by Luca Caioli
The favourites by miles. They all say it. Even Spanish Prime Minister Luis Rodríguez Zapatero is convinced that against the French his fellow-countrymen will do it. The morning of the match, he calls Luis Aragonés to tell him: ‘You have my support and my confidence.’ An awful lot of confidence because on the other side is a France that is sad and depressed. They are a group of stars on the wane, so much so that someone has compared them to the Rolling Stones. They qualified as the second team in Group G (two draws and a victory), as a divided squad, overwhelmed with doubts and criticism. A group that found it difficult to get to Germany and continues down the same road. One recognises that they have skill and much experience but opposite the youthful attractions of Torres and his team-mates, these qualities don’t count for much. More or less everyone thinks like this in Spain.
It’s a pity that things don’t turn out differently. Going a goal up via a David Villa penalty won’t help them at all. Franck Ribéry, former Arsenal player Patrick Viera and Zidane – that old player destined for early retirement – will bury the Spanish dream. Once more they leave empty-handed. And there is even someone who reports that the defeat – or the crucial second French goal scored with a header from Viera – is the fault of Torres. ‘I told one of them: “You, what you have to do is learn three words in French and when there is a free-kick, get close to Viera and distract him”,’ relates Luis Aragonés. It’s a shame that at the crucial moment Torres, with the responsibility of keeping an eye on Viera, forgets the advice of his manager. When he gets near the dugout, Luis shouts at him: ‘But didn’t I tell you? What happened?’ ‘Boss, Viera had already learned Spanish.’ An urban myth, one of the many jokes doing the rounds. What is certain is that Fernando hasn’t forgotten the defeat against France. He remembers the Germany World Cup and because of this, damps down the euphoria after the resounding victory in the first match of Euro 2008.
Chapter 21
Sweden 1 Spain 2
14 June 2008
Oddly enough, the day after the hammering of the Russians and in the seclusion of Neustift, a charming Tyrolean village, there are long faces all round. What has happened? Luis Aragonés doesn’t like Torres’ reaction one little bit after he substituted him in the 54th minute. What had El Niño done? Nothing that might be on a par with Egyptian Ahmed Hossam Hussein Abdelhamid, better known as ‘Mido’, the Wigan Athletic striker previously with Tottenham and Middlesbrough. In the semi-final of the 2006 African Nations Cup, Mido lost his cool as he made his way to the bench, insulted the trainer, Hassam Shehata, by calling him a donkey and it almost came to a punch-up. He got himself a six-month suspension. No, the Liverpool striker hadn’t gone that far, he hadn’t made a big scene. It was just that, eight minutes into the second half, the electronic panel announcing the change had appeared and he had walked over to the bench with a seemingly peeved expression on his face. But what’s all this? We’re winning. I’m playing all right. I can really get stuck in too and score on the counter-attack and the gaffer takes me off – always me, it’s always me who has to come off first. The change has really upset him. So much so, that when Luis offers him his hand to greet him off, Torres looks the other way and hurls the tracksuit top the kit-man passes him onto the ground. He sits on the bench looking miffed. It seems like history has rewound back to his first year at Atlético Madrid, when the Wise Man of Hortaleza would substitute him time and again. And at a press conference everyone imagines should be a happy event, Aragonés doesn’t pass up the chance to tell all and sundry:
‘I can understand it when a player gets annoyed, and I’m on Torres’ side, but then a bit of decorum is important. This isn’t the last of this. I agree with footballers getting angry when they’re replaced, and it’s happened to me, but these are special circumstances and the ones that play are just as important as those that don’t. Those that don’t play should be pissed off, sure. Otherwise, why would we have brought them here? But first let them be annoyed with themselves and then with whoever. Manners though, and I say this again, are what is most important.’
And to finish off he aims a very clear message at Torres: ‘This isn’t the last of this; one shouldn’t let things like this go.’
A pretty harsh reproach, which leaves the journalists nonplussed. For example, Enrique Ortego, writing for ABC, thinks that ‘Luis could have just said nothing and had a quiet word alone with the player, as he has already done.’ But Ortego, like a lot of other commentators, understands why he did it: ‘He wanted to show public opinion that he’s not going to take any cheek from any players. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the World Cup in Germany, when some who weren’t in the starting line-up for the first match didn’t contribute towards a good atmosphere.’
And what does El Niño say? He plays the whole thing down: ‘There’s no big deal. I’ve had a chat with the boss and it’s just another change, there’s really no problem. I’ve never had any problems with trainers. I just think it’s a shame that these things are being singled out so much when Spain has just beaten Russia 4-1.’ And in front of the Tele 5 cameras he adds: ‘It’s always the same. The code of conduct in the dressing room that Luis has taught me since I was sixteen is the one that should apply to me in all this. What happens in the dressing room is straightened out in the dressing room. I would never snub the boss. All of us players are with our national trainer right up to the very end.’ The controversy ends there. So much so, that Luis says: ‘And I’m not angry, not bothered at all. What happened with Torres doesn’t matter in the slightest. I had a chat with him in training, but that’s nothing new. I had him as a player at Atlético since he was a kid. He’s almost like my son and I’ve always given him what I believe to be useful little tips.’
After the explanations the gaffer confirms that Fernando is set to start in the Sweden match at Innsbruck: ‘He’s key to my plans,’ he says. That’s a certainty, but the national coach asks Fernando to do a job he doesn’t do at Liverpool. He asks him to do what he used to do at Atlético, which is to drop wide to create spaces and make runs to draw people in, which can make life hard in front of goal. So much so that, with the national team, Fernando has only scored two goals in 33 outings – a paltry haul for the striker who, in the season just ended, caused a furore in the Premier League.
And so the Sweden match has become a do-or-die affair for Fernando. Will he manage to do what has been asked of him? Will he score? Will he, after all, be at ease as part of the Roja? Everyone is waiting on Torres as though he were Godot. But this time Godot arrives on time. It’s Fernando who gets the scoreboard moving. An emphatic reply to the doubts sparked by his replacement and the subsequent statements from the gaffer. It’s fifteen minutes into the first half and Luis’ prepared plan to topple the towering Swedes swings into action. Because Torres’ goal is pure strategy, somebody has dubbed it a ‘laboratory goal’. Corner: Xavi, from the corner to the Swedish goalkeeper’s right, kicks it short for Villa, who comes in to receive the ball along the touchline and draws in a central defender. David nudges it back, where another David comes in – Silva, the Canary Islands man. From the corner of the penalty area the Valencia midfield linkman with the strikers knocks in a waist-high cross-shot with a lot of swerve. Three Spaniards (Capdevilla, Ramos and Torres) are waiting to pounce on goal. The quickest is El Niño, who gets in ahead of his marker Hansson, sticks out his leg, and with the tip of his boot – or rather the studs – taps the ball into Isaksson’s goal. Fernando is back among the goals. He hadn’t scored with the Roja since 12 September, against Latvia. He’s satisfied because the set pieces and tactical plays practiced in training sessions have worked. He won’t score another goal until the final, against Germany, but his contribution against the yellow-shirts is vital.
El Niño is finally a star, his elusive runs cause pandemonium among central defenders, his ability to shake people off opens up space, he battles for every ball and he puts in the teamwork by dropping back to defend. And he also acts as a peacemaker be
tween the referee and his team-mates when they claim a penalty against Silva that wasn’t blown. And one shouldn’t forget his contribution when Villa made it 2-1 in a last-gasp attempt when a draw seemed certain (the Swedes had drawn level through Zlatan Ibrahimovic, thanks to a mistake from Sergio Ramos). The miracle happened courtesy of Villa Maravilla (Villa the Wonder-worker), yet Fernando assisted with a monster pass (over 50 metres) from Capdevilla by jumping up, bamboozling an opponent, and allowing the ball to reach the Spanish Number 7, ‘El Guaje’ Villa, who sees the Roja through to the quarter-finals. On 15 June the talk is all about ‘the finest pairing in Europe’ – Torres and Villa, with 51 goals this season they are the most lethal duo. Everyone concurs, admitting that they admire and envy the Number 7 and Number 9, who have put together five goals and two assists in two games. No one in the European Football Championship has done a better job. There is a shower of praise. The first to step up is Aragonés himself: ‘They have a perfect rapport because they have unique qualities and an amazing turn of speed. They are a major bonus for the team. They can get goals out of nothing.’ Pepe, a central defender with Portugal and Real Madrid, says: ‘With this brace of strikers Spain can really go places in the European Championship.’ And Ruud Van Nistelrooy, the Netherlands and Real Madrid striker, observes that: ‘Villa and Torres are at a spectacular level, can score a hell of a lot of goals and Fernando is playing as well as he does in the Premier League.’
The protagonists fit together well and cannot stop complimenting each other. El Niño says good things about Villa: ‘I think he is the best goal-scorer in Europe. And he is bound to top-score in this tournament.’ And Villa waxes lyrical about Torres. Rumours that they were at loggerheads have been quashed. Pepe Reina, the Liverpool and Spain goalkeeper, being a mutual friend, has helped bring them together. To celebrate getting through to the quarter-finals the three get together with their families for a fabada (an Asturian bean stew) in a Neustift restaurant.
The third game against Greece is a formality and Aragonés can rest 9 members of his usual starting line-up. Torres and Villa don’t play. Greece starts by getting ahead but Rubén de la Red and Dani Güiza put that right. In the quarter-finals on 22 June, in Vienna’s Ernst Happel stadium, the world champions, the azzurri, await.
Monday, pizza. We’ll polish it off like we did Italy on Sunday. That is the view of many Iberian people and their media as they tip a wink at the gallery. They all say they are certain that Cannavaro and company won’t be any trouble at all. They are really confident about Villa Maravilla and ‘the Kid’ Torres, the big players, and about the old guy on the bench. They are certain that this time, thanks to Spain’s better crop of young players coming through, they will lift the curse of the quarter-finals – the customary burial ground of the Roja’s dreams of ultimate triumph. They swear that this time they will break their jinx with Italy: 88 years of defeat in official competitions. With one stroke they will avenge the slight of being knocked out in the quarter-finals of USA 94 – Luis Enrique ending up with a bloody nose after being elbowed by Mauro Tassotti.
But it doesn’t end there. For the eleven wearing the red shirt, Italy is the icing on the cake. Having sent the European champions (Greece) home, it’s all-out for the world champs. But these musings hide the fact that the Spaniards are scared that, once again, their great adventure might come a cropper. It will prove otherwise. After 120 minutes nobody has scored. Torres makes no odds in the 84 minutes he plays before being substituted by Güiza, and neither does Villa. Fate will be decided from the penalty spot. Saint Casillas keeps two out and Cesc Fabregas – the 21-year-old who had never taken one in his entire sporting career – makes no mistake. He nets for the final 4-3 score-line. ‘That’s where we won the European Championship,’ Torres recalls months afterwards. ‘I think we celebrated more that day than in the final.’ A final that would come around after a resounding 3-0 win against Guus Hiddink’s Russia. Torres tries everything and more to find the goal, but to no avail. He is replaced by Güiza, who keeps his rendezvous with the net.
On Sunday, 29 June, Spain will play their third final after 24 years out in the cold. David Villa won’t be in the game. In the 30th minute of the semi-final, while lining up a free-kick he feels a stabbing pain from behind and five minutes later he drops to the ground, head between his legs, in floods of tears. His European Championship is over. Fernando Torres will play as a lone striker against Germany.
Chapter 22
Germany 0 Spain 1
29 June 2008
When the players walk onto the stage of the Ernst Happel stadium in Vienna and Iker Casillas, captain of the Roja, receives from Michel Platini the European Championship cup, King Juan Carlos asks Fernando Torres what they give him to eat in England to make him so strong.
Earlier, three hours earlier, another old man, Luis Aragonés, gives Torres a kiss. On the eve of the final, Aragonés had said: ‘I must tell El Niño something. Tomorrow, after the meeting [with the players], I will have a private talk with him and I will explain it to him then.’ he says. The manager knows that the boy from Fuenlabrada isn’t happy with his performances, so before the match he makes a prediction: ‘Today you are going to score two goals,’ he says, then he touches his forehead as if to banish bad omens and then gives him a kiss like you might kiss a favourite son who makes you furious but whom you forgive everything.
