Mystery of Spain

The 2024 European Championships dissected...

Mystery of Spain: In a secret garden, a girl gets screwed up the ass. Later, on a lonely road, a couple have problems with their car. The girl invites them back to her castle and offers them champagne, strawberries and plenty of double penetration...

Like every major international tournament, I began my consumption of it with a cynical, nay jaundiced, view over proceedings that was soon replaced by support for the underdogs, contempt for the prima donna popinjays and a level of furious engagement with the latter stages that borders on the obsessional. During the 2024 Euros, I discovered a level of affection for Austria, Georgia and Turkey that I’d not been conscious of in the past. Such support for the little guys was subsequently overtaken by a profound admiration for a Spanish side that effortlessly negotiated a smooth passage to a wholly justified triumph over a late blooming England side that almost threw off the shackles of dismally cautious non-football that had besmirched their first 4 games in Germany.

Meanwhile Scotland, who finished dead last in terms of goal difference and points gained, were a stain on the whole tournament. Not just because of the fact Clarke’s side were abject on the pitch, or because of his ungracious, racist rant about the Argentinian referee in their final game against Hungary, but because of the sickening, chauvinistic posturing of a section of their support. These anti-democratic thugs, unable to accept the fact that the electorate had decisively rejected the ultra-nationalist hate speech of the Scotch Nazi Party, fell back on Francoist, anti-English rhetoric and thus shamed their whole region. Wannabe Fuhrer John Swinney has much to answer for. A chicken in every pot and a stolen motor home on every driveway, my arse!

Over the course of 31 days, we saw 51 games, in which there were 117 goals. The tournament, which began on Friday 14 June, seemed to go on forever. I missed the first game (Germany 5 Scotland 1) as that was the night of my infamous Blyth gig (https://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.com/2024/06/blyth-dispirited.html) and the first two on the Saturday (Hungary 1 Switzerland 3 and Croatia 0 Spain 3) as I was playing cricket, though I made it back for Albania 1 Italy 2, with its explosive opening that saw the Tirana tyros take the lead in 27 seconds. The rest of the first half was compelling viewing, with Italy producing their only decent football of the whole tournament to fight back. A soporific second period saw them revert to type and indicated that the current holders of the trophy would not be contenders for this year’s competition.

Sunday 16 June saw me continuing with a laissez faire attitude to events in Germany. We were out shopping for a new bed for the spare room, so I didn’t get to see much of Netherlands 2 Poland 1 or Denmark 1 Slovenia 1, other than the goals. It was nice to see Christian Eriksen playing such a prominent role, 3 years after his terrible collapse during the last Euros. Talking about a terrible collapse, England 1 Serbia 0 began in exciting fashion, with Saka and Bellingham enjoying a blistering opening half an hour, before regressing to a hopeless waste of time after the break. England’s timid second half withdrawal was seen most clearly in the non-performances of Foden, Rice and Alexander-Arnold who were dire all evening. Connor Gallagher proved himself to be a zero-trick pony, whose default tactic is to chase after the ball like a frantic Jack Russell pursuing a paper bag on a breezy day down the park. He might show a bit of urgent energy, but at the end of the day, such a performance in international football is about as effective as playing Jarrod Bowen at right back, which Southgate did.

On the Monday, and this will become a regular theme, I missed Romania 3 Ukraine 0 and Belgium 0 Slovakia 1 because I was at work and then playing 6-a-side. Despite two years in the Slovak capital of Bratislava, at the turn of the millennium, I’ve no real affection or connection with the current side, as none of them were playing (or in several instances, born) when I used to cheer on Petrzalka at Stary Most. In fact, other than Dubravka, I’m not sure I’ve heard of any of their squad. The last game of the day, Austria 0 France 1, was dull to the point of sterility, which is just how Deschamps likes it. France, even more than England, insist on playing with the handbrake on, in all possible circumstances. Frankly, the only enjoyable part of the whole game was seeing Mbappe’s nose expanding across his entire face, to give him a bugle as big as his ego. Those of us who remember Carlos Bilardo could laugh and smile.

Tuesday 18 June saw the first brilliant game of the tournament; Georgia 1 Turkey 3. Of course I missed it, partly while I was still at work and then while I was cycling home. I got back in time for Czech Republic 1 Portugal 2, unfortunately, as two of the biggest twats ever to play football since Samir Nasri retired (Bruno Fernandes and Ronaldo, as if you needed to ask), somehow came out on top courtesy of Primary School defending in a game that stunk the place out for the opening 75 minutes and more. At full time, every team had played at least once and, of the 34 goals scored, I’d managed to see 8 of them live.

I missed another 4 in the opening game on Wednesday 19 June; Albania 2 Croatia 2 was a cracker by all accounts, typically enough. I quite enjoyed Germany 2 Hungary 0 as the hosts oscillated between efficiency and entertainment, showing they’ve possibly got their mojo back after a decade in the wilderness. The day ended with Scotland 1 Switzerland 1. The Jocks are rapidly becoming a kind of international version of the Mackems, revelling in the discomfort of their local rivals rather than pretending to support their own team. In many ways, aided by Schar’s bizarre own goal, they didn’t play too badly, but I would still have been punching the air in delight if they’d got bounced out at this early stage.

Work can be good for some things, avoiding Serbia 1 Slovenia 1 for instance. Mind that was a classic compared to Denmark 1 England 1. After taking the lead, England gave up and by half time Shearer and the panel were tearing strips off Southgate’s side. Kane appeared to be suffering from narcolepsy and Southgate had Bellingham playing like Des Hamilton. Must have been one hell of a half time talk, as they were worse after the break. An utterly abject performance, mirrored by Italy’s incompetence as Spain toyed with them in a 1-0 victory in the late game. I didn’t see this, as Ben and I were at the Peony TQ gig at The Globe. Quality band. Check them out.

On Friday, Shelley and I were privileged to attend Lewis’s leavers’ assembly and barbecue. As it was such an honour to be there, on a glorious sunny afternoon I had no compunction about missing Slovakia 1 Ukraine 2 and Austria 3 Poland 1, though catching up on the highlights later, Austria looked tremendous. I got back in time for the charade that was France 0 Netherlands 0. After VAR had worked so perfectly in the tournament thus far, it took the intervention of the Premier League to make things go tits up. Taylor and Attwell’s imbecilic decision to chalk off a perfectly legitimate Dutch goal showed that England was the only country to have worse officials than their team at the Euros.

Saturday gave us Belgium 2 Romania 0, Czech Republic 1 Georgia 1, and Portugal 3 Turkey 0. I didn’t see a ball kicked as I was cricketing up in Wark (1* courtesy of an elegant drive past extra cover) and then imbibing with Chloe as she was home from university for the weekend. Thus, with all teams having played twice, I’d managed to see 12 of the 61 goals scored.

So, into the final series of group games. I don’t think the Euros should include 24 teams. My preference would be for 16, as allowing teams who finish third a 66% chance of getting to the knockout stages seems to both devalue the quality and needlessly extended the length of the tournament. Of course, sporting considerations fall far below economic ones for UEFA, who regard selling TV rights and advertising spots of prime importance, even when the whole event takes place during German monsoon season on pitches you’d struggle to find in the Northern Alliance.

Talking of alliances, Scotland had played their first game in Berlin, spiritual home of the Scotch Nazi Party, then cosied up to the masters of Tartan gold storage, Switzerland, before playing against the country that is ruled by John Swinney’s ideological bedfellow Viktor Orban, Hungary. Bereft of ideas and without a shot offered in anger, Scotland limped out of the tournament unmourned by all of us who love football. Their atrocious fans would not be a miss either, though worst of all was Steve Clarke’s bitter, xenophobic rant about the Argentine referee that bordered on the racist. How ironic, when his countrymen have spent 38 years revelling in Maradona’s handball that they should have complaints about one of his own, even though the referee was spot on in his decisions. Meanwhile, Germany and Switzerland drew 1-1, seeing both teams go through.

On Monday 24 June, I opted out of Albania 0 Spain 1, as the Spaniards had already qualified, to watch Croatia 1 Italy 1. Until that late thunderbolt of an equaliser, Italy had looked as bereft and clueless as Scotland or England. Even then, such is the nature of the draw that Switzerland looked better equipped to advance to the quarter finals. I’ve no real affection for Croatia either, other than as a holiday destination, mainly because Modric could give Ronaldo a run for his money in the narcissism stakes. It was nice to see such a messianic pillock end his career in such dire circumstances.

Tuesday 25 June offered a double header of knockout football. Sadly, being at work until 18.30 and then needing to cycle the 5 miles home, I missed Austria 3 Netherlands 2 and France 1 Albania 1, whereby only the latter country didn’t make it to the knockout stage. Instead, I pedalled furiously to get back in plenty of time for Denmark 0 Serbia 0 and England 0 Slovenia 0. Do I really need to tell you this was an absolute load of steaming horseshit? Or that is was even worse than the earlier games as Southgate’s idiotic tactics and imbecilic team selections conspired to make this the absolute nadir of the whole tournament. Anthony Gordon arrived on the pitch with 88:45 on the clock and did more in 3 minutes than Foden did in 3 games. I bet the other game was a classic as well.

Wednesday saw me plump for Slovakia 1 Romania 1 in preference to Belgium 0 Ukraine 0. It wasn’t a great game, but the second half thunderstorm was a brilliant spectacle. I’m glad Ukraine went out for ideological reasons, of course. The final group games were an awful lot of fun; Georgia 2 Portugal 0 gave the best moments of the tournament so far, with Ronaldo pouting his way around the pitch, showing off a slapped arse face. The Czech Republic 1 Turkey 2 game also looked a tasty spectacle, with 16 booked and 2 sent off, as the ref had some kind of hissy fit, and the game ended in the kind of square go you’d normally associate with a taxi rank on Christmas Eve. Shame there were only 81 goals in 36 games mind.

After a relentless schedule in the group stages, we were blessed with two rest days before the last 16 games began on Saturday 29 June. First up Switzerland cuffed Italy aside 2-0, before Germany breezed past Denmark with the same score. I sort of caught bits of both games as we were watching Tynemouth 1s dismantle Newcastle 1s by over 100 runs, not to mention an earlier trip to the gym and collecting a gifted Telecaster (thanks Richard!). It made for a busy day, despite the fact Tynemouth 3s were without a game. No surprise Italy went out, but the Germany v Denmark encounter featured another Stuart Attwell disaster, incorrectly denying Denmark at one end and harshly penalising them at the other within the space of 30 seconds. There was also a superb thunderstorm that took the players off the pitch as the lightning flashed insanely overhead.

On Sunday 30 June, the eventual finalists came through their first sudden death games; one with slightly more style than the other, it has to be said. After 93 minutes, Slovakia led England 1-0, in a game that made the loss to Iceland in 2016 seem a good workout in comparison. Then Bellingham, with an attitude grounded in the arrogant entitlement only sons of coppers and players for Franco’s XI could have, scored an amazing equaliser to take it to extra time. In our excitement, Shelley and I looked away for a few minutes and somehow missed Kane’s goal. From then on, there was only one winner as Slovakia had no response to give, but it truly is baffling quite why England, with the array of attacking talent they have, are so infuriatingly timid when it comes to tournament football. Being honest, Slovakia were as dull and limited as Slovenia before them, but a silly collision gifted them a goal. The fact England scraped through to the last 8 will be seen by Southgate as justifying his miserable methods. Contrast this with the unbidden joy of Georgia 1 Spain 4. After going a goal down, Spain shrugged misfortune away and battered Georgia, who never gave up, whatever the score. The result was a great game that put a smile rather than a grimace on your face.

Into July and Monday gave us a pair of brutal non-events; Belgium 0 France 1 and Portugal 0 Slovenia 0. Played football and missed the first and then kept my fingers crossed for Slovenia. When Ronaldo missed from the spot, I mused that with him and Modric retiring, thank goodness there is Bellingham to step up to the plate in the role of messianic self-appointed football genius. Remind me; what club do they all have in common? Anyway, the pampered prick lived to fight another day, courtesy of his keeper’s shoot-out heroics, showing Slovenia know how to defend, but don’t know how to attack.

