When Football Writes Its Poetry: The Tale of Croatia and Italy in Leipzig

Football, at its heart, is the theatre of the unexpected. Just when certainty seems within reach, it sweeps the ground from beneath your feet. It has the power to etch fairytales into eternity or leave dreams in ruins. In Leipzig, under the cool November sky, football spun another of its unpredictable sagas, this time involving Luka Modrić, a nation yearning for one last dance, and Italy’s Mattia Zaccagni, the author of a last-gasp equalizer that turned jubilation into despair.  

For Croatia and their talismanic captain, Luka Modrić, this was supposed to be the swansong – the crescendo of a glittering career on the grand stage. Yet, in the cruellest twist of fate, their hopes unravelled in the dying embers of the game. Modrić, seated on the bench after his valiant efforts, could only watch as Zaccagni delivered a moment of breathtaking artistry, curling the ball into the top corner with the precision of a master craftsman.  

The match carried all the intensity of a straight knockout: Croatia needed victory; Italy, a draw. Luciano Spalletti’s Italian side, ever pragmatic, approached the contest with a tactical shift. The 3-5-2 formation morphed into a compact 5-3-2 when defending, resilient against Croatia’s more technical and polished advances. The plan was simple yet effective – soak up the pressure and counter with speed and precision.  

Croatia, true to form, dictated the early exchanges. Their intricate play in tight spaces showcased their technical superiority. Time and again, they sliced through Italy’s defensive lines, but Gianluigi Donnarumma and his backline stood firm. For all their artistry, Croatia found themselves foiled by the grit and determination of the Azzurri.  

Then came the moment that seemed to tip the scales in Croatia’s favor. Luka Modrić, who had already etched his name into footballing folklore, wrote another chapter by becoming the oldest scorer in the tournament's history. His penalty miss moments earlier had cast doubt, but his thunderous rebound strike was a testament to his indomitable spirit. The Croatian faithful dared to dream again.  

As the game wore on, Dalic’s side reverted to containment, defending with every ounce of their being. Italy, for much of the second half, looked disjointed, their attacks stuttering against Croatia’s disciplined lines. Yet, football has a way of punishing hesitation.  

With seconds left in stoppage time, Riccardo Calafiori embarked on a daring run through the heart of Croatia’s midfield. A deft pass to the left found Zaccagni, whose body language spoke of intent. Cutting inside with elegance, he shaped his shot, curling it past a diving Dominik Livaković and into the top-right corner. The roar of the Italian supporters in Leipzig was matched only by the silent devastation of the Croatians on the pitch.  

For Modrić, who had given so much to this moment, the tears flowed freely. It was a bitter end to a heroic effort, his penalty miss looming large in the narrative despite his record-breaking goal. For Italy, Zaccagni’s strike secured their path forward, vindicating Spalletti’s tactical adjustments and their refusal to surrender.  

Football, in its essence, is this dichotomy of emotion. It offers moments of unbridled joy while leaving others with hearts broken into fragments. Leipzig bore witness to that truth. Croatia’s last dance ended not in triumph but in sorrow, while Italy, battered and bruised, marched on, their belief renewed by a moment of sublime artistry.  

Football, bloody hell.

Note: Excerpts from the The Guardian

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar