Never mind the outcome: who SHOULD'VE won that World Cup?

There’s nothing more final than an unjust football result. No appeals process exists to shake off the unpalatable, unacceptable and unfair.

What can Atletico do about Real’s last-gasp leveller in the 2014 Champions League Final? And Smith Won’t Score, Brighton fans. It’s best just not to dwell on it.

But what if you could go back and rewrite history in the name of Justice? And what if that was then accepted as science fact by all?

World Cup fans should ask, did the right team win? And I say no, not always.

The best Brazil team not to win the World Cup?

Take 1982 for example: Italy won it but Brazil should have. It would have ended a 12 year post-Pele drought.  An era of Zico, Socrates and Falcao made more fabulous by the last vestiges of sepia-coloured TV pictures and excitable commentary on the phone.

Of course, Italy will point to Paolo Rossi's stunning hat-trick against them - but it was a defeat to send Brazil into their shell until they exacted revenge over Italy in the worst ever World Cup Final twelve years later. A Final so bad it made Diana Ross’ Opening Ceremony penalty kick look appropriate.

But one solitary ninety minutes stands above as the game that both launched a mighty nation, while chiming a knell for another.

The 1954 Final between West Germany and Hungary was the ninety which changed football's direction the most.  Their status’ are now so completely in contrast today, it’s hard to imagine it came about as a freak result . West Germany’s so-called Miracle of Bern.

Back then, Germany was demoralised, a literally divided nation. What they wanted was a morale boost just nine years after the disaster of World War II.

No one would begrudge Hungary oneWorld title

Their opponents, the marvellous Magyars were - well, marvellous. Imperious, brilliant - and the mantle of world champions would all but confirm an era of magnificence.

Hungary had already humbled the West Germans 8-3 in the group stages and made it to the Final courtesy of victory over 1950 runners-up, Brazil and champions, Uruguay.

Ferenc Puskas fractured his ankle during the Finals – but it’d be disingenuous to his teammates to blame that for Hungary’s shocker.

Instead, West Germany's 3-2 win launched a dynasty while Hungary disappeared from sight by 1962. Add to that Germany being disallowed from the 1950 tournament – this was their first post-war football foray.

By 1990, West Germany's destiny was built on history, self-belief and structure. Those pillars helped push them past a weak Argentina.

But that was when host nation Italy should've won.

Fuelled by the unexpected six-shooter Salvatore Schillaci, Italy powered their way through the group stages with Toto's firebrand goals.

Toto's pumped up goal celebrations were nuclear-fuelled

They were cruelly denied by a semi-final penalty shoot-out loss to defending champions Argentina – but it would have been a travesty if one-man Team Maradona had retained the Cup. Andreas Brehme's clinical penalty booked West Germany's date with destiny again.

And it's not just about the World Cup, it's a European Championship thing too. And that my friends, is all about England.

England are so unlucky. They could've buried the mantle of Least Successful Big Nation before Spain ditched the unwanted title first with consecutive victories in Euro 2008, 2012 and the World Cup in between.

It’s because Euro 96 and 2004 belonged to the Three Lions.

Baddiel and Skinner’s “thirty years of hurt” seems a reasonable tariff for crimes against preparation nowadays. It’s 50 and counting.

The Queen of England too excited by a German win?

With ten goals, England scored more than any other in Portugal, starring the Golden Generation and fearless 18-year-old Wayne Rooney of Everton.

Just as Germany seemingly strut to victory every generation, England’s defeats are magnified by frustration at the sudden failure of well, usually penalty shoot-outs.

And the less we say about Wembley in 1996, the better.  With the Czechs, 80-1 outsiders at the start waiting in the final, it was a gimme for the host nation at Wembley .

Excuse me, I have to leave the keyboard for a couple of minutes.

And while we’re on host-nations, Holland should’ve been crowned European Champions for a second time in 2000. They succumbed to Italy in the semi-final on penalties – Italy in turn, lost to a French Golden Goal despite leading in the Rotterdam Final.

Greece's Plan A gameplan worked perfectly!

France were already world champions and maybe, the Clairefontaine youth project deserved this outstanding double recognition – but still,the Dutch with Kluivert, Overmars, Davids, Stam and van der Saar deserved to emulate the Gullits and van Bastens of a generation earlier.

