When the jubilant Brazil fans cheekily waved “adios Chile, adios Chile,” from high in the Ellis Park terraces last week, they would have hardly thought they would be sent packing soon after.
Until you’ve watched football with South Americans – let alone at a continental derby – you haven’t really seen how it pains to see a misplaced pass, how a sweeping move reflects a national obsession for beauty or how to lose causes disgust, sometimes anger. While they dance, bang drums, throw paper and curse their opponents, amidst the party and banter, they also have a minimum expectation.
No Brazilian fan I have spoken to outwardly embraced Dunga. They tolerated him, because he got the results. He was building a machine. It wasn’t Brazilian, but if it won the World Cup, they would take it.
But on Friday we saw the beauty of the World Cup.
A side that showed glimpses of invincibility with the ball against Chile and in the opening half against Netherland, suffered 15 minutes of madness.
And it was all gone.
15 minutes of madness. Dunga will now be punished for a lack of magic, and in the end, a machine that fell apart.
Should he? It’s probably unfair. Until an extraordinary defensive blunder, his rearguard looked all-conquering – led by Lucio, surely the best defender in the world. Their ability to scramble to crowd the edge of the box was legendry.
Offensively, they looked to be peaking, led by swashbuckling interplay between the front four, with the likes of Lucio and Maicon chiming in from deep. Leaving out Ronaldinho, Pato and Diego, amongst others, seemed to have worked.
But when their brave opponents came charging on Friday, Brazil wilted.
So what about the Dutch?
A big tournament is never won in the first week.
The Dutch will tell you that. They know it better than anyone.
As recently as Euro 2008 they have come out all guns blazing, only to momentarily falter at the key moment.
In World Cup 2010, the Dutch had not sweated one drop more than they needed to until Friday.
After four relatively soft matches, their World Cup was going to be all or nothing. Led by a rampant Arjen Robben, they stuck to their guns. A lesser team would have capitulated before half time under the duress of a Brazilian master class, but they help their shape.
Mark Van Bommel and Du Jong played their finest matches of the tournament patrolling Kaka and intercepting countless Brazilian raids, while Dirk Kuyt and Robben kept their width. The more Maicon and Bastos tried to assist, the more the Dutch profited from the extra space. All the while, their front six showed the benefits of the modern fit, mobile football side: hassling from the front.
History beckons for the Dutch, either way.
Their history might pull the noose and choke them when they have a guilt edged shot at making the final.
Or, after decades of being one of the proudest teams not to have reached the summit, this squad will never have a better chance to make their mark on football history.
