The Reggaeton So Loud, The Screen So Small

Out here in Trinidad, Cuba, the excitement for Sunday's big game is tangible. People's eyes light up when the subject is touched upon. Wild gestures and outlandish curses are passionately and freely flung about whenever the match is mentioned, such is the intensity of debate. Nobody dare miss it. Its going to be huge. The game in question however is not Germany vs Poland or even Austria vs Croatia. Rather, its a baseball match between Cuba and Venezuela, to be held on a hot summer's afternoon in Havana. Enthusiasm undiminished, I try one or two bars lined up along one strip of this quaint, sleepy town and eventually find a tiny screen in what appears to be the kitchen at the back of a loud bar. Germany vs Poland plays out in front of me.

Reggaeton blares out from the massive speakers all around the establishment, but intermittently I hear the odd bit of commentary. Germany are constantly referred to as 'The Powerful Machine.' Every time Michael Ballack is in possession the three others in attendance look up from their card game, smile excitedly and proudly shout out his surname. 'BA-LLACK!!' they cry, heavily emphasising the second syllable. All three work at the bar. I strain my retina and decipher that, in the first half hour, the Germans manage 58% of the possession. They dominate the play quite majestically I think to myself, and just as I do, as if to confirm it the Germans carve open an organised but at times flat-footed looking Poland and Lukas Podolski makes it 1-0, which is how it remains at half time.

At the start of the second half the commentator rolls his tongue for a good thirty seconds, perhaps attempting to drum up some enthusiasm for the spectacle. I have no idea why, but its the most exciting thing that happens until Smolarek's not-so-contentious offside goal and the consequent lively jockeying of Poland coach Leo Beenhakker urging his side to press forward for an unlikely equaliser. A man in a Daddy Yankee T-shirt ambles into the bar with his son just as Artur Boruc makes a magnificent save from Michael Ballack. The man looks up at the screen and walks out. 'BA-LLACK!!' the card-players once again enthuse. Podolski then scores a quite brilliant goal oozing technical mastery, but barely manages a smile. Something to do with the Polish born player's split loyalties, perhaps? In Roger Guerreiro, Poland have their own player of dual-nationality on the field and he looks lively as a second half substitute, laying on a great ball for Marek Saganowski late on, but with a two-goal lead the Germans' begin to play more expansively, pressing home the obvious gulf in class between the two sides before eventually running out clear and deserved 2-0 winners.

I have not quite made up my mind as to whether or not I am such a big fan of the EUROs. Either the technical ability the players and the all-round tactical organisation is so good that teams cancel each other out, hindering excitement levels prevalent in competitions like the African Cup of Nations and the Copa America where end-to-end football is more regularly displayed, or the fear of losing has so manifested itself into the majority of teams' style of play that is has created a slightly more dour brand of football lacking in self-expression. When I see Germany vs Poland I see the fear of making mistakes and fear of being caught out of position more than I see the joy of just playing the game. Am I the only one? I hope as the tournament goes on the nature of the football offers me the opportunity to change my opinion. I want to see an intriguing competition full of excitement, one that lives in the memory for years to come. But from what I have seen so far, and from what I gather of the first four matches, EURO 2008 is yet to ignite.

Upon leaving this dank kitchenette of a bar, I notice the drastic change of temperature. Cool showers have replaced blistering heat. Cuba are beating Venezuela 5-1. I head off into the rain. Behind me, the reggaeton plays on.

Minutes witnessed: 82