On the other hand, England's bad luck aside, no one can argue with Greece winning Euro 2004; Otto Rehhagel’s procession of one-nil wins was a masterclass of gameplan – nor with Denmark’s romp to Euro 92 glory when UEFA pulled them in from summer holiday deckchairs to replace war-torn Yugoslavia.

As for England,’66 made up for the World Cups they carelessly didn't bother with in the thirties.

Our common memories make the thin-line between success and failure an open wound. What a pity there’s no revisionism in football.

An Israeli derby. All of the passion. All the bluster.

This is an Israeli Jew taunting Betar's racist fans.

On my travels, I've a fortunate habit of 'happening' upon big football matches I'd not budgeted on going to. Like a Soccer Presence guiding me from above I get to experience games across the world I wasn't expecting to.

Once upon a time on a trip to Bilbao to see the Guggenheim, I passed the famous San Mames stadium, the home of Athletic. By coincidence, it was the weekend of Real Madrid's visit: Galacticos and all. Naturally if Zizou and Co were in town, I was going to be there too.

12,000 fans but it felt like treble that number.

I watched in an atmospheric old ground as Real with goals from Robinho and Ronaldo collected the points in a two-nil win. Sadly, David Beckham was injured that night although I have the distinction of having seen Jonathan Woodgate play a full ninety in a Madrid shirt!

So it was meant to be that I should see one of Israel's top games too.

I found myself at a loose end one night. Someone told me about a flea market in Jaffa with all the atmosphere a westerner would want to lap up.

If you blag your way in, you've just got to!

But it wasn't enough. As I arrived at the ramshackle sheds and alleyways something much more authentic caught my football eye, a familiar sight. Those distant but intense floodlights shining in a hazy eventide with all the lure of a midweek cup game back home (without the damp winter chill). I zoomed there on my bike as an insect to a lamp.

Amid the security ring of police and the army, I found out Happoel Tel Aviv's opponents were no ordinary opposition. It was a game-and-a-half against probably Israel's most controversial clubs, Betar Jerusalem.

There were already 35 minutes gone and of course I had no ticket. It was explained to me by the first copper that fans had bought tickets for this one upto five months ago. There was "no chance" I'd get in.

"Yeah, yeah", I heard myself saying to which the cop replied they weren't like my bobbies back home! Still, they let me through the barrier toward the turnstiles and it was just between me and the stewards now.

After five refusals, I found myself behind the goal in the home end. BINGO! In with no ticket for the first time since Euro 2004, England against France in Lisbon. For the record I did have a ticket then, but I never showed it and was ushered in by a panicking Portuguese.

It's not often you get a security guard taking a short break from his duties to silently recite the evening prayer against a stadium stanchion as though at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. But there he was: palm trees beneath the floodlights. One of the many faithful there.

Steward praying the Jewish evening prayer.

Football, yes... but not as we know it, Jim.

Famed for their salty racist chants Betar, dressed in yellow and black like an annoying wasp swarm over the other side of the ground, bellowed at the Happoel homers who are very much the cultural opposite. Founded by the workers for the workers with fans from all walks of life: eastern and western Jew and Arab alike wearing red. United.

And it was a proper derby dustup on a pitch which frankly fitted the fayre.

The first half I was told, was a dog! I missed nothing. Even the midnight TV highlights only showed action from after the break.

The ground gave the impression of being bigger than it is, but 12,000 committed regulars didn't half make a noise. Not very deep or high, but the fans draw their supporting culture from the Spanish and English games.

And so it was that Happoel settled it with a single late goal to take all three points and set themselves up for a match against Steaua Bucharest in the Europa League.

A collage of great Bloomfield Stadium moments

At the end, Happoel's home fans cleared the stands quickly and all went home, no swift half in the bars or anything like that. The area was deserted. No traffic problems either: surprising. A few stayed on to watch the TV interviews by the goals, but the Betar fans, kept in the ground for security reasons, chanted and chanted that belligerent noise you get in away ends in League 1, Austria's League and Tottenham's away end.

I had one quick nose around the dressing room and coach area, and when I got onto the pitch to take a picture by the corner flag, all parties agreed: it was time for me to go home.



'Garinim' shells, reminiscent of Bilbao. Fans and stadium too.

Bloomfield Stadium is an authentic football home and I hope that the European game strengthens Israel's domestic league because the fans truly deserve it.

Click here for the current Top Story Soccermongery's all about your feedback, so write away, right away!