Football singularity

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[02-07-2021 | Gazprom Arena, Saint Petersburg, Russia | 22:17 MSK]

[Germany 1-1 Spain]

Laporte was dragged across to cover, and the moment he committed, the entire spine of the Spanish defense bent out of shape. Wirtz charged into the box with the ball glued to his left boot, and instead of the cross everyone in the dome expected, he chopped it low across the face of the goal, narrowly missing the defender’s boot.

The ball sliced through the box into the path of Havertz, who had gotten ahead of Torres. The ball rocketed goalward towards the bottom corner as his boot met it first time, weathering the contact. Simón reacted instinctively, diving to his right, palms fully outstretched at the incoming ball.

He barely got a finger behind the ball, but there was too much power behind the strike. The ball ripped past Simón’s fingertips and thudded into the bottom corner, sending the netting billowing behind him.

"HAVERTZ!" Schmidt roared, his voice cracking clean in half. "GOOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLL!! He has done it, Germany restores their lead! And it is all made by Wirtz, with a piece of magic!"

The German section behind the Spanish goal detonated, scarves flying, the traveling contingent roaring themselves hoarse. Havertz raced away toward the corner flag with both arms outstretched, Wirtz sprinting after him and leaping onto his back, the two crashing into a tangle of limbs as Musiala and Gnabry piled on top.

[Germany 2-1 Spain — Havertz 45+3’]

On the touchline, Luis Enrique stood frozen with both hands on his head, the relief of Sarabia’s equalizer curdling into disbelief. In the box next to him, Löw animatedly pumped his fist before immediately turning to bark at his backline to stay switched on for the final seconds.

"Cruel, cruel timing for Spain!" Schmidt continued as the replay rolled. "They fight their way level, they have the momentum, and then Wirtz produces something out of nothing right before the break! Watch the spin off the byline, an oldy but goody McGrady turn to escape Azpilicueta, and the composure to pick out Havertz rather than force the cross! That is a goal that will feel like a hammer blow going into the interval!"

[45+4’]

Spain barely had time to restart as Busquets circulated it all the way back to Laporte. The City man had only just begun to look up when the referee’s whistle cut sharply through the dome.

(FWEEET! FWEEET!)

"And that is half-time in Saint Petersburg!" Schmidt announced. "Germany two, Spain one! A breathless forty-five minutes, three goals, and momentum that has swung like a pendulum! Musiala, Sarabia, and then Havertz right at the death! Luis Enrique has a job on his hands in that dressing room, because Germany, for all of Spain’s possession, led this quarter-final at the break!"

~~~

[02-07-2021 | Gazprom Arena, Saint Petersburg, Russia | 22:35 MSK]

[Germany 1-1 Spain]

[46’]

The two sides re-emerged from the tunnel with the game hanging in a delicate balance, and it took Luis Enrique’s men all of three minutes to make their intentions clear. Whatever the Asturian had said in that dressing room had lit a fire, because Spain came out pressing higher, sharper, hunting the ball the instant a German boot touched it. Busquets pushed further forward, Koke and Pedri squeezed the flanks.

The pressure was felt almost immediately in the forty-ninth minute, when Kroos was harried into a rare misplaced pass by Pedri’s relentless close down. Koke pounced on the loose ball twenty-five yards out, sending the German block scrambling back.

He slid it wide to Ferran Torres, who had drifted infield off the right, and the young forward took one touch before curling a vicious effort toward the top corner. Neuer, at full stretch, tipped it over the bar with the very tips of his fingers, the German captain landing hard and immediately roaring at his back three to tighten up.

"Neuer again!" Schmidt exclaimed. "Spain has come out with real motivation, and the German captain has to be alert! That is the response Luis Enrique demanded!"

The corner came to nothing, headed clear by Hummels, but the message had been sent. Spain was not going to let the interval deflate them, and for the next quarter of an hour, they laid siege to the German half. The ball pinged around the edge of the box in dizzying triangles, Alba overlapping down the left, Azpilicueta pushing up on the right, the German wing-backs pinned so deep that Wirtz and Kimmich were practically auxiliary full-backs.

Yet for all the territory and all the possessions, Spain kept running into the same trouble. The German back three of Tah, Hummels, and Rüdiger threw themselves in front of everything, producing blocks, interceptions, and last-ditch challenges, while Neuer swept up anything that dropped in behind. Morata, starved of clean service, grew visibly frustrated, dropping deeper and deeper to get involved, which was precisely what the Germans wanted.

In the fifty-third minute, Spain had worked the ball up the right flank, finding the feet of Azpilicueta. The full-back swept the ball into the chaos of the box that became crowded as bodies rushed in. The delivery skimmed off the top of Tah’s head, spinning up into the grey air of the closed dome, and for a heartbeat.

Morata read it first, peeling off Hummels’s shoulder with a striker’s instinct, but Rüdiger was there to meet him. The two rose together at the penalty spot, shoulder against shoulder, elbows fighting for territory, and it was the German who won the duel, glancing the ball clear with a snap of his neck that sent it looping toward the edge of the box.

It dropped into the feet of Koke, who was waiting completely unguarded by a white shirt. The Atlético captain met it on the drop, chesting it down and striking it in one fluid motion before the ball had even settled. A venomous half-volley shot goalward that dipped and swerved through a forest of players.

The bodies in the box meant Neuer picked it up late, far too late, to make a meaningful effort. Still, the German keeper tried to throw out a desperate leg as the ball bounced ahead of his line. It was for naught, as he could not reach it in time and the back of his net rattled in protest.

"GOOOOOOOOOAAAAAL!" Schmidt roared, his voice tearing itself apart. "Spain are level again! The Atlético captain arrives at the edge of the box, and he lashes it home through a crowd! Neuer never saw it coming until it was too late!"

"That is what relentless pressure earns you," Schmidt continued as the replay rolled. "Germany is far too comfortable back there, not one meaningful attack this half, and they have been punished."

[Germany 2-2 Spain — Koke 53’]

[58’]

The goal did exactly what Löw had feared it would. Spain, buoyant after their equalizer, smelled blood and pressed forward with momentum, looking for another. In the fifty-seventh minute, Pedri collected the ball in the center half and slipped a pass between Tah and Hummels. Morata chased it down, latching onto it inside the box, and for one horrifying moment the whole German section held its breath.

But Neuer was upon him, sliding on his knees less than a meter ahead of the Juventus striker. With no choice but to pull the trigger, Morata swung through the ball, sending it cannoning forward. The German keeper reacted on instinct, stretching out his left arm to parry it away.

The rebound spilled loose to Sarabia at the edge of the box, but Kimmich had scrambled back to throw his body in the way, the ball thudding off his shin and squirting out for a corner. The German bench rose as one, Löw screaming at his men to clear their heads, watching the chaos unfold with narrowed eyes.

The corner was whipped in by Koke, curling toward the near post, but Hummels rose highest, powering it clear beyond the arc. The clearance fell to Gündoğan, who tried to spring a counter, but Busquets came sliding in to make the stop.

Moments later, Luis Enrique had seen enough of Morata’s isolation and turned to his bench. In the sixty-first minute, the fourth official’s board lit up, and the veteran Morata trudged off to be replaced by the pace of Gerard Moreno, while Dani Olmo came on for Sarabia, injecting fresh legs into the attack.

𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Luis Enrique is going for the jugular," Schmidt noted. "Two attacking changes, and it’s clear Spain believes there is a winner in this for them."

The changes nearly paid off after a couple of minutes. In the sixty-third minute, Olmo drifted in off the left and combined with Alba in a lightning exchange of one-touch passes that carved clean through Kimmich’s channel. The Leipzig man reached the byline and pulled it back to the penalty spot, where Gerard Moreno had ghosted in behind Rüdiger. The Villarreal striker met it first time...

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TO BE CONTINUED...