Austria’s Renaissance: Rangnick’s Revolution and a Night to Remember in Berlin

In a group featuring the heavyweights of France and the Netherlands, the odds were stacked against Austria and Poland. For many, the narrative seemed preordained: the established giants would march forward, leaving the others in their shadow. Poland, indeed, packed their bags early, but Austria defied the script, storming to the top of the group and advancing to the second round for only the second time in their tournament history.  

This resurgence wasn’t a stroke of luck but a testament to the transformation under Ralph Rangnick. Derided by many for his brief and turbulent stint at Manchester United, Rangnick’s pedigree as a coach of vision and organization has never been in doubt. His philosophy, rooted in high-octane pressing and structural discipline, has breathed life into Austrian football. Against the Netherlands in Berlin, his team showcased the fruits of that labour, delivering a performance of verve, aggression, and tactical intelligence.  

Aggression as the Driving Force

From the opening whistle, Austria’s intent was clear. Rangnick’s favoured 4-2-2-2 system set the tone for an aggressive press that suffocated the Dutch in their own half. The Austrians buzzed with energy, snapping into challenges and moving the ball with sharp precision. Alexander Prass, their marauding left-back, epitomized this approach. Twice he ventured into advanced positions, warning the Netherlands of Austria’s threat, and struck gold on the third occasion.  

It was a chaotic moment that epitomized Austria’s relentless style. Prass’s whipped cross toward Marko Arnautović prompted a desperate intervention from Donyell Malen, who inadvertently sent the ball careening into his own net at the near post.  

Dutch Resilience Meets Austrian Grit

The Netherlands, rattled but not broken, responded after the interval. Cody Gakpo, as he so often does, offered a glimpse of hope, driving the Dutch forward and eventually finding the equalizer. For a moment, it seemed the Oranje would regain their rhythm. But Austria had no intention of retreating into their shell.  

They struck again, this time through Florian Grillitsch’s exquisite work on the byline. The midfielder’s floated cross was met with a flying header from Schmid, whose effort thundered past Verbruggen despite a valiant attempt from De Vrij on the line. It was a goal that encapsulated Austria’s night—precision, bravery, and an unyielding desire to win.  

The Dutch hit back once more, Memphis Depay converting after a lengthy VAR review confirmed his equalizer. Meanwhile, in Dortmund, Poland stunned France with a leveller of their own, adding a layer of intrigue to an already pulsating group. The Dutch seemed to gather steam, probing and pressing for a winner.  

Austria’s Decisive Blow

Yet Austria, true to Rangnick’s philosophy, refused to waver. Their aggressive intent bore fruit once more as substitute Christoph Baumgartner threaded a perfect pass to Marcel Sabitzer. From a seemingly impossible angle on the left, Sabitzer unleashed a venomous strike that rocketed past Verbruggen, sealing the game and Austria’s place atop the group.  

It was a goal born of audacity and execution, the kind that defines teams willing to take risks when it matters most. The Dutch, stunned, had no reply.  

The Dawn of a New Era

Austria’s triumph was not just a victory but a statement. Rangnick’s imprint is unmistakable: a team that thrives on intensity suffocates opponents, and embraces boldness. It’s a style that demands collective commitment and has turned Austria into a force to be reckoned with.  

As they move into the knockout stages, Austria’s journey becomes a testament to the power of belief and meticulous preparation. In a world where giants often dominate, Austria’s rise under Rangnick reminds us that, with the right philosophy, even the underdog can roar.  

In Berlin, Austria didn’t just play football—they played their brand of football. And for the Dutch, that was simply too much to handle.

Note: Excerpts from The Guardian

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Brazil vs. Costa Rica: A Stalemate That Told a Tale of Frustration

Certain rivalries in football transcend time, and for Costa Rica, facing Brazil often means one thing: survival. The narrative remains consistent—dig deep, defend with every fibre, and deny the Seleção. It’s a strategy that recalls heroic performances in Turin during *Italia '90* and Moscow in 2018, where their resilience seemed unshakable until Brazil found a way. Yet, history also tells of moments when Costa Rica’s defiance was mercilessly undone by the genius of Romário, Ronaldo, and Rivaldo, as seen in the 1997 Copa América and the 2002 World Cup.  

But those were different times, and Brazil, though still strong, are no longer invincible. In this year’s Copa América, they entered the tournament not as the towering favorites, but surely too polished to be held to a goalless draw by a Costa Rican side that seemed ordinary on paper. What followed was a clash of determination versus dominance, with frustration as the enduring theme.  

A Match of Unbalanced Narratives

Brazil, true to form, commanded possession from the start, recycling the ball with characteristic poise and trying to pull Costa Rica out of their defensive shell. Yet, for all their dominance, there was something missing—a spark, a sense of inevitability in the final third. Costa Rica’s deep defensive lines left the Brazilians trying to navigate tight spaces, almost treating the game like a futsal encounter.  

Rodrygo Goes had the first real chance, weaving through with quick interplay, but the final product was lacking. It was a recurring motif throughout the night: opportunities half-made, half-taken.  

The best openings came when Brazil managed to lure Costa Rica out, creating space for long balls to stretch the field. One such instance saw Raphinha through on goal, attempting a delicate chip to beat goalkeeper Sequeira, only for the effort to falter.  

Even set pieces, an area where Brazil have historically thrived, failed to deliver. Marquinhos thought he’d broken the deadlock with a header from Rodrygo’s flick, only for VAR to intervene. A painfully long four-minute review revealed the slightest offside, snuffing out Brazil’s celebrations.  

Endless Effort, Little Reward

The second half mirrored the first in both rhythm and frustration. Costa Rica sat deeper, compressing the spaces, forcing Brazil to circulate possession without purpose. Changes came as Vinícius Júnior and Raphinha made way for Endrick and Savinho, bringing fresh legs and new ideas.  

The young Endrick added energy, a presence in the box that had been missing, while Savinho offered directness from the right. Yet, the decisive moment continued to elude them. Lucas Paquetá came closest, unleashing a venomous shot from outside the box that rattled the post—an agonizing "almost" that symbolized Brazil’s night.  

As time ebbed away, the Seleção turned to desperation. Paquetá and Bruno Guimarães pushed forward, trying to force openings that Costa Rica stubbornly closed. Savinho’s late surge down the flank created one final chance, but Guimarães skied it, leaving Brazil empty-handed and visibly exasperated.  

A Match That Told a Story

This wasn’t the Brazil of free-flowing goals or samba flair. It was a team still searching for cohesion, a sense of ruthlessness in moments that mattered. Costa Rica, for all their limitations, executed their defensive strategy with grit and discipline, standing tall where other teams might have faltered.  

For Brazil, the match was a lesson in the thin margins of football. Dominance without conviction is often fruitless, and even the best-laid plans can falter against a wall of determination. As they move forward in the tournament, they’ll need more than possession and effort—they’ll need the cutting edge that once made them feared.  

For now, the goalless stalemate stands as a testament to Costa Rica’s resilience and Brazil’s lingering questions. Football, as ever, remains a story of moments—and this time, none belonged to the Seleção.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

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

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Faisal Caesar 

The Oranje Ascendancy: Euro 1988 and the Triumph of an Ideal

 I. A Tournament at the Edge of History

In June 1988, football gathered in West Germany for the eighth European Championship, a competition that carried with it an unusual weight. It was not only a tournament of nations but also a tournament of endings. Within four years, West Germany would cease to exist as an independent entity, subsumed into a reunified Germany. The Soviet Union, seemingly unshakeable in its geopolitical presence, would fracture into fifteen successor states. Yugoslavia, whose red-shirted warriors competed in West Germany, would vanish amid violence and dissolution.

Euro 1988 thus occupies a liminal space: the last convocation of the old European order, played against the backdrop of political twilight. On the pitch, too, it marked the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. The France of Platini—sublime in 1984—had failed even to qualify. The German machine, perennial in its strength, expected to add another continental crown. And into this arena stepped the Netherlands, carrying both the ghosts of their past and the audacity of their future.

II. The Return of the Oranje

For the Netherlands, Euro 1988 was more than a sporting contest. It was a reckoning with memory. Twice before they had come so close to immortality—1974 and 1978 World Cups lost in finals, their flowing “Total Football” dazzling the world yet left unrewarded. Their style was celebrated, but their lack of silverware haunted them, casting doubt on whether beauty alone could triumph in a game often decided by steel.

Rinus Michels returned as national coach, a figure both architect and prophet. It was he who, in the early 1970s, had forged Ajax and then the Dutch national side into apostles of fluid, positional interchange—the gospel of “Total Football.” Now, he found himself with a squad no less gifted. Frank Rijkaard, still young but already hardened. Ronald Koeman, whose thunderous right foot carried menace from deep. Ruud Gullit, captain, Ballon d’Or winner, embodiment of dynamism. And Marco van Basten, the Milan striker whose grace was matched only by his clinical certainty.

This was not merely a team; it was a chance to redeem an entire philosophy of football.

III. Group Stages: Defeat, Resurrection, and Narrow Escape

The Dutch campaign began with dissonance. Against the Soviet Union in Cologne, they were sluggish, nervy, overwhelmed by the burden of expectation. Vasyl Rats’ decisive strike condemned them to a 1–0 defeat. Already, the familiar narrative threatened to return: a Dutch team lauded in theory, undermined in practice.

England awaited them next. The Three Lions, fresh from an impressive qualifying campaign, brimmed with confidence yet carried fragility beneath the surface. In Düsseldorf, the match became Van Basten’s personal coronation. A hat-trick, each goal a lesson in movement, instinct, and ruthlessness, dismantled Tony Adams and Mark Wright, England’s youthful centre-backs. For England, it was the beginning of collapse; for Van Basten, the beginning of immortality.

The final group match was survival itself. Ireland, under Jack Charlton, had already shocked England and held the Soviets. For eighty-two minutes, they clung to an improbable progression. Then came Wim Kieft’s looping, awkward, almost apologetic header—a goal remembered less for beauty than for its deliverance. The Netherlands advanced. The margins were thin; the consequences would be vast.

IV. Germany Revisited: A Semi-Final of Shadows and Revenge

There is no fixture more laden with meaning for the Dutch than one against West Germany. The scar of Munich 1974—when their “Total Football” was undone by German pragmatism—had not healed. Fourteen years later, in Hamburg, the stage was set for reckoning.

The match was tense, almost violent. The first half seethed with tackles and confrontations, the weight of history pressing on every duel. Early in the second half, Germany struck first: Frank Rijkaard fouled Jürgen Klinsmann, and Matthäus converted the penalty. Again, the narrative threatened to repeat itself—Dutch brilliance subdued by German discipline.

But then came symmetry. In the 74th minute, Van Basten tumbled under Kohler’s challenge; Koeman dispatched the penalty. Justice balanced. With extra time looming, Jan Wouters threaded a pass through German lines. Van Basten, forever graceful, guided the ball low past Eike Immel. Ninety minutes of history condensed into one strike: the Dutch had at last conquered their nemesis.

For a nation, it was more than football. It was catharsis.

V. Munich Redeemed: The Final Act

The final, staged in the Olympiastadion, carried its own haunting echo. This was the very field where Cruijff’s side had fallen in 1974. Now, fourteen years later, the Netherlands had the chance to turn tragedy into triumph.

The Soviet Union awaited, organized and disciplined, led by Valeriy Lobanovskyi, whose Dynamo Kyiv sides had long fused tactical rigidity with technical brilliance. In the semifinal, they had dismissed Italy with clinical ease. Against the Dutch, however, their time was up.

Gullit struck first, a header full of force and authority. Then came the moment that redefined beauty in football. Arnold Mühren floated a high, looping cross that seemed to drift harmlessly toward the right flank. Van Basten, from an impossible angle, chose not control but audacity. He swung his right foot, meeting the ball in mid-air, sending it arcing over Dasayev and under the crossbar.

It was not simply a goal. It was a declaration—that genius is not constrained by probability, that art can emerge in the most unforgiving of settings. Dasayev, perhaps the finest goalkeeper of his generation, was rendered a spectator to perfection.

When Van Breukelen saved Belanov’s penalty, the Soviets resigned themselves. At the whistle, the Dutch were champions. The curse was broken.

VI. The Cast of Immortals

The triumph belonged not to one man but to a collective. Gullit’s leadership, Rijkaard’s balance, Koeman’s steel, Mühren’s vision—all vital threads in the tapestry. PSV’s contingent, fresh from European Cup glory, provided cohesion and belief. Yet Van Basten, with five goals and one immortal volley, stood as its figurehead.

