Given that all of its inaugural members are on the 'wrong' side of 30, it probably wasn't overly surprising to see the Super Euro Soccer Party team run out of puff as the tournament's tail end came into view. While we did try and freshen things up by introducing the young legs of "breathnk" - a maverick, unpredictable talent - he was rarely seen outside the confines of his local bookmaker's (where he busied himself dejectedly tearing up betting slips).
And so it was (as we lay groaning on the treatment tables) that the last three matches of an exhilarating tournament went uncommented on. Football, as the fella might have said, is no country for old (wo)men. Unless, that is, you're the 104-year-old Luis "The Troll" Aragones - he who finally delivered what younger men had previously only promised: a big, shiny trophy to take back to Iberia. An old dog for a hard road littered with broken dreams.
What amazed me most about Spain this year was not merely that they eventually lived up to their consistently high billing, but (more importantly) that they triumphed in a manner rarely matched in major tournament history. From the first whistle (against Russia) to the final act (last Sunday) they showed unflinching determination to both completely dominate their opponents and play free from the crippling fear that has so often paralysed them.
For 15 or 20 minutes of the first half against Germany, as they briefly threatened to let their bottler's instinct reassert itself, the sound of journalistic knives sharpening well-worn clichés could be heard. Spanish teams of old would, in such circumstances and against such opposition, have quickly gone wide-eyed and slump-shouldered - but not the class of 2008. Once they regained the initiative (and their composure) they seized the game by the scruff of the neck and never again let go. History may end up judging the final a tight affair (due to the scoreline), but in its own way this was a victory every bit as emphatic as their demolition of a previously irresistible Russia in the last four.
While most of Europe was happy to slap Spanish backs and proclaim the win a triumph for football, the German part in the tale tended to get dismissed. Eamonn Dunphy (in typical style) wrote them off them as "useless" and lucky to have progressed so far. Similar criticisms have dogged them since (at least) their defeat of the Czechs in the 96 final and have, by now, become widely accepted as fact. The Germans, the story goes, always land on their feet. Lady luck smiles upon them. They always get more than they deserve.
Like a lot of popular sporting "truisms" this is probably a load of old bollocks. "Lucky" teams (however apparently limited) are always doing something right - something that means they maximise their chances of standing victorious when the dust settles. Liam Brady (the pragmatic and balanced presence sitting at Dunphy's right hand) offered just such a defence. Germany, so Chippy told us, have a winning "mentality" - and it is to this (and not good fortune) that they owe their successes. It should be noted here that Brady has a way of mangling the word "mentality" to make it sound like a word of about 23 syllables. Combine this drawling style with a face that looks like a lump of half-baked dough (with two small currants for eyes) and you have an improbable comedy hit.
Well folks, that's about the size, shape and density of it. A magical 3 weeks has come to an end and with it a return to the quotidian demands of real life.
Goodnight Euro 2008 - you magnificent bastard.
Roll on South Africa…
I really didn’t think it would happen: even as I speculated on this very forum three weeks ago I know that, in my heart of hearts, I was getting ready to remind everyone that I had called it and that Spain would never do it. Luckily for me, I hedged my bets and gave myself enough wriggle room just in case I were to find myself in this situation.
And here I am. Spain are European champions. I suppose I knew there was always a chance this could happen but what I did not know then was that I would end up cheering Spain on, that they would win the tournament in style and deservingly. Nor could I have foreseen that the tournament in which they would be crowned champions would turn out to be the most magical and spell-binding in years. In many ways it reminded me of Euro ‘88, especially with worthy swashbuckling teams such as The Netherlands, Russia and Turkey (even though they weren’t there all those years ago).
Most of the games I saw were fantastic spectacles: high in quality of football as well as entertainment value - so often a rare combination. The recurring themes of late goals and high drama were almost the order of the day, though amazingly not all of the late goals were winners because they were followed by even later goals. Spain enjoyed one last minute victory against Sweden but it was another less celebrated ‘microtheme’ that caught my attention.
Throughout the tournament Marchena was considered the weak link in the Spanish defence (largely because the pundits didn’t know who he was). He spent every game going about his business in a workmanlike fashion, no frills and no holding back in tackles. Throughout the tournament he seemed to take great offence at players crumpling under his challenges no matter how hard or unfairly he clattered them. He would regularly bawl at them to get up as they lay prostrate in his wake, waving his arms frantically at them as play moved on.
On one such occasion Marchena can be seen emptying his lungs screaming at the Swedish forward Rosenberg, who is lying on the ground after a fairly innocuous collision in the dying seconds. As the action unfolds on the bottom of the screen, Marchena appears apoplectic as he chastises Rosenberg for diving. All the while his team mates are counter attacking, setting up David Villa to score the last minute winner: still, Marchena towers over Rosenberg and is engrossed in the almost paternal reprimand he barks at the young Swede in a mixture of disappointment, horror, disgust and rage – apparently oblivious to the victory that is setting his side on their way to the quarter finals and, ultimately, the championship.
He won’t grab many headlines but he is one unsung hero in this great Spanish side and deserves his moment of glory after what was, for this reticent supporter of Spain, one thoroughly satisfying tournament.
July 4th, 2008 at 9:49 am