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Berlin – Magical nights and the world triumph of Berlin 2006 are far from it. This time it is not enough to evoke sweet memories and recall the victorious times gone by. This time we return home sadly from the Olympiastadion, and rightly so, for an Italy in which we wanted to believe until the end but that on the decisive occasion offers the worst version of this Spalletti adventure, full of difficulties, justifications, flashes and shadows. Beaten by Switzerland (a solid team, but not Brazil…), we close the European Championship without certainties and with morale at rock bottom. Dominated physically, technically and psychologically by Yakin’s men, the Azzurri exit the continental tournament without ever having given the impression of being able to really fight to defend the title won just three years ago at Wembley. But in football (and for a national team that also experienced the traumatic farewell of Roberto Mancini) three seasons are an eternity, and nothing like this bitter night at the Olympiastadion made us remember it.
No surprise
This time the predictions of the day before were correct. Di Marco out injured and Calafiori disqualified, Spalletti launches a very flexible 4-3-3, with Donnarumma in goal, protected in the center by Bastoni and Mancini, and on the sides Di Lorenzo and Darmian; in midfield, the squires of the Fagioli surprise are the two reigning European champions Cristante and Barella, capable in case (and it is a move that is almost a Mancinian quote) of also taking on the burden of directing to help the Juventus player; confidence in Scamacca again in front, with Chiesa and El Shaarawi on the outside, but with the Roma player ready to double up even in the covering phase. Yakin confirms as a whole the team that did very well in the group stage. Embolo will be the offensive end supported by Rieder and Vargas. The ‘Bolognese’ Aebischer and Ndoye on the lanes to give push to a very offensive team.
Red Cross start
Yakin’s men immediately took control of the operations, finding a couple of openings on the left with Torino’s Rodriguez; Barella takes a blow to the back of the left thigh, but grits his teeth; we struggle to lie down, curled up on our three-quarters. A turn in midfield, a through ball and a deep throw from Fagioli shook us out of our torpor after a quarter of an hour. And in the 22nd minute like a flash, yet another miracle from San Donnarumma: Aebischer throws Embolo deep, Gigio bewitches him and blocks the right shot with a sure shot! Chiesa immediately responds with a slalom centered in the corner, but the blue torpor continues, while in the Berlin sky the hot and blinding sun is obscured by the clouds.
Bologna lightning
He gesticulates, shouts, then approaches the bench, then returns to the sidelines. He can only be thoughtful, Luciano Spalletti, in front of his Italy bogged down in the grass of the Olympiastadion as if it were an Amazonian swamp. And in the 37th minute, the deserved Swiss lead comes with Vargas who feeds Freuler from the left into the center of the area, from where the Bolognese ex-Atalan player leaves Donnarumma no chance, this time, without Mancini being able to stop him. One nil is more than fair for Yakin’s men, but faced with the Azzurri void, it is also difficult to quantify their actual merits. And thank goodness San Gigio slaps a poisonous free kick from Rieder onto the post and then into the corner. Marciniak’s whistle that ends the first half comes as the end of a torture, and therefore unconsciously has at least something liberating, the only pleasure (if one can say so) experienced so far at the Olympiastadion.
Trauma
But the worst was yet to come, and it materialized in Ruben Vargas’ right-foot shot, who just at the dawn of the second half, made it 2-0 for Switzerland, when Zaccagni, the hero of the qualifying draw with Croatia, had just emerged from the underpass in place of El Shaarawi. A trauma, just as grotesque is the fact that we even came close to scoring, but only thanks to a shot from… Schär, who inadvertently hit the post to the left of Sommer, who so far hasn’t even soiled his gloves. Spalletti tries to pair Retegui with Scamacca, but we can’t make one of two centre-forwards. Scamacca’s Paolo from one meter after Zaccagni’s header is the emblem of failure. None of the Azzurri coach’s bets paid the expected dividends. The Yakin boys simply have more legs, ideas, desire. They move forward, with full credit. We, from the roof of Europe, are falling into the abyss of our mistakes, of our limits from which we must somehow get out as soon as possible.
