Don’t you need somebody to hate?

When there’s a big sporting event going on, I mean.

I know I sure do. Rooting for your favorite team is great, sure; but nothing quite gets the blood pumping and the passions stirring like rooting against players and teams you absolutely despise.

So it’s a bit of a concern that the two teams I have hated the most in past World Cup finals appear changed this time around, and mostly for the better.

Could it really have happened that Croatia got through the first half-hour of their opening match with only a single foul? That their solid back line not only managed to frustrate Brazil throughout the match, but fairly for the most part as well? That their strikers gave us so little in the way of theatrical tumbles to the turf? Davor Šuker would be turning in his grave, if he were dead.

The last two go-arounds, the Croatian side were the fiercest-fouling, hardest-diving, loudest-complaining, brazenest-cheating sons of you-know-whats this side of the Pecos. I loved them, because I relished loathing them. Now they’re just a reasonably-solid European side that’s performing better than expected but has little chance of going deep into the tournament. How much fun can I be expected to squeeze out of that?

But at least there’s the Argies, right? Those South American spurii, worshippers of the most famous World Cup cheater and customer of the Colombian cartels in the world; those irritating mama’s boys, whose long, stringy, greasy hair would fly into the air as they fell to the ground and cried out in pain after being lightly brushed by an opponent—they’re still in fine, despisable form, right?

Well, only sorta. Hernán Crespo is still on the roster, true; and the blood pressure still spikes each and every time the television cameras find Maradona in the stands, as they are want to do. But the six goals they racked up against Serbia and Montenegro…those weren’t just totally legit, they were brilliant. A fine performance all around, with very little to criticize, on grounds of either substance or style.

And even the trademark Argentine footballer hair seems to be fading, in favor of mullets and awkward-looking short cuts. Some readers may find this an odd thing to focus on; but I find it a lot easier to hate a guy with pretty-boy long hair than one with a mullet. The latter, you just feel sorry for.

It’s even hard to knock the Albicelestes fans, who, from what I’ve seen, have been both a large and a positive presence so far this World Cup. Also, a fella can’t help but notice how nicely the sky-blue-and-white stripes suit some of those señoritas argentinas…

Yikes! I’m going impossibly soft here! Can I still find somebody to hate? Help!

Sunday update: Disregard that call for help for now. Croatia came through brilliantly today, and look to be finding their old form after all. Dado Prso backing into a Japanese defender to draw a penalty kick (a punishment I was sure, after the first week of matches, that FIFA must have secretly abolished) was only the highlight of a solid performance full of diving and complaining and other annoyances.

I’ll find myself at sea once again, however, if on Thursday the Croats can’t get past Australia—rough customers themselves, truth be told; but how could one ever manage to hate the Aussies?