PARIS—And then there were dos. Or zwei.
Spain beat Russia 3-0 last night to reach their first major final since 1984. They’ll play Germany on Sunday in Vienna, at the Ernst Happel Stadium, for the title of Champions of Europe 2008.
A pretty sexy match-up, no? And beyond that, there’s the fact that, quite improbably, the two betting favourites heading into the tournament are the two last teams standing.
Seriously, the punters knew it all along? Why, exactly, were we wasting our time these last three weeks, playing all these meaningless games, if some lout in Brixton with twenty quid to burn already knew what was going to happen?
Ah, but it’s been a fine few weeks of football, thirty matches to date. And the best part of the tournament has been Fickle Fate’s kindness granted to the attacking team. We saw it again last night: Spain pushed forward all match, Russia couldn’t get their offense on track (was Andrei Arshevin on the pitch? Anyone see him?), and the Spanish won a game that they wholly deserved to capture. They were simply better than Guus Hiddink’s side, and on top of that, they played attractive football for 90 minutes.
Now you’re going to say, “But Sportstrotter, the Turks played attacking football against the Germans, and they looked the better side for 90 minutes, and they lost. What’s up with that?” Well, Wednesday’s game was roundly judged a classic play-poorly-and-still-manage-to-advance German effort, but can we be realistic for a couple minutes? The Germans scored three times in ninety minutes against the Turks. They scored three goals last week against the Portuguese in the quarterfinals. Die Mannschaft have already doubled, in two games, the total number of goals that deathly dull Greece scored, in three knockout victories, four years ago to take the title. If this is Germany barely squeaking by, I pity the Spanish if Joachim Löw’s boys actually put together a great match on Sunday.
We’re now left with a clash between the Germans, those perennial winners, and Spain, the perennial big-tournament flame outs. Three weeks ago, if you’d offered me a Germany-Spain final, I’d have taken it in a second. Two traditional footballing powers (and let’s now point out the fact that Old Europe beat up-and-coming outsiders Turkey and Russia in the semifinals), two very different breeds of fans (a bit like Yankees-Red Sox, pre-2004), two rosters full of big-name stars familiar to those who follow, even in the most half-assed fashion, the biggest leagues in the world.
Spain won all five of their games in this tournament, outscoring opponents 11-3 in the process. Germany’s record stands at four wins and one loss, with the goals total standing at 10-6. Three times they’ve given up two goals to an opponent. And yet, I’d bet more money will be wagered on Germany to win, simply because they’re Germany (what do you want to bet that there’s a place somewhere on the internet where I can bet on what other people will bet on? My head hurts). Spaniards can talk all they want about the cathartic experience of banishing their choke-job demons with the last two victories over Italy and Russia, but they’ll be missing tournament goalscoring leader David Villa for the final.
On top of that, I’m still not sold that they have the same confidence that magically infects any shlub who throws on a German uniform. As my Spanish friend Lizou told me moments before last night’s kickoff against a team that Spain had roundly trounced 4-1 just 16 days previous, “an entire generation of old Spanish men will die tonight. Win or lose, they will all have heart attacks and die. It’s just too big.”
Get out the defibrillators, folks, because Sunday’s final is coming. It’s coming.
Semifinal 2 recap
Result: Spain 3-0 Russia
Top player: Andrés Iniesta, my doppelganger, had his best game of the tournament. In the first 20 minutes he made the same mistakes he’d made all tournament, giving the ball away far too easily. But things finally clicked for him after that, and the Barcelona pass-master made the crucial delivery on Xavi’s opener and launched the rush with a fine long ball that led to David Silva’s closer. And it’s especially great when Iniesta plays well, because Mlle. Trotter pats me on the back and says thing like, “what a nice pass you made there!” all game. Take a bow, me. I deserve it.
Best goal: They were all pretty. Spain scores pretty goals. The second goal, where Cesc Fàbregas chipped through to substitute Daniel Güiza, who brought the ball down with his chest and slotted it against his momentum into the side of the net, was all the better because I’d spent the last five minutes wondering why the Spanish coach Aragones had removed Fernando Torres for a stiff like Güiza. A stiff that scores goals all day, baby.
In-game beverages: Two bottles of Baltika beer from Russia. Hey, they were still in my fridge from Russia-Sweden, and somebody needed to drink them. The blonde, Number 7 (all the beers are paint-by-number), was very good, almost Corona-esque in its summery lightness. The brown ale, Number 4, was less exciting, and the Mlle. was devastated to see it sitting on my night table this morning, still half full. “A wounded soldier!” Sort of like the Russians. Don’t worry, though, these Russians will be back for World Cup 2010, and they’ll be even more dangerous. Mark my words. Or, you know, don’t. Up to you.
Final preview
My heart says Spain. My brain says Germany. My eyes say Spain. My gut says Germany. My liver says, Oh won’t somebody please win this tournament already, I need a fucking break!
Sorry, liver, this just isn’t your year. Better luck next time!
Prediction: Spain 3-1 Germany a.e.t.
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