No doubt now that it happened. 7-1. A beatdown for the ages.
There will be some, surely, who will use this loss to decare the death of something, be it “beautiful football” or “bad defending” or whatever. Really, though, that match can’t be a marker of anything. It was too strange and too savage for that.
There isn’t much to say. Germany were very good and Brazil were very bad. Germany were able to get into dangerous positions quickly and Brazil were completely unable to react. Before the match, there was a sense that Brazil could lose and still be remembered for what might have been had Neymar not taken that knee to the back. Neymar’s performance, like Brazil’s, had been erratic during this tournament. He disappears for whole halves, and then shows up again, if only to remind people that he’s better than Oscar. After the match, thankfully, there was very little of that. What could Neymar have done? Neymar’s absence did not cause Brazil’s central defense to crumble (they had David Luiz for that). This was not a 1-0 battle, in which having an extra threat going forward might have changed the game’s dynamics. Germany decimated them in every way possible.
How did it happen? Nobody knows. It was obviously a fluke occurence. If they played ten matches, I’m not sure Germany could put in 7 in 90 minutes against FC Dallas, let alone one of the best national sides in the world. The Brazil that walked onto that field, though, could never beat a competent German team.
It is sad, now, to look back at the video of David Luiz and Julio Cesar during the national anthem. They are wrapped in each other’s arms, and in their hands they hold Neymar’s jersey. They sing loudly, with looks of defiant pride. If Neymar had known what was about to occur, he might have had time to request that they spare him the indignity.
I have been cheering against this Brazilian team all tournament. I don’t like them. But I would not have wished this on them (especially not from the Germans). I will not even say that they deserved it. They have not played particularly well during the tournament, but they have not played that badly. They haven’t been “beautiful” in the Brazilian way at all. The closest thing we got to futebol arte from this team was a back four who would not stay back, and that always seemed a bit silly. Against Columbia, Scolari ended the match with three defensive midfielders and three central defenders, as if to taunt all those who criticize him for his “pragmatism.” Brazil could have used some of it for this match.
During the run-up to the 1970 World Cup, the Brazilian public turned on then manger Aymore Mareira for having the gall to suggest that Pele needed to track back some. He was eventually fired, and Brazil went on to put on a dazzling display, winning the cup with flare and passion. For some, it was the swan song for o jogo bonito. It was, at least, for Brazil. Someone, somewhere, is always playing with artistry, though. It passed from Brazil to the Dutch, and then Cruijff carried it with him and implanted it at Barcelona, where it would incubate and rest for almost thirty years. It will crop up again, somewhere. But there can be no more Garrinchas. The little wren who plays purely for the joy of it no longer exists.
Other than the hopes and dreams of Brazilian fans, this match didn’t kill anything. It should be remembered as a match in which one team performed well, and the other shambolically. It should be remembered more than anything for the tears it inspired across a host nation known for the happiness of its people. Few are alive to remember 1950, when Brazil lost the World Cup in Rio to Uruguay, in gut-wrenching fashion. Now, the whole nation will remember 2014, when the yellow shirts were rendered completely powerless against a team that is, in so many ways, the antithesis of what the Brazilian style is supposed to be.
Rosie
Sam
Happy in Hobbiton 