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Comment: Rob Houwing, Sport24 chief writer
Johannesburg – The Netherlands tried to crudely drag their Soccer World Cup final opponents at Soccer City here into the abattoir. Only Spain’s artists stubbornly would not comply on Sunday.
The 2010 final produced an outcome to delight unpartisan purists, all those who do value soccer as the beautiful game. Who knows, maybe even the odd grieving Dutch one?
It was 116 minutes in the making, but when Andres Iniesta – he of the constant creative string-pulling -- so fittingly broke the deadlock with the 50-50 scenario of penalties looming incredibly large, the Dutch finger was suddenly, violently and quite rightly removed from the dyke.
Holland had taken a premeditated decision, and surprisingly forcefully so, to stop the Spanish flair game at all costs, rather than go at them with their own, hardly shabby attacking tools.
Marginally the underdogs in the eyes of canny judges before the showpiece anyway, the Dutch simultaneously sent out a signal that would have perked up their foes: we don’t really believe we can topple you under orthodox circumstances.
Spain, in their first ever final, would not deviate from their contrasting, pro-football values.
And it paid off -- even if they made hair-raisingly heavy weather of landing the killer touch.
In fairness, rosy opportunities were spurned by both sides, with important last-ditch saves off their legs at different stages by rival goalkeepers Iker Casillas and Maarten Stekelenburg.
But you always, always harboured a feeling that if a single snaffle would settle the destination of the trophy, Spain, unquestionably more polished in the final third of the field, would be the likelier beneficiaries.
Indeed, it was a minor miracle that the Netherlands were able to stay in the hunt for as long as they did, given the rare torrent of yellow cards that came their way and, every now and then, provoked the Spaniards into similar folly.
No fewer than eight of the Dutch personnel caused referee Howard Webb to reach for his pocket, until the tenuous tightrope of single bookable offences per player snapped with John Heitinga getting an inevitable second yellow, and expulsion, in the second session of extra time.
Sometimes in soccer they say 10 men can be harder to break down than 11. Just not here, as Iniesta provided the priceless separator with his right-footed finish from close range.
What got into the Dutch? Were they really supposed to be this cynical, this spiteful, come the big day?
Theirs was the on-grass equivalent of road rage, and for all their near-laughable protests of harsh treatment from the English policeman Webb, a counter-lobby would suggest the Netherlands were fortunate to still have a full complement of personnel even at the 45-minute mark.
More impulsive referees, for instance, might have been tempted to brandish red against Nigel de Jong just before the half-hour when, with the game already dangerously combustible after four yellow cards in the space of some 13 minutes, the significantly airborne midfielder powered his studs gruesomely into Xabi Alonso’s stomach.
The Dutch certainly weren’t done for rough-house stuff: Heitinga protested vehemently in the second half, when he earned his first caution, that David Villa was feigning discomfort after a challenge – yet the replay showed pretty conclusively that he had indeed been kicked, end of story.
This was Holland’s third botched job in a World Cup final, and it was hard not to suspect that their bully-boy attitude was at least mildly motivated by the memory of their most famous heartbreak in 1974.
Then, a Dutch team of sublime all-round verve and sparkle had been subjected to all manner of foul play – including rugby tackles, no less – as they nevertheless waltzed their way past pitfalls to a meeting with old enemies West Germany in the climax.
There, however, it all unravelled rather tragically, as the tourney-long connoisseurs could not claim the key prize.
The 2010 final will be remembered as the occasion when the Netherlands, perhaps, chose to transfer the boot to the other foot; tried to burgle the World Cup as some sort of anti-pretty brigade against aesthetic superiors themselves.
But it backfired. Again.
Do you think Paul, that unfailingly ace-tipster octopus, had been a fly on the wall as the Dutch concocted their unlovable tactical folly?
Whatever the case, neutrals worldwide will probably be united: Viva Espana!
Johannesburg – The Netherlands tried to crudely drag their Soccer World Cup final opponents at Soccer City here into the abattoir. Only Spain’s artists stubbornly would not comply on Sunday.
The 2010 final produced an outcome to delight unpartisan purists, all those who do value soccer as the beautiful game. Who knows, maybe even the odd grieving Dutch one?
It was 116 minutes in the making, but when Andres Iniesta – he of the constant creative string-pulling -- so fittingly broke the deadlock with the 50-50 scenario of penalties looming incredibly large, the Dutch finger was suddenly, violently and quite rightly removed from the dyke.
Holland had taken a premeditated decision, and surprisingly forcefully so, to stop the Spanish flair game at all costs, rather than go at them with their own, hardly shabby attacking tools.
Marginally the underdogs in the eyes of canny judges before the showpiece anyway, the Dutch simultaneously sent out a signal that would have perked up their foes: we don’t really believe we can topple you under orthodox circumstances.
Spain, in their first ever final, would not deviate from their contrasting, pro-football values.
And it paid off -- even if they made hair-raisingly heavy weather of landing the killer touch.
In fairness, rosy opportunities were spurned by both sides, with important last-ditch saves off their legs at different stages by rival goalkeepers Iker Casillas and Maarten Stekelenburg.
But you always, always harboured a feeling that if a single snaffle would settle the destination of the trophy, Spain, unquestionably more polished in the final third of the field, would be the likelier beneficiaries.
Indeed, it was a minor miracle that the Netherlands were able to stay in the hunt for as long as they did, given the rare torrent of yellow cards that came their way and, every now and then, provoked the Spaniards into similar folly.
No fewer than eight of the Dutch personnel caused referee Howard Webb to reach for his pocket, until the tenuous tightrope of single bookable offences per player snapped with John Heitinga getting an inevitable second yellow, and expulsion, in the second session of extra time.
Sometimes in soccer they say 10 men can be harder to break down than 11. Just not here, as Iniesta provided the priceless separator with his right-footed finish from close range.
What got into the Dutch? Were they really supposed to be this cynical, this spiteful, come the big day?
Theirs was the on-grass equivalent of road rage, and for all their near-laughable protests of harsh treatment from the English policeman Webb, a counter-lobby would suggest the Netherlands were fortunate to still have a full complement of personnel even at the 45-minute mark.
More impulsive referees, for instance, might have been tempted to brandish red against Nigel de Jong just before the half-hour when, with the game already dangerously combustible after four yellow cards in the space of some 13 minutes, the significantly airborne midfielder powered his studs gruesomely into Xabi Alonso’s stomach.
The Dutch certainly weren’t done for rough-house stuff: Heitinga protested vehemently in the second half, when he earned his first caution, that David Villa was feigning discomfort after a challenge – yet the replay showed pretty conclusively that he had indeed been kicked, end of story.
This was Holland’s third botched job in a World Cup final, and it was hard not to suspect that their bully-boy attitude was at least mildly motivated by the memory of their most famous heartbreak in 1974.
Then, a Dutch team of sublime all-round verve and sparkle had been subjected to all manner of foul play – including rugby tackles, no less – as they nevertheless waltzed their way past pitfalls to a meeting with old enemies West Germany in the climax.
There, however, it all unravelled rather tragically, as the tourney-long connoisseurs could not claim the key prize.
The 2010 final will be remembered as the occasion when the Netherlands, perhaps, chose to transfer the boot to the other foot; tried to burgle the World Cup as some sort of anti-pretty brigade against aesthetic superiors themselves.
But it backfired. Again.
Do you think Paul, that unfailingly ace-tipster octopus, had been a fly on the wall as the Dutch concocted their unlovable tactical folly?
Whatever the case, neutrals worldwide will probably be united: Viva Espana!
