Death of tiki-taka?
This time it probably was worth saying. A minute after the final whistle went, the stadium announcer at the Arena Fonte Nova followed a new trend from this World Cup and declared: “The final score was Netherlands 5, Spain 1.” Normally it is redundant message but here it seemed meaningful somehow: Yes, five.
Holland had got what the Spanish describe as a manita, a little hand: a goal for each finger. This was the worst defeat a defending champion had ever suffered at the World Cup and it was the first time Spain had conceded five at the tournament since they were last in Brazil, 64 years ago.
At the final whistle Daryl Janmaat fell to the turf and kissed it, lying there in disbelief. This was astonishing, barely believable. Four years ago, Holland had lost the World Cup final to Spain. Now, they had humiliated them.
Towards the finish, the Dutch were an unstoppable tide; the blue shirts just kept coming forward for more. Olés were their sound track but they were not satisfied to simply pass the ball, to keep it: they wanted to go on plunging the knife in, insatiable, almost sadistic. There was something about the goals, especially the fifth from Arjen Robben, that spoke of an immense superiority. Holland were enjoying this.
Spain were defeated in the opening game four years ago and still won the tournament, having topped their group. But this was different: that day Spain were unfortunate against Switzerland, here they could not blame bad luck. A defeat need not have been the end of the World Cup – Spain could have reasonably expected to go through anyway, maybe even to win the group and thus avoid Brazil – but a defeat like this must surely be damaging.
As Janmaat hit the floor, Spain's players turned and headed down the tunnel in silence. Casillas's face said it all, a picture of impotence to accompany each goal. The Spain captain knew that his culpability was inescapable too. Van Persie's superb header caught Casillas off his line. The third was a delivery from Wesley Sneijder that, however much Spain appealed for a foul, he misjudged. The fourth came when he failed to control a back pass, allowing the ball to slip into the space between him and Van Persie. As he flung himself at it to clear, all he did was send the ball into Van Persie's legs, who sent it into Spain's net.
The questions asked will be big ones, even if the charge in the final 15 minutes was driven by one team that could smell blood and another that could feel it seeping painfully from their body and wanted only for this to end.
Spain's game has been about control over the last six years but here they lost it. They were neither quick enough nor strong enough nor well enough organised to stop Holland. The control was lessened still further when Xabi Alonso was withdrawn.
Nor did they keep the ball or create sufficient chances, despite getting the first goal early: the goal that usually comes as a guarantee, forcing the other side out.
This was not just a defeat, it was a disaster. In the next few days, the questions will be relentless, forever coming at the Spanish. Much like the Dutch did here.
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