A late finish at work, meant the usual Tuesday classic early game, as the Netherlands hit their stride, banjoing Romania 3-0. I’ve had a soft spot for the Dutch since the 1974 World Cup, so I was pleased. Even more pleased I got back for the game of the tournament; Austria 1 Turkey 2. The other 2 best attacking sides of the tournament, bar Spain and Georgia, went at it hammer and tongs from the first whistle. Mad goals. Crazy scrambles. Heroic defending on a saturated pitch. This was proper football and it brough up exactly 100 goals in the competition as we marked the end of the Tories with 2 days off before the quarter finals.

I love General Election nights and I was up all night watching the Tories getting their arses handed to them. Awakening at 8.45 on the sofa, I found I’d somehow agreed to turn out for Tynemouth 2s in a T20 cup game away to Sunderland 2s that evening. As I felt like death, this did not initially appeal. However, I pulled myself round and, although we got beat by 6 wickets, I enjoyed it. On reflection though, I am not sure I should have missed a game as pivotal as Spain knocking out the hosts, especially as NUFC legend Mikel Merino got the winner. I got back home for the extra time and penalties of the rancid rubbish that was France 0 Portugal 0. I truly despised the approach of both teams and only my contempt for Ronaldo made me stick with it until the end.

The rain came down on Saturday morning, meaning Tynemouth 3s trip to Stamfordham was called off. A serious gym session and a sobering afternoon at Percy Main 0 Marske United 6 set me up for England 1 Switzerland 1. This was a slight upgrade in performance, but not a massive one. Despite the superb set of penalties, I didn’t really buy into the sudden uptick in social media applause for Southgate’s timid tactics, though I think they deserved to win. As the whole week had been upside down, we headed off to Tesco to do the week’s shop after this game and missed Netherlands 2 Turkey 1. Frankly, I’m not really sure I’d want to be in a supermarket at 9.30 on a Saturday night ever again.

Another couple of days relaxation before the real business end of the tournament. Spain again proved that they are the best team in Germany and, probably, between than their 2012 iteration that blitzed Italy 4-0 in the final, when beating France 2-1. Despite going a goal down, they showed style and ruthless self-belief in battering the French down. They scored two of the best goals of the tournament and could have had several more from an outstanding performance.

Incredibly, England’s 2-1 win over the Netherlands on the Wednesday was almost as good, certainly in the first half. Coming back from a goal down, that Pickford ought to have saved, via a fortuitous penalty, England were excellent until the break. The second period saw the Dutch tighten things up but, incredibly, a Southgate substitute won the game. Ollie Watkins’s turn and shot was a moment of unbelievable, individual genius that settled a tight game between two good sides. It should be remembered for what it meant. A seemingly sterile England managed to belatedly throw off their manager-imposed shackles and played some good football. As a result, they reached a final on foreign soil for the first time ever. Well played them.

In the end, as we all suspected, it wasn’t enough. With 117 goals in 51 games, it was a good tournament, but not a great one. And the best team assuredly won. Unlike 3 years ago, there wasn’t the discernible air of expectation or the rampant jingoism in the air. Perhaps the lousy weather also intervened. This was Spain and we all knew who was favourite. There was no disgrace in losing to such a good side and being honest, not much to complain about from the final. ITV won the televised contest 10-0 over the BBC in terms of panellists and pundits, but it was closer on the pitch than that. The fact Pickford had the best game I’ve ever seen him have tells you a lot about this final. Alright, so Southgate could have gone for it at 1-1 and died bravely, but that was never going to be his way. Saka and Cole Palmer were indispensable and will remain so. The final was one game too many for Mainoo, but he’ll come again. Declan Rice isn’t good enough. England need Gordon to start and Trippier, Kane and Walker to retire. Now Southgate has resigned, I presume it’ll be Potter who takes over, but I bet Howe would love it as the NUFC shit show is about to really hit the fan when the PIF pull the plug on financial investment.