Gareth Bale confessed earlier in the week that Wales’s improbable march to the Euro 2016 semi-final still did not feel entirely real. “In a way it doesn’t,” he admitted, as if the entire campaign existed in a parallel universe. As the frenzy raged back home and the swirl of a nation’s hope grew ever louder, the players had cocooned themselves in a protective bubble, moving serenely from one match to the next.
But this was the night the bubble burst. Brutal reality intervened, and Cristiano Ronaldo decided it was time to leave his indelible mark on the championship. Many Welsh fans had harbored the uneasy thought that after a patchy tournament, Ronaldo was due a game of incandescent brilliance. So it proved. His towering header broke the deadlock, his drive created the second for Nani, and he might have helped himself to more. It was, unmistakably, the performance of a champion.
Portugal know the agony of major semi-finals all too well, having lost five of their six across European Championships and World Cups. But on this night, the pain was reserved for Wales. Despite Bale’s tireless running and fierce will, they struggled to carve out meaningful chances. The absence of the suspended Aaron Ramsey loomed large, a creative void they could not fill.
In the days leading up to the match, the storylines had fixated on Wales—on whether they might emulate Denmark in 1992 or Greece in 2004 and defy all reason to seize the trophy. Leicester City’s Premier League miracle had made 2016 the year when football’s underdogs roared. Could Wales script one more fairytale?
Ronaldo ensured they could not. From the first whistle he surged at Wales, bristling with menace and purpose. Though whispers of his fitness had trailed him through the tournament—save for a two-goal flourish against Hungary—there was nothing tentative here.
His aerial threat had been signposted, but Wales still found themselves powerless to prevent it. A short-corner routine, Raphaël Guerreiro’s teasing outswinger, and Ronaldo rose with imperious hang-time to thunder the ball past Wayne Hennessey. James Chester, once his Manchester United teammate, was left rooted. The first goal was a dagger.
The second was the coup de grâce, extinguishing Welsh hopes almost immediately. Ronaldo’s low shot was drifting wide when Nani’s instinctive slide turned it into the net, wrong-footing Hennessey. Ronaldo celebrated the assist with the fervor of a goalscorer, his well-known narcissism on show—yet who could deny the scale of his impact? Those eager to see him stumble were left with only grudging admiration. It is Portugal and Ronaldo who could now dream of that elusive first international crow
Wales, for their part, gave everything. What Chris Coleman and his players have achieved will live forever in Welsh sporting folklore. Their first major tournament since 1958 had been a joyous odyssey, lit most brilliantly by their quarter-final triumph over Belgium. This squad had been a team in the truest sense, their unity igniting a national euphoria that one hopes will fuel future campaigns.
But here, their resources seemed spent. Fatigue was surely one of their invisible adversaries. There were no recriminations; Wales were simply outplayed. At the final whistle, the players strode over to the cluster of red-clad supporters, heads held high. The fans responded with defiant song, the bond between stands and pitch stirring and unbroken.
Portugal, streetwise and composed, demonstrated once again their knack for doing just enough. They had reached this semi-final without winning a knockout match in 90 minutes, but their familiarity with the pressures of this stage told. They dominated possession, pressed assertively, and never allowed Wales to settle into their rhythm.
Aside from Bale, who strained every sinew to drag his team forward, there was little Welsh threat. Three times in the first half he burst away from defenders, his finest moment coming when he eluded Danilo’s sliding tackle with a lengthening stride and cut inside—only to fire straight at Rui Patrício.
Ronaldo, meanwhile, seemed to wrestle with his emotions, haunted by Portugal’s failure in the Euro 2004 final. Early on he vented his frustration when James Collins wrapped an arm around him in the area, but the referee waved away the appeal. In the end, he imposed himself on the contest in the only way that mattered.
Bale continued to test Patrício late on, striving to the last whistle, but by then destiny had already chosen its path. Indeed, Portugal might have inflicted heavier punishment: Ronaldo flashed a free-kick narrowly over, João Mario missed from close range, and both José Fonte and Danilo forced fine saves from Hennessey.
So the road for Wales ends here, but it is a road that has illuminated the tournament, leaving behind memories that will long outlast this single defeat. The dream lives on instead for Ronaldo and Portugal, who stand one step away from history.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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