It’s the same gesture that he made many years earlier when Torres was a youngster at Atlético Madrid. Then, he scored. And ever since then, the Number 9 has stuck to the same ritual. He gets on the team bus listening to very loud music through the earphones of his iPod, and he gets off the bus in the same way. And he recalls a meeting with another old man, in May at Las Rozas, La Ciudad del Fútbol, where the Spanish national side was preparing for Euro 2008: ‘Are you the one who scored that goal?’ Torres asks. Marcelino Martínez, the Zaragoza forward who clinched the European Championship victory for Spain at home in 1964 against the USSR – the first and last major win for Spain in 100 – looks at him and responds: ‘Yes, I am. Let’s hope you can do the same and achieve something really great in Austria.’ Fernando thinks about this for days – he wants to be the new Marcelino.
In the dressing room, he knows that the Championship is slipping from his grasp. There are only 90 minutes left and he still hasn’t managed to make his mark in the tournament. He’s certainly played well, but he’s only scored one goal, whereas Villa – who will win the Golden Boot – has scored four and Güiza, a substitute, has notched up two. Yet again, despite an outstanding season at Liverpool, Torres has not become the national hero he longs to be. But there’s still the final to come – the most important game. He leaves the dressing room and, as always, stands behind Sergio Ramos with a face that indicates he wants to be left alone. Don’t touch me. But the Wise Man of Hortaleza is ready for a joke, as Torres recounts a year later:
‘For several days before the final match with Germany, the gaffer didn’t stop talking about Wallace. At the beginning we were all looking at each other not knowing who was he talking about. Until we realised he was talking about Michael Ballack. Then he told us that he knew his name but that he called him Wallace because that’s what he felt like calling him. But if you know Luis, you can imagine the actual expression he used. It didn’t stop there, though. When we were in the tunnel leading to the pitch, Aragonés went on in front of us, winked in our direction, and went to Ballack. He said to him, in Spanish, “Good afternoon, Mr Wallace”, and went on speaking to him for a while. The German didn’t understand a word and Aragonés didn’t understand what Ballack was saying to him, either. We couldn’t help it, but we were laughing our heads off as we went out to play the final.’
A nice way to start the most important game of your life …
And then, in the first fifteen minutes of the game, Spain stutter. They’re uptight and can’t reproduce the form they’ve shown up to this point. On the pitch, in the stadium and across the country – for once crazy
about its team – they fear the worst, that the giants in white shirts will slot home a couple of goals without even trying and finish the game before it’s started. But Spain get their act together with the help of Torres. In the 23rd minute Sergio Ramos crosses the ball from the right and Torres leaps up for a header, hitting the ball full-on. He doesn’t know how he manages to do it, given that Mertesacker is two heads taller than him, but El Niño manages all the same and the ball hits the post. It could have been the first goal – it will be just the beginning of Spain’s recovery. The clock in the Happel stadium shows the time as eighteen minutes past nine and on the pitch, 33 minutes have been played. Marcos Senna, the man from Sao Paolo, steals the ball in midfield. He looks around and sees Xavi through a crowd of German players. He’s far from Mertesacker and next to Frings. The Barça player sends a pass into space, where, from behind, Fernando is arriving at speed. Good control and past Philipp Lahm. The Number 16 looked to have had it under control. ‘Xavi’s pass was spectacular but Lahm was already in a good position,’ Torres will explain later: ‘If he had gone a bit to the right the ball would have been for the keeper, but I think that maybe he doesn’t have a good understanding with Lehmann. He gets too confident, he relaxes … This gives me a fraction of a second in which I am able to move to the other side and seize the opportunity to shoot. Maybe if the pitch had been dry I could have tried bending it but the ball skates across and enters just inside the post. I knew it was going to go in.’ It’s the goal he’s been dreaming about. Fernando Torres puts his thumb in his mouth like a dummy. It’s dedicated to his nephew, Hugo, the son of Israel, born little more than a month ago, then he dives across the Viennese grass. He shouts his head off and is lost in a sea of hugs from his team-mates. He doesn’t forget Villa, who’s not playing in the final. He reciprocates the dedication that El Guaje had made to him in the first match of the tournament. ‘This victory is for David, who has been suffering on the bench like one of the fans,’ he says.