It still feels like a dream… walking to work early on Monday morning, stopping at each newsstand on the way to look at the newspapers and grin like a fool.
Spain, World Cup Champions.
SPAIN, WORLD CUP CHAMPIONS!
¡Campeones, oé!
Finally, finally, we’ve conquered not only the ‘Quarterfinal Curse’, but the World Cup itself. We’ve showed the world where beautiful playmaking, hard work and a well-knit team takes you. No, it wasn’t easy, and no, it wasn’r pretty either, but we did it.
Vicente Del Bosque surprised us by not surprising us and giving us the same starting XI we’d had in the match against Germany: Casillas, Ramos, Puyol, Piqué, Capdevila, Busquets, Alonso, Xavi, Iniesta, Villa and Pedrito. Our very own saint in goal, our usual suspects in defence, the much-maligned double-pivot, the playmaker, and the attacking trifecta, without the disappointing Torres, and with Villa in a position he finds somewhat uncomfortable. Ready to rumble…
In the meanwhile, Van Marwijk played what everyone expected him to play: Stekelenburg, van der Wiel, Heitinga, Mathijsen, van Bronckhorst, Kuyt, van Bommel, Sneijder, Jong, Robben and van Persie.
This was supposed to be, at least on paper, a pretty, vibrant game. After all, it brought together two teams that each boasted of playing the most beautiful, open, attacking, complex, daring style of football. ‘Spain are the masters of tiki-taka,’ said the fans of La Furia Roja, while the Oranje fans reminded us that ‘Holland created that style of play’. It wasn’t just a fight for the World Cup title, it was also a style-off.
Were we disappointed? I’m going to go with ‘yes’.
This was an ugly match. There was enough fouling, diving, whining, complaining and questionable refereeing to turn a casual onlooker off from football in a heartbeat. And it wasn’t all on the side of the Dutch, although the Spaniards turned petulant and fall-prone later in the game, once Howard Webb, the referee of the evening, had lost control of the game and count of the yellow cards he’d shown. Still, how can you excuse a a game with 14 yellows and 47 fouls (plus the ones the ref didn’t see)? You can’t.
The first fifteen minutes or so were a good display of control by Spain, who started the match in pretty much the same way they’d started against Germany: tentative, but in control of the ball, looking for space between the Dutch defence and not finding it. They had chances (Sergio Ramos took a header that Stekelenburg just managed to palm away, Villa and Ramos again putting it into the side-netting), but soon enough their impetus wilted under the pressure applied by the Dutch defence and midfield. It’s unfortunate that so much of that pressure was applied in a rather ungentlemany fashion, like a kick full on the chest that De Jong delivered to Xabi Alonso, that meant the fifth yellow of the match (this was 27th minute, mind you) and that, in any other match, would have been a straight red.
The Dutch had several good chances, mostly coming on counters and sly, dangerous Sneijder passes, or Robben runs, but Casillas was in vintage form and the first half petered out in the same defensive fashion it had started.
In any case, although neither team were winning by then, they weren’t losing either, and the coaches were satisfied enough with their respective results that we had no subs in the half-time. And they had reasons to be satisfied: Del Bosque was seeing his boys be faithful to their style in the face of adversity, and Van Marwijk was seeing his team disrupt Spain’s play in the only way that’s proven effective until now. Not pretty, but practical, and hey, sometimes that’s all that matters.
So, second half and, if anyone expected a sudden surge of style and grace to descend onto the pitch, they were soon disappointed. The fouling continued, now seasoned with a healthy helping of complaining to go with every single instance of it; the players had discovered that falling to the ground and playing dead, regardless of whether they had been fouled or not, was the best strategy. I felt second-hand embarrassment for all those neutral fans watching this and wondering what the beauty of football was.
The first sub came from the unchartered depths behind Del Bosque’s moustache. Jesús Navas came in for a Pedrito that had been hard-working, if not particularly brilliant. I wasn’t very taken with the change, but Navas soon proved Del Bosque right, playing up his speed and his brilliant connection with Sergio Ramos to take control of the right flank.
The man of the moment, though, was San Iker Casillas, witha splendid, miraculous, altogether lucky save on Robben after a beautiful Sneijder pass had caught the Spanish defence flat-footed and left the Dutchman alone in front of Iker.
