Chapter 840 Spain (2)

Chapter 840: Chapter 840 Spain (2)

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[02-07-2021 | Gazprom Arena, Saint Petersburg, Russia | 22:04 MSK]

[Germany 1-0 Spain]

[11’]

Spain restarted with clear intentions to get back into this match by tightening the screws with their unique passing play. Busquets dropped so deep he was practically a third center-back, and the ball began to move quicker, sharper, each pass carrying zip that had not been there in the opening ten minutes. If conceding had rattled them, they hid it well as they patiently circled around the German block, probing for the seam that Musiala’s goal had found.

It was harder said than done as Luis Enrique’s men spent the next quarter of an hour fighting a battle of attrition over possession with the German contingent. A few times, both sides floated a ball into the box or attempted a pop from distance, but according to the bookies, there had only been 3 shots on target so far. While this left the goalies somewhat at ease, it raised the tension further as both sides sensed the importance of the next goal.

Pedri became more active, forcing Gündoğan to keep moving to keep him at bay. Twice, the eighteen-year-old had threaded passes into Morata that had Hummels stretching every aging sinew to intervene. And twice the German veteran got just enough of a boot on it to divert the danger.

The pressure slowly but surely accumulated, like water rising against a dam. The Germans held their shape with the back three playing especially narrow and compact. But the slow build-up means they could not get out easily. Every time they won the ball, a red shirt was on them before they could breathe, and the ball was recycled back into Spanish hands within seconds. The German section that had roared so lustily at the goal fell into a tense, watchful murmur.

[26’]

In the twenty-sixth minute, Spain created their first real chance when Jordi Alba overlapped Pedri with the relentless speed of a man half his age. Combining with Sarabia down the left in a quick, dizzying exchange of one-touch passes, he slipped by Kimmich, who was hopelessly out of position. Creating enough space for the Barcelona full-back to whip in a low, vicious cross that skidded across the face of the six-yard box.

Morata Broke free from Hummels, and Tah’s guard stretched out for the incoming ball, intent on striking it first time. It looked like he would get there, but the outstretched orange boot of Rüdiger’s under-armors came snaking ahead of him in a slide. The Chelsea man poked the ball away into the waiting embrace of Neuer, who immediately smothered it, taking the wind out of the rising Spanish supporters.

"Antonio Rüdiger crucial interception!" Schmidt roared. "What a stop, or rather, what an intervention! He has incredible ball-stopping instinct and can get there before anyone else on the pitch! Morata cannot believe it!"

[34’]

Germany, which had spent the better part of twenty minutes being second fiddle to the Spanish Tiki-taka, playing the preverbal tambourine if you like, carved out a major spell of possession of their own. It did not last long, but it did not need to. It began with a Spanish corner that came to nothing, Hummels rising above Laporte to nod it clear beyond the arc.

The clearance fell to Kroos on the edge of his own box, and where a lesser player might have hoofed it into touch, the Madrid man simply killed it dead beneath his studs. Dropping a shoulder, he turned the opposite way, leaving his marker to chase shadows. Scanning the field with the calm of a man reading a newspaper on a Sunday morning, he got to work.

Spain was caught high, with acres of grass to exploit, and Kroos did not need a second invitation. He opened his body and stroked a raking, diagonal ball that traveled sixty yards through the closed dome’s still air, dropping with backspin into the patch of space where the touchline met the halfway line. Wirtz, who managed to peel off his marker, took it down on the run without breaking stride.

"And now Germany on the break!" Schmidt’s voice lifted. "Can Wirtz cause some chaos?!"

The Leverkusen wunderkind drove at Azpilicueta, who had turned and was sprinting back with everything his thirty-one-year-old legs could summon. For a moment, it looked as though the Chelsea man would recover, angling Florian toward the byline, but he had numbers. Havertz was steaming through the middle. He checked, shaped to cross, then rolled it square instead into Gnabry’s feet at the top of the box.

The Munich forward, with his back to goal, laid it off first-time with the outside of his boot into Havertz’s path, and the twenty-two-year-old set himself to shoot at the near post. He never got the chance, though, as Laporte launched himself into a full-blooded slide and got just enough of a toe on the ball to divert it wide of the upright. The German section rose, then groaned, then applauded the intent.

"City’s Laporte, with a magnificent recovery tackle!" Schmidt exclaimed. "Germany carved them open on the counter, and only a wonderful piece of defending kept it at one! That is the danger Spain must live with when they commit so many bodies forward!"

The corner that followed was cleared, but the tempo of the match had shifted, if only for a few minutes. Spain grew a touch more cautious in their forward commitments, giving Germany the room to assert their will in the game.

[41’]

Despite that, it was Spain that threatened again as the half wound down, and it came from Sarabia on the left flank. The Sporting man collected the ball thirty yards out, swapping positions with Pedri as he cut inside. Dropping a shoulder, he snuck the ball past Gündoğan into the feet of Morata, who held off Hummels at the top of the box.

He received the return pass and didn’t need a second invitation as he scanned Neuer’s position and faced himself shot. Striking the ball for the first time, he riffled it into the air, curving towards the far-right corner. Neuer, between the sticks, barely had time to take a step before leaping into the air. On instinct, he tried to reach the ball somehow, but it streaked past his gloves like a comet, its impact sending the net rattling.

"GGGGOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLAAAAZZZZZZIIIIIIAAAA!" Schmidt roared, matching the energy of the Spanish fans, who were equally surprised and elated at the sudden goal. "Pablo Sarabia rifles it home! Neuer never stood a chance."

Said forward raced to the corner flag with the brightest smile on his face as he performed his celebration. "Well, you can keep them quiet, but they will find a way to reach the goal. Brilliant switch of momentum to crest that opportunity." He analyzed as coach Luis Enrique pumped a single fist on the touchline, clear relief on the Asturian’s face.

[45+2’]

The equalizer this late in the first half seemed to breathe a halt into the match. As if they had agreed to an amnesty, both sides went back to fighting for possession, neither daring to go on campaigns. Neither seemed to want to risk conceding again so close before half time, content to build from her.

But as the saying goes, ’If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.’ In extra time, Wirtz suddenly found himself in control of the ball at the side of the Spanish box, inching dangerously close to the danger zone. Fireworks went off in his head as he exchanged a one-two with Musiala and exploded toward the touchline, Azpilicueta, in hot pursuit.

Just before the ball could go out, the Chelsea defender, expecting a cross, slid forward to make the block. But Florian did not attempt a cross; instead, his right foot killed the ball’s momentum as he spun 360 degrees, as the outside of his left boot swept up the ball. With the McGrady spin, he exploded off the byline and around the sliding Azpilicueta, and suddenly there was chaos.

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TO BE CONTINUED...