Not Just Any Old Europe

I’ve seen it so many times: A team fufills Cantona’s charge to “play beautiful,” out-passing and out-possessing their opponents for 89+ minutes, but fails to find the back of the net. And then, in those waning seconds, comes the knife in the back, cruelly twisted–the junk goal rolling past a desperate keeper’s outstretched fingertips. An impostor emerges from the fray, holding aloft the champion’s cup.

But not yesterday. Spain’s Fernando Torres saw to that.

His immaculate chip in the 33rd minute, made possible by another all-eyes pass from midfielder Xavi Hernandez, proved to be all that was needed as the youthful Spanish, skilled, fit and fast from front to back, created a masterpiece of stingy short-ball, rarely giving the Germans so much as a touch much less the time and space to mount any sort of attack.

I thought Die Mannschaft looked “old” and a little tired. And who wouldn’t be after tough, and even dramatic, wins against Portugal and Turkey in the quarters and semis? Somewhat lacking in depth compared to past squads, the Germans deserve much credit for a fine run. But, despite the fickle and mercurial nature of our mistress, The Beautiful Game, this time the best side won.

We were satisfied with the result and could have lived with either side winning. And watching the final with JRB and his charming family who had dropped in for a visit was the crowning touch, as exciting as Torres’ deftly placed strike itself.

Number Two Son, who was safely ensconced in an alpine youth hostel in Mittenwald watching the match, is no doubt a little disappointed.

But he’ll always be able to say something that most of us never will:

He hasn’t just visited any old Europe. He’s been to Euro-Europe.

And that makes all the difference.