SIDELINE CUT:THE MORE you see of Michael Ballack, the more it seems he is just not fully convinced by this whole football business. If you studied the big midfielder's demeanour after Germany's dramatic defeat to Croatia on Thursday evening, you saw not so much a man desperately disappointed as a man desperately trying to look disappointed.
It is perfectly likely he was bothered his national team were defeated by the outrageously gleeful Croats and he was doing his best to buck up his more crestfallen team-mates. But all in all, Ballack looked like a man who wasn't about to allow a bad result in an afternoon of sport spoil the dinner reservations he had someone make for him at Klagenfurt's finest restaurant.
Ballack is one of those supremely gifted sportsmen you sometimes look at and wonder if they are actually there. He seems destined to become that most peculiar of beings: the German runner-up. Europe is accustomed to seeing the Germans triumph in football and yet Ballack has experienced the second-best sensation in the World Cup of 2002 and led his team to third place when Germany went slightly dizzy with excitement and nationalist fervour two years ago. Just for good measure, he finished runner-up with Chelsea last month during that gripping and almost endless European Cup final against Manchester United.
It rained incessantly in Moscow on the Wednesday night/Thursday morning of that showdown and drenched, rather than distraught, is how Michael Ballack looked in the immediate aftermath. He was in no real way to blame for Chelsea's defeat. He strolled around the field looking strong and graceful, delivered several passes of great accuracy, tackled with diligence, celebrated when his boys scored and, during the penalty shoot-out, dispatched his shot with the kind of efficiency that ought not be described as Germanic but inevitably is and, in any case, left no one in doubt Ballack is one of the prize assets in the stable of European midfield football players.
He scored his penalty, waited as his captain John Terry prepared to take the kick that would have made him a European champion, and watched him miss it in the most dreadful of circumstances; and then, of course, United went on to win the thing.
Afterwards, several of the Chelsea men looked inconsolable, with Terry pitifully distraught. And Ballack looked a bit sad too but it was as if he felt sorrow for his team-mates rather than for himself. In fact, if anything, he looked a bit distracted, chewing his lip as though wondering about the quality of the hairdryers in the Lutzny stadium or if the extra-time/penalties had scuppered the dinner plans his wife/friends had circled for the Moscow steakhouse as the highlight of their trip east.
There is a real sense about Ballack his passion lies somewhere left field of the world of soccer. He looks like one of those people who happens to be extremely good at an inordinate number of things, football being one. It would be no surprise to learn, for example, Ballack might have considered a career as a pianist had football not taken over or that in his spare time he likes nothing better than to cook.
You might guess, cooking is where his true vocation lies and he would fit just as comfortably into the role of tempestuous Germanic chef with a reputation for lacing everything with vodka and vanilla essence as he does in his actual job of being one of the world's leading midfield players.
Of course, it is entirely possible Ballack had no real interest in making it as a top-class footballer. It could be he never had to make it because he discovered, with no great delight, he just happened to be better at football than all the other determined young Saxons in Gorlitz, where he grew up and, eventually, than every other kid of his age in Germany.
He was tall, strong, smart, he kicked the ball with either foot with ferocious pace and accuracy and he had the kind of pan-national handsomeness that more or less decreed he should end up playing football for Germany and several of the continent's most glittering clubs. Ballack probably had no choice in the matter, with everyone telling him he was brilliant and being nicknamed "Little Kaiser", after Beckenbauer. Allied to his rare combination of skill and physique, a healthy enjoyment of the game was enough to catapult him into the elite ranks of footballers and a life of considerable wealth and privilege. Perhaps, even as he patrols the midfield in the most high-profile football matches on earth, Ballack is wondering if he made a bad career choice.
In sport, we often like to say such-and-such is obsessed by the game. Rarely, for instance, can you hear or read anything about Alex Ferguson without being told he is a driven man. And no doubt, when you see Alex jawing his chewing gum and jumping around the stands in a manner that is unhealthy, not to mention unbecoming, for a man in his 60s, you cannot argue with any of that.
But if the game is full of obsessive characters, it must also have its place for men who are constantly fending off a kind of boredom. Guys like Michael Ballack, suave, helplessly gifted and blessed with a temperament that enables him to glide through an almost glittering football career unruffled, must privately feel Ferguson and those other compulsive characters are a touch lunatic. A place in the pantheon of elite and incomprehensibly rich football players offers a fellow the full spectrum of life's delights. In order to enjoy those gifts, you have to be able to escape from the game.
That is why in England now there is the uncomfortable suspicion the failure of the Premiership's golden generation to qualify for these European Championships upset the hordes of anonymous football folk more than it did the actual heroes. The young bucks have summer plans to be getting on with, such as attending Wayne Rooney's €6-million wedding in Italy. The one drawback of being an elite football player is that the summer holidays are rather short. Ballack will be back training at Stamford Bridge in mid-July, latest. So like many professionals, he probably has a private dilemma at these European Championships.
Sure, he would like to lead Deutschland to the glory of a football title and make his compatriots proud and happy, but equally, he wouldn't mind getting in an extra week of deep-sea diving in Mauritius, or taking a crash course in experimental cooking with Heston Blumenthal. It is one thing watching Michael Ballack being a footballer, quite another actually being Michael Ballack.
He has class to burn but perhaps the game has come so easily to him that the notion of being driven is beyond his comprehension. Chauffeured maybe, but not driven.
Such is Ballack's ability he might, of course, take a notion and perform in a manner that will be described in the headlines as Ball-istic, hitting spectacular goals that will send the Germans marching through to the final.
And he will be pleased and proud and he will speak eloquently about what this means to him and to Germany. But deep down you get the impression that Michael Ballack will remain puzzled about the mass fuss and hysteria over what, to him, has always been a simple game.
