England hung out to dry… Now bring on the Germans

It’s easy to say it now, but games like this are the reason we love football – or the reason I love football, at least.  But I have to admit, I wasn’t thinking that when it became clear on Tuesday night that we’d be playing England.  As a Scottish-Italian, this is the match I view as our derby, the team that I would least like to lose to.

I knew what the build up would be like; the usual stereotypes about Italian football being trotted out, the talk of cheating and match-fixing.  And if they won . . . It doesn’t bear thinking about.  It led me to comment that I wish I didn’t care so much about football, because then a loss to them couldn’t hurt.

But that assumed I had a choice in the matter.   And then you see those players lined up before kick off, the butterflies in the stomach jumping as L’Inno di Mameli blasts out.  A choice?  No, there is no choice.

And so it was to 120 minutes of suffering, though not in the way in which we Italian fans have become accustomed.  Bar a fifteen minute spell early on, England were toothless, their lauded Rooneys and Gerrards anonymous.  Instead, we dominated a team in a manner that I can’t remember from an Italy side.

Actually that’s not strictly true – we did the same against Estonia in the qualifiers – but, with all due respect, that was Estonia.  This was England, who FIFA rankings tell us are sixth in the world (surely another demonstration of the worthlessness of such rankings?), whose papers were telling us that they could win the tournament.

For after a surprising and welcome bout of humility in the English media at the start of the tournament, they were suddenly looking past us to a semi-final with Germany.  The reason for this sudden optimism wasn’t exactly clear; yes, they had won their group, but that was hardly anything special.

They hung on to draw against a French side that were soon shown to be poor in their matches against Sweden and Spain, and grabbed somewhat fortuitous wins over Sweden and Ukraine.  And now they were world beaters?  They hadn’t looked it to me, but it’s easy to see how propaganda works – the more the papers and the media reported it, the more doubts I had.

But those doubts were unfounded; England are not the sixth best team in the world.  In truth, I think they would struggle to break into the top ten – and some would say I’m even being generous there.

No, this was a night where we were able to show our players to be technically far superior, almost to a man.  But we couldn’t score.  And when it’s 0-0, then there is always a chance of a freak goal from a break away or a set piece.  It was the tactic Chelsea employed in the Champions League, and as the match crept closer to penalties, I feared it was a tactic that was going to work here as well.

When it got to penalties, I was resigned.  England had achieved what they wanted; they would be buoyed, we would be frustrated.  As I sat watching with my family, I began to say we would lose, partly so the pain of defeat would hurt a little less when it happened.  My dad couldn’t take it and left the house, saying to come get him when it was over.

First up:  Balotelli.  He had missed a few chances, which didn’t bode well.  But despite his critics, I think he’s a fantastic player, and there was a small part of me that said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – miss.  Fortunately that was right.

Montolivo was next.  I predicted a miss, and sadly he delivered.  Game over?  Heads dropped.  We began pacing the room.

After Rooney scored, I could barely watch as Pirlo walked up to the spot.  And then he took that penalty.  Ma che palle!  To do that, in a quarter final, when your team is losing?  That was a good sign.

When Young rattled the crossbar, everyone in the room celebrated.  I called for calm, believing somehow we could jinx it, which is a nonsense of course, but every football fan’s belief.  But that was only us level.  We’d need something else to win it.

Up stepped Gigi Buffon.  None of the bizarre buffoonery of Hart, jumping up and down and waggling his tongue.  Just a save.  Thanks, Gigi.

I have to admit when Diamanti scored, it took me a moment to realise we’d won.  It was only when my cousin started jumping up and down that I realised, and then we were all jumping.  My dad was called back from the street, running, celebrating.

From fearing the worst, we had achieved the best.  Because for Italians in this country, last night was like a final to us.  It may have taken us penalties, but we won, and the manner of our play meant there could be no argument over who was the better team.

Of course, now we have the small matter of a semi-final against Germany on Thursday.  The Germans are clear favourites.  I can feel the nerves kicking in again.  Remind me again why I follow this game?  What’s that?  There’s a choice?

No there’s not.  There is no choice when it comes to the Azzurri.  Not for us.

For more Italy national team features throughout Euro 2012, check out our dedicated Azzurri section here.

We are always looking for new writers, so if you think you know Calcio, email us: forzaitalianfootball@snack-media.com