Each player carried his own narrative: from Van Breukelen’s penalty save to Berry van Aerle’s tireless runs, from Jan Wouters’ gritty midfield command to Erwin Koeman’s unheralded consistency. Together, they forged the only major international trophy the Netherlands has ever won—a paradox for a nation so synonymous with footballing artistry.

VII. England’s Collapse in Parallel

As the Dutch soared, England descended. Their qualifying brilliance proved illusory; their campaign collapsed under the weight of Lineker’s illness, defensive naïveté, and cruel chance. Against Ireland, they faltered; against the Dutch, they crumbled; against the Soviets, they surrendered.

Three games, three defeats. For Bobby Robson’s side, it was not merely elimination but humiliation. In retrospect, their defeat to the Netherlands reads as a passing of the torch: England’s illusions of power dissipating as Van Basten’s brilliance announced a new hierarchy.

VIII. Legacy: Perfection and its Fragility

Euro 1988 endures in memory not merely because of who won, but how. For the Netherlands, it was the fulfilment of a dream deferred, the justification of a philosophy too often dismissed as naïve. Yet it was also fleeting. The Dutch have never since claimed a major international prize. Their history remains a saga of beauty without reward, punctuated only by this one golden summer.

Van Basten’s volley, shimmering still in the collective imagination, encapsulates the paradox of football: that its greatest moments are ephemeral, impossible to replicate, and therefore unforgettable. Euro 1988 was not just a tournament. It was a reminder that sport, at its highest, transcends competition and enters the realm of myth.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar

 

 

Belgium’s Revival: A Masterclass in Mental Fortitude and Tactical Precision

Facing a must-win scenario at Euro 2024, Belgium's encounter with Romania demanded a blend of grit, caution, and aggression. Tactical recalibrations by coach Domenico Tedesco infused the Red Devils with renewed purpose, restoring Jan Vertonghen to bolster the defence, while Youri Tielemans and Amadou Onana anchored the midfield with a mix of steel and creativity. Jeremy Doku reclaimed his natural role on the left wing, while Kevin De Bruyne operated as the orchestrator-in-chief, liberated to dictate proceedings.  

The changes bore fruit almost immediately. Belgium surged forward with urgency, intent on dictating the tempo. The breakthrough arrived courtesy of a scintillating team move that epitomized fluidity and precision. Romelu Lukaku, marauding deep into Romanian territory, exhibited finesse as he offloaded to De Bruyne. A deft dink by the maestro found Lukaku again inside the penalty area, whose awareness allowed him to tee up Tielemans for a composed finish past Florin Niță.  

That opener not only broke the deadlock but also unleashed Belgium’s confidence. Their approach combined composure with relentless attacking intent, maintaining a delicate balance between discipline and daring.  

Jeremy Doku: A Livewire on the Left

Doku was sensational throughout, embodying the duality of dynamism and discipline. He dropped deep to receive the ball, spinning past defenders with an elegance that belied his youth. His ability to alternate between holding up play and bursting beyond the Romanian full-backs added a layer of unpredictability to Belgium’s attack.  

De Bruyne’s Command Performance 

At the heart of it all, Kevin De Bruyne was at his imperious best. His mastery of space and time rendered Romania’s midfield obsolete, as he carved through their lines with nonchalant brilliance. The midfield maestro dictated the tempo, switching effortlessly between incisive forward passes and intricate link-up play.  

De Bruyne's genius was pivotal in what should have been Belgium’s second goal. His perfectly weighted through ball sent Lukaku clear to slot home, only for VAR to cruelly annul the effort—Lukaku’s third such misfortune in the tournament.  

A Defiant Finish

With ten minutes remaining, De Bruyne capped his performance fittingly. Charging at the Romanian defence, he exploited a goalkeeping error with predatory instinct, poking the ball past Niță to seal the victory.  

Belgium’s Road Ahead 

This performance offered a glimpse of Belgium’s potential when its tactical setup aligns with its wealth of talent. Yet, questions remain. While its mental resilience and individual brilliance shone against Romania, sterner tests lie ahead. Can the Red Devils sustain this level of intensity and precision against Europe’s heavyweights?  

For now, Belgium can savor a night of redemption—an exhibition of courage and craft that has reignited their Euro 2024 campaign. Whether this spark can ignite a deeper run remains to be seen, but the Red Devils have ensured their journey continues.

Note: Excerpts from the The Guardian

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar