QUARTER-FINALS
Portugal 1-3 Spain
Jota 45+2'
Navas 72'
Morata 85'
Parejo 90+5'
Lewis McWilliam
Stadio Olimpico, Rome, Italy
Saturday 4th July
Angst, stoicism and tears.
A range of emotions projected from fans and players alike in the Portuguese capital 16 years ago to this very day. 4th July 2004, it’s a painful date for the Portuguese. The home of the European Championships that year, it wasn’t meant to end in heartbreak surely. But heartbreak it was, as a 0-1 reverse to an unfancied Greek side in the final completed arguably the greatest shock in this tournament’s history.
The former emotion can be attributed to Luis Figo. The much-adorned Portuguese captain cut a resilient if resigned figure as he collected his runners up medal. In his early 30s, he must’ve known this was his greatest chance of lifting a trophy for his country and perhaps realistically his last. In stark contrast, there were tears aplenty from a baby-faced Cristiano Ronaldo. However, aged just 20 years old and his formative years at Manchester United, there would be further opportunities to taste success at international level.
That taste came in the last championships amidst more tears. A knee injury in the 25th minute resigned the now Portuguese captain to spectator come coach in the final vs France. Tears flowed again over an hour and a half later, yet these were the product of unbridled joy. A durable, defence-minded display secured Portugal their first title after extra time.
These matches emphasise the glorious unpredictability of international football. Whilst differing in the quality available, neither Greece nor Portugal were serious contenders on paper before these tournaments. Yet a focus in the latter stages on the less glamorous side of the game; defensive solidity and organisation, ultimately led to the greatest of rewards.
Could a similar focus here in Rome tonight for these great rivals pave the way to another title?
The current champions appeared the likelier of the two, having evoked the spirit of ’16 in their goalless draw and penalty shoot-out victory over World cup finalists Croatia. By contrast, the tiki was cut from the taka for the majority of Spain’s performance in their laboured win over the Czechs in the last ’16. The second half performances sporadically flirted with the panache produced by Spain of old. However, whilst they have match winners in Silva and Morata to name a few, brief patches of play seem unlikely to be enough to go all the way. This erratic play on the park, has sometimes felt the product of coach Luis Enrique. Perhaps it’s a style thing, but at times he’s appeared listless and other time’s fraught with panic, or even fear. The physical evidence of such emotions is surely counter-productive for his side.
A mystifying downpour of Italian rain battered the vast, curved bowl of the Stadio Olympico’s roof as the players strolled out before kick-off. If this wasn’t unusual enough in early July, the sight of Ronaldo clothed in tracksuit and hooded jacket heading towards the substitutes bench certainly was. The reasons cited for his exclusion from the starting XI have been unclear. As he strode slightly gingerly to his seat, with what could be construed as a faintly moody demeanour, we were none the wiser. Santos fleetingly locked eyes with his captain however the two faces appeared expressionless. The poker faces displayed gave no answer to the situation, yet certainly evoked much intrigue amongst the Portuguese journalists in the row behind.
Anyway, onto the match.
Spain lined up with the same team and formation that completed the comeback against the Czechs.
Diego Costa was the focal point up front, and it was his physicality that occupied the unsettled Portuguese centre backs for much of the opening half hour. Indeed, whilst the majority of Costa’s play was robust, it was on the right side of the law in the ref’s eyes. The same could not be said for the gangly figure of Jose Fonte whose exasperation was underpinned by underhand tactics in a bid to gain some measure of control against the bustling Atletico forward. Perhaps Fonte forgot about the eagle eyes of the video assistant referee. It certainly appeared to be the case in the 20th minute. A rare Portuguese counter-attack stemmed from the centre backs raking ball from the 18 yard line angled to Bernardo Silva on the left. Fonte’s left foot followed through, planted down onto the on-rushing striker’s posterior who had slid on the muddied turf in a bid to make a block.
What followed reminded anyone that had forgotten of the intensity that envelopes the Iberian Derby.
Costa’s momentary theatrics turned to blind rage in an instant. He, and his trampled posterior, rose from the turf to confront the big centre-back. Fonte’ with a crazed look in his eyes leaned in headfirst with the diminutive presence of Wolves’ Jota the attempted peacemaker and sandwich filler in between the two. His attempts were in vain however, as Fonte’ let the occasion and atmosphere get the better of him as he followed through headfirst into Costa.
With the incident played back an unnecessary six times on the big screens for all to see, the red card brandished by the referee was an inevitability. From that moment on you felt it would be a tall order for Portugal. However, for the remainder of the first period the spirit of 16’ appeared alive and kicking.
Striker Eder was sacrificed shortly afterwards, and Porto’s Danilo Pereira was deployed as the midfield anchor-man in a tight- knit trio alongside Betis’ Carvalho and Borussia’s makeshift midfielder Guerreiro.
Portugal settled, and began to play themselves.
Jota, so often a key man for Wolves this season played a titanic role throughout the first half. Often with little room for manoeuvre and effectively man-marked by both Ramos and Martinez his close control and link-up play timelessly brought respite for the Portuguese back line.
Then, free kick to Portugal just outside the 18-yard line. Time, 45+2.
The camera’s flashed to Ronaldo, benched of course for the occasion. He wore a sort of sulky pout on his face unable to hide his disappointment that he wasn’t gifted such an opportunity. Still, the youthful Jota placed the ball, sensing this could be the biggest moment in his international career to date. Four steps back, a little jog forward and the ball was struck.
Sometimes in football you get a sense, a feeling when a goal is imminent. There was something in Jota’s body language as he struck that ball and you could feel it in the Portuguese crowd to my left. Their anticipation turned to swathes of jubilation when the ball nestled into the top left corner of De Gea’s net. Wow. Half time. Ten-man Portugal 1 Spain 0.
Spain started the second half like a team possessed. Surprisingly given previous form, no changes were made from the Enrique as he placed faith in his players that had dominated large periods of the first half.
Busquets and Silva were weaving magic in the middle and Portuguese bodies looked weary. Chance, 55th minute. The latter fed the spritely Cazorla down the left flank, who cut inside and unleashed a curling, swirling effort. The glove of Rui Patricio tipped it onto the post, and it was cleared out for a corner. Just two minutes later the big keeper was called upon again, this time miraculously palming Morata’s header from point blank range over the bar. Portugal were clinging on for dear life. Bodies weary yet unified in their collective effort the crowd were willing them on.
The hour mark came and still it was 1-0. A momentary lull in the Spanish storm, and the Portuguese fans broke out with a rendition of the ‘A Portuguesa’; which reverberated round this famous old ground. I often get one spine-tingling moment during this championship, and this was it. Pride, defiance and passion are just a few words to describe the Portuguese fans I witnessed here. In truth, it’s tokenistic to attempt to describe the singing, through any words.
The next ten minutes came and went with wave, upon wave, upon wave of Spanish attacks repelled by the heroic efforts of Perriera et al in the Portuguese back lines. Two lines of defense evident in attempts to win the Iberian Derby. Or war, as known by fans.
72nd minute and resistance was finally broken. 1-1. Jesus Navas on as a second half substitute rounded of a sweeping move, started by the increasingly adventurous Ramos in a bid to kick start the comeback. He drilled a purposeful ball into Busquets, who a knowing glance flicked it onto the advancing Silva. One touch, pass, into the feet of Costa, who laid it off for Navas to put his laces through it from the just outside the box. The net bulged and parity was restored. Game on.
‘Fortune favours the brave’: as the old Latin proverb goes, attributed to Roman African playwright Terentius Afer.
Maybe these words were scribbled onto Santos’ hand? Ingrained on his mind? Or, was it the match being played in the playwright’s home city that invoked some sort of romanticism in the Portuguese manager?
Or, was it simply the vociferous chants for ‘Ronaldo’, that persuaded the Portuguese boss that his time had come?
Regardless of the cause, Ronaldo’s introduction with fifteen to go changed the shape of the game. Portugal looked alive again as an attacking outlet as the resumed captain found space to run. In contrast holes in their weary defence became larger, and Spain flooded forwarded sensing a winner was in sight.
With five minutes left on the clock the goal came that broke Portuguese hearts. The simplicity of it will frustrate Santos, a simple clearance down field by Spanish centre-half Inigo, was met by the on-rushing Morata. One touch, and a low drill was enough to beat the despairing grasp of Patricio. He, and his nine other teammates cut dejected figures as if this was the final nail in the coffin.
Unfortunately for the Portuguese a final nail was hammered in, in the dying embers which owed as much to their increasing desperation as it did to Spanish skill.
With all up field for a late Portuguese corner, goalie included, the ball broke to late sub Dani Parejo on the edge of the box. In a piece of play reminiscent of a kick-about in the local park, Valencia’s no.10 ran practically straight towards the centre circle perhaps sniffing the chance at a first international goal. A look behind saw the space he once had before him was quickly being eroded by the strides of Ronaldo. A few more gallant steps and the 31-year-old took aim, in hope more than expectation. As the ball rolled towards the left-hand post; the recipient of the Spanish bombardment throughout the second half, it kissed the inside and trickled over the line.
Arms aloft, the substitute ran to take the acclaim of the Spanish masses as the Portuguese sunk to their knees. Tears as there were 16 years ago for Ronaldo and co. For a Spanish side rapidly gathering momentum, Germany await in the semis.
Man of the match: Sergio Busquets
Attendance: 69, 432