It is becoming increasingly plausible to envision Portugal’s name etched onto the Euro 2016 trophy. Their passage to this point has been anything but majestic—three group-stage draws followed by a scruffy, extra-time dispatching of Croatia in the last 16—but if nothing else, Fernando Santos’s men have mastered the art of doing just enough.
Here, on a
cool evening heavy with tension, Portugal merited their place in the
semi-final, having largely outplayed Poland over 120 breathless minutes. When
the contest inevitably boiled down to penalties, their composure did not
falter. The decisive moment came after Jakub Blaszczykowski, whose earlier
contributions had kept Poland alive, saw his kick palmed away by a diving Rui
Patrício. In the next heartbeat, Ricardo Quaresma strode up and rifled his
effort beyond Lukasz Fabianski, igniting wild Portuguese celebrations.
“It was
enormous pressure—I had an entire nation on my shoulders,” Quaresma admitted
afterwards. “But I stayed positive. I knew I was going to score. We’re on the
right path, and we’ll keep going.”
Portugal
had earlier shown admirable mettle to claw back from Robert Lewandowski’s
clinical opener—his strike, after just 100 seconds, the second-fastest in
European Championship history. From Kamil Grosicki’s clever cut-back,
Lewandowski’s finish oozed assurance, and seemed to signal a long night ahead
for Portugal.
Yet if the
early blow staggered them, it did not break them. It was the teenage prodigy
Renato Sanches who dragged them level. The 18-year-old, newly anointed by
Bayern Munich for an initial £27.5 million fee that could swell to £63 million,
announced himself on the grandest stage with a surging run and a thunderous
left-footed shot that flicked off Grzegorz Krychowiak, wrong-footing Fabianski.
Sanches would later convert his penalty with ice-cold precision, underlining
why accountants in Lisbon are still gleefully tabulating the add-ons.
Cristiano Ronaldo, meanwhile, lived a night of curious paradox. He was central to Portugal’s threat, yet repeatedly betrayed by his own finishing. On three gilded chances he either miskicked, fluffed his touch, or failed to make contact entirely. His most glaring miss came on 85 minutes when João Moutinho’s delicate loft left him alone with destiny—only for Ronaldo to swing and meet air. Still, he dispatched his penalty in the shoot-out with typically imperious calm.
There was
even a surreal interlude when a pitch invader burst from behind the goal in the
109th minute, hurtling straight at Ronaldo. The star deftly side-stepped him
before stewards executed a rugby-style takedown. Riot police soon formed an
ominous cordon behind the net, ready for more intrusions.
Poland, who
had shown nerves of steel to dispatch Switzerland on penalties in the previous
round, found their reservoir of luck and nerve ran dry with Blaszczykowski’s
miss. Their dream of a first major semi-final since the 1982 World Cup
evaporated under Portugal’s quiet ascendancy.
Santos’s
side, it must be said, have developed a distinctly streetwise edge. Under his
stewardship, they are unbeaten in 12 competitive fixtures—winning eight, all by
a single goal. This was their fourth semi-final in five European Championships,
their fifth in seven tournaments, a testament to a football culture that has
learned to survive on slender margins.
William
Carvalho, Portugal’s midfield anchor, will miss the semi-final after a booking
for tugging Krychowiak. Around him, a carousel of interchanging forwards probed
Poland’s lines. Nani’s clever passes repeatedly set up Ronaldo, while Cédric
Soares, eager to atone for the misjudgment that led to Poland’s goal, thundered
a shot narrowly wide.
José Fonte
forced Fabianski into a save with a powerful header, and Artur Jedrzejczyk
endured a heart-stopping moment when his last-ditch clearance to deny Ronaldo
flew inches past his own post.
When extra
time brought no new breakthrough, penalties beckoned with a chilling
inevitability. Portugal, seasoned by the narrow path they had already walked,
did what was required. They are not yet a team to stir romantic souls, but
there is a certain poetry in their pragmatism. The next chapter awaits against
Wales or Belgium—another chance to write their destiny in measured strokes.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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