Forget early rounds -- this is where heroes are made

	Huge pre-tournament favorite Brazil still isn't really clicking, but the World Cup's knockout rounds are where heroes are made. Simon Bruty/SI
	MAILBAG Gabriele Marcotti will periodically answer questions from SI.com users in his mailbag. Your name: Your e-mail address: Your home town: Enter your question:

FRANKFURT, Germany -- Are you an England fan and bummed out by your team's mind-numbing performances thus far?

Do you support Italy and are slowly becoming convinced that Marcello Lippi's continuous tinkering only masks the Azzurri's endemic weakness?

Do you count yourself among Les Bleus and are thoroughly disgusted with Raymond Domenech's insipid approach thus far, fearing that the victory over Spain is a mere flash in the pan?

Or perhaps you support the Seleção and, while you would never admit it in public, are terrified that this is as good as it gets, that your boys are just a bunch of individuals, and when you face some real opposition they'll quickly crumble in a sea of recrimination and pontification over Ronaldo's gut?

Never fear. Look back through the history books and you'll find plenty of examples of World Cup winners who stuttered through the early phases of the competition. Indeed, more often than not, that's the way it works: The competition's early phases are largely irrelevant -- it's entirely possible to wake up halfway through the tournament and win it all.

Not convinced?

Well, in 1998 France was put through the ringer by Paraguay before sneaking in a late, late extra-time goal in the second round and then had to go all the way to penalties to get past an unimpressive Italy.

In 1994, Brazil, looking distinctly un-Brazilian, stumbled to the final, being given a scare by the U.S. and needing late, late goals against Holland and Sweden.

And in 1982, Italy actually drew its first three games (against the not-so-impressive Cameroon, Poland and Peru), barely squeaking into the next round.

Guess what? France, Brazil and Italy won the World Cup. What's more, those victories are remembered as heroic feats, the early-round blemishes almost entirely forgotten.

The point is that anything can happen in a knockout competition. The better team does not always win. Nor does the most deserving team, nor does the team that played best until that point.

Rather, the discriminating factor is whether you have a guy who can get hot at the right time and carry the team. Someone who can impersonate Romario in '94 or Paolo Rossi in '82.

We can sit and analyze individual teams and their strengths and weaknesses, but their relationship to what happens on the pitch is marginal. Statisticians would call a 90-minute game highly unrepresentative of relative strengths, and they'd be right.

So forget what happened thus far. If you're Brazilian, English, Italian or French, buck up!

And if you're German or Argentine, be prepared to be knocked down a few pegs. (If you happen to be Portuguese or Ukrainian, congratulations on getting this far and remember that fairy tales do happen ... just not very often.)

The World Cup begins now. Eight teams, mano a mano. Two men enter, one man leaves. Welcome to Thunderdome.

It's good to bear this in mind in a few months' time when you look back on this World Cup. Whoever wins will be anointed a genius. The winning players will become household names, their fame will far surpass their ability or contribution (the fact that Christophe Dugarry is relatively famous to this day proves the point). And the losers will be chastised as incompetents, as cowards as men of little worth.

Even worse, someone will pontificate and try to draw broad conclusions about the general state of the game in a certain country. Already it's happening to Spain. Luis Aragonés' men lose to France and, all of a sudden, people wonder why the country can't produce the right types of players. Where did Spanish coaches go wrong in their approach to working with kids? Is there some deep-rooted genetic malaise in the chromosomes of every Spaniard, one which dooms them to perennial loserdom?

(The reverse is also true, of course. After France won in '98, French coaches became all the rage. The French "Clairefontaine" method was exported everywhere, and the country became the paradigm of modern soccer.)

Of course, Spaniards are not congenital losers. Tell that to Rafael Nadal, Manuel Estiarte, Fernando Alonso, et al. And Barcelona did win Champions League this year, while Sevilla won the UEFA Cup, which means that the state of the game in Spain can't be all that unhealthy. But, of course, in our haste to attach so much importance to the World Cup, we seem to forget all that.

Bear this in mind over the next two weeks: The difference between winning and losing is tiny and, in 90 minutes, anything can happen. It's a cliché, of course, but it's generally true. So sit back, enjoy and take it all with a grain of salt.

The World Cup starts now.

Top Photo Galleries Rafael Nadal Through Time Did You See That? 100 Memorable Olympic Moments The NHL's Great Game 7s Best Players Without An NBA Title

Most Popular Stories Ex-Penn State president Spanier sues, eyes Sandusky emails Royals' Moustakas leading charge of rising sophomores Is age catching up to Halladay? Diamond: Success as players a plus for Titans coaches, but there's more to it NBA fines Heat's Spoelstra