is paid loads of money from top corporate sponsors to offer certain products and display exclusive advertisements within all stadia and official fan zones. “Marketing Zone” would be a more appropriate title, as UEFA pushes it’s own Euro 2008 product and accompanying corporate sponsored trimmings down the throat of any fan who wishes to officially participate in the marketing machine this tournament has become.

The all-encompassing corporate branding and marketing surely does not appear out of the ordinary to anyone living in today’s modern society. But the shadow of Big Football Business causes one to question the authenticity of a sport that is known the world over as “The Beautiful Game”. At what point can the devoted, or even casual, observer turn off the undeniable corporate presence and focus on the essence of the artistry displayed on the pitch? Or has the corporate influence already so completely dominated this sporting landscape that a willfully ignorant consumer mindstate is needed to partake in any type of modern professional football activity?

Based on the graffiti and the occasional anti-ÚEFA sentiment prevalent in every host city I visited (all 4 Swiss cities, plus Vienna), some locals undoubtedly did not appreciate this Big Football Business machine steamrolling in to their city. Sure, these cities and their residents have the opportunity to witness first hand the amazing cultural and sporting experience that comes along with being a host city. But the responsibility also allows their city squares and parks to be taken over as corporate sponsored marketing zones, not to mention trash covering every street in and around these zones, drunken football fans doing what drunken football fans do, and a chance to foot the bill of the added police and municipal presence needed to control and clean up after such a mass comes through town.

It was refreshing to see that amidst this mania fueled by UEFA imposed beer restrictions, a certain Austrian beer company seized the opportunity to play a clever counter-marketing move of their own. Ottakringer, which was founded in 1837 and is the last large brewery remaining in Vienna, changed the design of their popular Helles beer and labeled itself as the “Unofficial Fan Beer”. This positioning can be seen in their current advertisements and Ottakringer even went as far as making scarves donning the particular slogan, “Inoffizielles Fanbier”.

A Viennese man passionately insisted that his friend was not allowed in to the official fan zone because he was sporting the aforementioned Ottakringer scarf. Whether the story can be validated or exists simply as an anti-UEFA urban myth, one thing is for certain: with the hyper strict marketing machine driving the Big Business Football world we live in, this type of scenario is unfortunately not outside the realm of mere imagination.

My ticket placed me 30 rows deep behind the goal in the heart of the Turkish supporters section. Even during the warm-up the fans set the tone for what was to be a loud and vibrantly supported match. The acoustics of the Stade de Geneve were perfect for this one-upsmanship displayed early on by the fans, a sub plot which continued for the whole of the match.

The Czechs may have won the decibel contest and had a better showing in terms of number of fans, which saw half the stadium bouncing during a particular chant; but it was the Turks that were more diligent and varied when it came to their chants and songs. That is, of course, until the 61st minute when Turkey went 2-nil down. The Turkey supporters were temporarily deflated and the Czechs sensed their advancement to the knock-out rounds. The sounds from the crowd for the next 15 minutes were decidedly pro-Czech Republic but the Turkish side showed no signs of quitting and their fans responded likewise.

Perhaps it is the inherent, but unspoken, selfishness of an Ultra that causes us to believe we can sing and chant our loudest with the wholehearted belief that we will help will the ball into the back of the net. Regardless, the comeback that followed was a perfect case where players put forth unending effort and intensity to survive and the fans responded accordingly. Turkey responded with a goal and in the true reciprocal nature of that unique relationship, the fans obliged and upped the intensify to an even greater level.

What followed on the pitch will surely be remembered as some of the most exciting and scintillating football played in the entire tournament. Or, without a doubt, the most devastating showing the Czech Republic will see for sometime. With his Champions League defeat fresh in recent memory, a neutral could only feel for Peter Cech as he bobbled the ball and allowed Turkish captain Arda Turan to score the equalizing goal in the minute. But you cant fault Cech for the fabulous winning strike by Turan in the 89th minute, which brilliantly played out in a manner plucked straight out of scenes imagined by children on the streets and playgrounds across the whole of Turkey. As the ball hit the crossbar near the upper right corner and bounced straight down, the capacity crowd collectively froze until the ball rebounded into the top of the net.

The Turkish players and supporters broke in to an understandably euphoric celebration, while the Czech side of the stadium looked on in absolute disbelief. Turkey held on to advance and their and the party continued as the players walked to the Turkish end to acknowledge the maximum effort put forth in their respective role. The walk back to the train station was not a quiet one. The streets displayed the classic celebratory scenes – Turks in thier cars, flags out the windows, and the horn blaring without pause. The fans on the sidewalk showed their pleasure in response, while the Czech fans held their heads low in what can only be described as complete and utter dejection at what they just witnessed.

This was certainly one of the most entertaining and exciting sporting experiences that I have ever witnessed. Much thanks to Gary from Liverpool who sold me the ticket before the match and repeatedly assured me, in his Scouser tone, that I would be witness to a “great match with a cracking atmosphere.” That billing certainly did not disappoint.

A large number of Swiss fans in Bern – dismayed by their countries exit from the tournament – were easily won over by the orange contingent that infected their city. Perhaps this came from being reluctant to support neighboring France or Italy as their adopted team in the Group of Death. Or it could have been how the Dutch side plays with an all around attacking style that easily seduces the neutral observer; either way, Bern was overwhelmingly Oranje for the day.

The city center was packed with the pro-Dutch crowd between the viewing parties at Bundeplatz and Waisenhausplatz and every street adjacent preparing for the pre-game march to the Stade de Suisse Wankdorf Bern. Around 5:00 the majority of the Dutch supporters marched 2.5 km to the stadium, regardless of whether they had tickets or not. And if they were looking for tickets, they weren’t going to come cheaply: they were being sold for as much as 1400 Euros with the price dropping to 800 Euros within an hour of kick-off.

Numerous brass bands gathered in an animated fashion around the many fountains in the prelude to the match belting out traditional Dutch tunes and entertaining supporters and on-lookers alike. Many of the paraders returned to the raucous atmosphere of the watch parties, crammed next to thousands of other fans. Others opted for a more subdued but nonetheless exciting impromptu viewing parties set up on sidewalks outside a bar or cafe.

Regardless of where fans watched the match, the Dutch did not disappoint. Picking up where they left off of their dismantling of World Cup holders Italy, the Netherlands showed once again why they must now be considered the tournament favorite. Wesly Sneijder’s brilliant stoppage time goal set the stage for the party to follow.

The viewing parties gave way to DJs on stage spinning dance music, and the rest of Bern followed suit in what transformed into a jubilant celebration for all those wearing orange. The party never seemed to end, with the beer flowing and the brass bands playing in to the early hours of the morning.

The official Euro 2008 fan guide boasts that Bern is home to over 100 fountains, 11 of which are still in their original condition. The condition of those fountains was at least temporarily altered for this night, but there was not much in Bern that could escape the Oranje tide which overtook everything in its path.