An underrated pleasure for spectators at every World Cup is observing the managers. If club football, an increasingly regimented domain of set pieces and systems, is all about structure, international soccer is much more a matter of style – and at this tournament, the theatrics of the sport’s touchline strutters have been rich with emotion and figurative power.
Didier Deschamps patrols his technical area with the watchful pride of an outer-arrondissement charcutier. Luis de la Fuente is a veteran wealth manager at Banco Santander. Japan’s Hajime Moriyasu is about to go postal at his dreary office job in a Kiyoshi Kurosawa film. Socceroos coach Tony Popovic looks like he’s on his way to MC a wedding at Sydney’s King Tomislav Croatian Club. And Carlo Ancelotti is … well, he’s just Carlo Ancelotti, a man with Champions League-winning eyebrows whose fierce allegiance to his three-piece suit, even through the worst of a North American summer, suggests he’s somehow in command of his own climate.