Wonderful show of reflexes and skill by Casillas? Pure luck? A horrible miss by Robber? Whatever it was, at least it wasn’t a goal, so the match could carry on in its stumbling, foul-filled way. Spain’s chances went off for CKs that came to nothing (no Tornado Puyol coming in for a header), and when Villa had a chance, he was either offsides or blocked by Stekelenburg.
There was a glimmer of hope for the beautiful game when hard-working Dirk Kuyt was subbed off by brilliant youngster Ellia, but the game (and the players) were now set in their ways and the match trudged on, punctuated by FKs that went nowhere and another missed Ramos header (man, I blame the headband he was wearing).
Proof that the match was more of a brawl than anything else came when Van Bommel fouled Iniesta and Don Andrés, at the end of his patience, stood up and performed a little ‘revenge fouling’ on the Dutchman, which is so utterly uncharacteristic of the man that I could only watch, open-mouthed, as Webb gave him a stern talking to, but spared him the yellow card he surely deserved.
Iniesta then went on to miss a great chance through overdoing his admittedly brilliant bamboozling of defenders. Robben had another brilliant opportunity, which San Iker (and Puyol, risking a second yellow) put out very well, and then he got a yellow for arguing with the ref, which could have just as well be shown to any of the other players in the field (other contenders include Xavi, Busquets and Sneijder), although to be fair, Robben’s chase of Webb had the makings of a great gif and the ensuing meme.
The second change for Spain came then, with Del Bosque renouncing to his double-pivot by taking off Xabi Alonso (who was limping a little, after having that dodgy ankle of his tenderised so much) for Cesc Fàbregas. Well, I thought that there would be no more double-pivot, what with Cesc being more brilliant as an attacking midfielder, but the Arsenal man actually went to occupy Alonso’s position. This wasn’t too great, as we then had Cesc and Xavi jostling for space and stepping on each other’s toes (not literally, although this wouldn’t have surprised me alll that much).
Even so, it soon became evident that both coaches had extra-time in mind, which, to the suffering audience, was an unnecessary form of torture. Thirty more minutes of watching a brawl thinly disguised as a run for the Jo’bulani was not the gift we deserved after sitting through a World Cup, but it was what we got. Del Bosque, in preparation for this, had Fernando Torres and Carlos Marchena doing warm-ups in the sidelines (which Marchenator sometimes forewent in favour of playing linesman).
Extra-time was just like normal time, but with a bit more tiredness thrown in to slow things down. Cesc had a very Pedrito moment and refused to pass to Villa on a 2-on-2, choosing instead to shoot straight at Stekelenburg, and it seemed that, once again, Spain would have all the chances and none of the goals. Iniesta had a couple of wasted opportunities that prompted the chorus of ‘Iniesta can’t shoot!!!’ to start with vuvuzela-like fervour (more on the irony of this later), and De Jong was prudently subbed out for Rafael Van der Vaart, another promise of beautiful football soon smothered by the run of play, or what passed for play in that stadium.
Chances for Villa and Navas to put the ball into the side-netting and the hearts of the Spanish fans in their throats, and Netherlands continued with their prudent changes by subbing off Gio Van Bronckhorst for Braafheid. Half time of the extra-time, and I bet you were scribbling your list of favoured PK-takers. Apparently, so was Del Bosque, because he changed five-times-goalscorer David Villa for Fernando Torres, even with the woeful form El Niño had been having. With that change, the Spain fans saw their hopes for a late goal petering out, since the most optimistic of them couldn’t see a phoenix-like revival from Torres at this late stage.
And then we had what we had been waiting for since the first half: a second yellow and a red card. Heitinga, for a foul on Iniesta that wasn’t much of a foul, really. Maybe it was cumulative. Maybe Webb remembered that time was running out and he had to card someone. In any case, it left Netherlands with 10 players and Spain with a bit more space for their tired legs.
The ensuing FK, as we’ve come to expect from Spain, led to exactly nothing. Time ticked. Pass-pass-foul. Pass-pass-foul-card. Pass-pass-foul-complaint. Riveting. The PK shoot-out loomed. Not your fault if you felt like punching the TV then, or even if you did.
