And so, the time has come, albeit a little late, to reflect upon the World Cup Final, a match described in one British broadsheet newspaper as filthy, and not in a sexy way.
As has already been established on these pages and will be known to anyone who followed the damn tournament it featured the funky orange of the Netherlands and the deep red of Spain. Here were two teams who had produced their fair share of top drawer players over the years but neither had ever lifted the golden trophy that would proclaim them footballing champions of the world. The Dutch had got to the final in '74 and '78 playing gorgeous total football, sweeping all before them before falling to the efficient West Germans and passionate Argentinians respectively. The Spanish had never previously progressed beyond the quarter final stage but the wonderful passing game they'd demonstrated at Euro 2008 had resulted in super special results, albeit under racist Luis Aragones.
This time around they had the altogether more cuddly Vicente del Bosque who had maintained the winning formula with a single defeat in the previous forty eight games. The Dutch had eased through the qualification stage with eight wins outta eight but in a rather more workmanlike manner. Thus they were not as favoured pre tournament as the Spanish but they had a smattering of stars who would be written off at a predictor's peril. As it turned out the Netherlands breezed through their group in South Africa with another 100% record, a tad easier then Spain who were shocked by Switzerland in their opening match and then squeezed out results against Honduras & Chile. Into the knock out phase the Dutch had upped their game when necessary against Brazil and Uruguay while Spain were still more efficient than beautiful with a trio of 1-0's.
So the stage was set for two European heavyweights to end their wait and put a new name on the trophy with flowing, classy attacking play built on a solid defence. Bloody exciting.
Alas it did not turn out like that. The Netherlands came out aggressively and steadily got tougher. Tackles flew in from all angles with poor Howard Webb was stuck in the middle. He could have sent de Jong off for a karate kick on Xabi Alonso and van Bommel came close by crunching in with more than two bookable challenges. It was rough stuff and the Spaniards weren't completely innocent, seeking retribution and getting frustrated in equal measure. Indeed Puyol could've walked when he was caught out by Arjen Robben but that red card stayed stubbornly in the top pocket.
Inbetwixt all the kicking of legs a match did threaten to break out. There were chances and brief moments of decent play when a yellow card wasn't being shown. Arjen Robben demonstrated his pace and would've been on the scoresheet but for excellent work from Casillas. At the other end there were clever flick ons and fancy stuff but the chances fell to Ramos and Capdevilla who lacked the potency of Villa.
Entering extra time is always exciting with 
the possibility of penalties and the potential that teams will shed their inhibitions and go for the jugular. Alas the action continued in the same manner as before with intermittent chances and a tad more rough and tumble. In a game defining moment Johnny Heitinga pushed the man in black to the edge with a cynical challenge, by no means the worst of the game, and saw a second yellow in the 109'. Then everything went into fast forward. Previously the overwhelming feeling seemed to be that it would have been a travesty for lovely Spain to lose to such nasty bullies and that sense intensified. Personally I find that football is football. Sometimes the guys who don't deserve to win, win. It's not rocket science and given that the Dutch had actually created the better chances to paint them as maniacal supervillains was jolly harsh. Had they fluked through on penalties having broken Fernando Torres leg they still would have won and that's the bottom line.
As it turned out the sending off of Heitinga was the final straw and an indication that an earlier red card would have killed the game off as a contest. The sides were so evenly matched that an extra player made all the difference. A Joy of Cesc pass found Andres Iniesta where Johnny should've been and a cooly taken finish was all it took to set las Rojas into raptures with five minutes to go. There was a foul on young Elia in the build up which the Dutch had reasonable reason to complain about but ultimately they had made their bed and went to sleep in it.
So with hindsight the final was certainly a clash of two giants but it was studs rather than style that did the talking. These finales tend to be tense affairs, barring of course that wonderful night in Istanbul and the lovely afternoon in Wembley a year later, so says bias Jo. The third place play off had been a far better example of thrilling stuff but to write the final off as complete rubbish is harsh and ignores the tension that built with every passing kick, of ball or man. Credit to Robben for leaving the theatrics behind, harnessing his natural ability and coming within inches of snatching the match on a couple of occasions. I felt Mr. Webb did a good job in the circumstances, walking the thin line between stopping the game and ruining the spectacle, slipping a couple of times but allowing the drama to unfold. When all is said and done the Spanish as a team were good enough and maybe that's all that matters. I'm out.
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