And then… a goal. A solitary goal from the man who’d been doing the most in this match, who’d been fouled the most, who most deserved it. Come right here and tell me Iniesta can’t shoot, if you dare!
Enjoy it. Enjoy the build-up. Enjoy Iniesta recovering the ball in the midfield, Navas moving out of his comfort right-flank to pressure the Dutch defence, Torres half-assed pass into the box, Cesc for once not being selfish and passing, and the Dutch defence just standing there, ready to argue with the linesman (Mathijsen got a yellow for his tantrum). Enjoy the thought that at that moment, Iker Casillas broke down and started bawling like a baby (with seven minutes to go, Iker, hold it until later!). Enjoy Iniesta’s heartfelt homage to late Espanyol player Dani Jarque, his friend, who passed away almost a year ago. Just… enjoy.
There were mere minutes left, and Spain folded back and defended as if their lives depended on it, which they pretty much did. And Fernando Torres capped a truly disappointing World Cup by injuring himself in the very last minute. Man, at least he could have let the Dutch injure him, I’m sure they’d have obliged.
And then… time.
And Spain are World Cup Champions. Can you believe it?!
There’ll be a post later, with the celebrations, and the jumping around with the trophy, and the fireworks, and Iker crying and crying (and then kissing his girlfriend while she was trying to interview him), and everything else. For now, I’ll leave you with the obvious choice for MOTM and my grading (tinted heavily with gratefulness, adoration and a hangover).
Dani Jarque, siempre con nosotros. / Dani Jarque, always with us.
Casillas: 9. Three great, decisive saves on Robben. And he looks like a cute ten-year-old when he cries like that… and he broke The Curse of the Green Goalie Kit!
Ramos: 9. Great match from Sergio, who handled his earlo yellow card prudently and was an asset both on the defence and the attack.
Puyol: 8,5. Maybe he should’ve taken it a little bit easier, since he danced on a knife’s edge with Webb, but he was solid.
Piqué: 9. Good, very good at defending, it was a shame that the Dutch had him so busy that he only could surge forwards a couple of times, because he is amazing when he does that.
Capdevila: 8,5. The man kept improving and his duel with Robben didn’t end in tears, as many of us thought. At least, not in Spanish tears.
Busquets: 10. Yes, I’ve gone there. A perfect 10 for Sergi Busquets, who not only dealt with Sneijder more than well, but played so cleanly that he was one of the few who didn’t get carded.
Xabi Alonso: 9. His Chuck Norris beard saved him from De Jong’s kick, amd afterwards it was just another day on the job for this quiet, underappreciated man.
Xavi: 8,5. I’ve never thought I’d say this, but he was better with the double-pivot behind him. Still, another great game from our playmaker.
Iniesta: 10. MOTM. Or 11. Or 100. As he always does, Don Andrés came through when his team needed him the most.
Villa: 8. Someone remind this man that offsides is not a valid position. He borrowed Torres’ shooting boots, besides, and drifted too much to the left, but even so he was a permanent danger for the Dutch.
Pedrito: 8. A quieter game that against Germany, Pedro didn’t act as if he were a youngster suddenly thrown into the World Cup final.
Navas (for Pedro): 8,5. Daring, quick, incisive, and his crossing into the box was much better; shame there wasn’t anyone there to take advantage of it.
Fàbregas (for Alonso): 7. He get credit for the assist, but I found him selfish most of the time, and kind of lost in his position; he improved as he drifted forwards more and more, though.
Torres (for Villa): 5. Oh, Niño. What can I say? I hope that injury isn’t serious and that he recovers his confidence during the club season.
Del Bosque: 7,5. I’m getting tired of saying that Del Bosque is always right with his subs, but he is. However, I have the feeling that either he put Cesc in the wrong position or didn’t give him the right instructions, because the kid looked lost.
Honourable mention: for Stekelenburg, who deserved that Golden Glove more than Iker, even. Awesome goalie.
So, it’s time to party! All the struggles and bad times can be forgotten now, as we sit (if only for a moment, as Germans, Brazilians, Argentineans, and Dutch like to remind us) on top of the world! Play the Waka-waka, or We Are The Champions, or whatever your celebratory music is, as loud as you can and revel in the moment!
¡ESPA
