A melancholy Friday night, with a Lukaku hat-trick.
“Erasmus” is the Monday morning column in which we tell you about a match of the weekend of international football. This is the second episode; in the first we told you about Wolverhampton-Leeds, if you want to recover it you can find it here.
We all have a friend or a peer who has told us about it. “Ah, that year in Stockholm…”; “You know, the guy I met on Erasmus in Brussels…”, and our heads automatically visualize the scene under a gloomy sky, in the rain, with humidity penetrating our bones. There’s little we can do: in the stereotypical Italian imagination, life in Northern Europe always has a nostalgic and cursed tinge due to the impervious climate – the stories of friends who tell us about Alicante or Barcelona, we envy them. For the same reasons, Sweden-Belgium And a game that we perceive distant from us, with whom we find it hard to really empathize. A game full of players and stories as cool as you like, but then a detail pops up somewhere so Swedish, so Belgianand then everything fades away, everything takes on a minor tone.
Friends Arena di Solna. Full, jam-packed, hymn sung a capella. All too tidy and regular, though. That order, composure and apparent ability to hold back the passionate instincts that scares us a bit. Fear, like the one that strikes when one realizes that Vertonghen he will not be supported by his life partner. Alderweireld will no longer be summoned for real.
A few minutes into the game and the Red Devils of Belgium (who this time, however, wear a completely white uniform) already look like a team created in a Red Bull laboratory. Trossard and Lukaku in the forefront to close the central outlet to the Swedes, Dodi Ngandoli and Carrasco (no, they are not two bulls from the Riviera of the 80s) to attack the home full-backs. Domenico Tedesco arrived less than two months ago and has already stamped his mark on Belgium: building a 3 with Chestnuts as inverted full-back, change of play on the very isolated Lukebakio, overlapping of the central midfield, finalization of the opposite offensive winger. Ferreira Carrasco’s diagonal is barely wide. But, after several years, it seems pleasant again to see a match from Belgium.
Romelu Lukakuor the cello case that contains it, loses a contrast with Linus Wahlqvist, 185 cm central under Pogon Szczecin. (The nostalgic nuance, we said). In the 12th minute, for the first time, Wout Faes can be distinguished from Arthur Theate, both crowned by a luxuriant bush of curly hair. And for a moment, the Belgium of the dawn of the golden generation seems to have returned, when the hairstyles of Fellaini and Witsel created the same problems of distinguishability.
It takes the gialloblù a quarter of an hour to ignite the brightest spark available: Kulusevski, after having marked the territory in the middle of the left space, discards Vertonghen inside as if it were a cardboard package to be thrown in the dumpster and frees the left. Courtois only manages to dampen but not to block. The ball dances on the goal line, undecided whether to raise the decibels of the Friends Arena or throw it in a measured disappointment. Wout Faes arrives just in time, Courtois curls up on the ball, the Leicester centre-back cheers as if he had scored. OK then his and Faes, and that other è Theate.
Corner for Belgium: nothing done. The replay shows Belgium’s 10 Lukaku attempting a Powerslam on Svanberg. 20 seconds and 10 of Belgium is anticipated dry by Hjalmar Ekdal, who is not the regen of the Ekdal of Spezia but his younger brother, defender of Burnley. It’s hard to be Lukaku in 2023. But then, there is something further than a 10’s This Luke?
After a progression Lekebakio – of which we will say “ah but that Lukebakio” when he succeeds after years in the Bundesliga to show the combination of infinite levers and the pace frequency of a hyper-technical attacking midfielder – Olsen is called to a miracle on Theate’s header from a corner. Okay: his is Theate e that other it’s Faes. Quick glance at the stands: drums and choirs always present, but all terribly muffled, all terribly muted. Beautiful, beautiful, but toned down. In a minor key.
Belgium play much better than Sweden. Drunk towers visibly in the middle of the field, the Theate-Carrasco connection on the left creates the apprehension necessary to lean the Swedish lines to the side and free up space for the dribbling of Dodi Lukebakio Ngandoli (I don’t think we’ll stop calling him except with first name-surname-middle surname). Cross from the Hertha attacker and Belgium’s 10 spits the ball enough to send it to Olsen’s right-hand corner. Kissed post, Belgium advantage, the 10 that rejoices with eyes closed, right hand to the temple and index of the left perpendicular to the mouth. Shut everyone up: he’s back (?) Big Rom.
Courtois receives Gustafsson’s float jump in bagher. No I’m not Thierry e Bengt, volleyball players in the 1990s, but Thibaut and Samuel, soccer players in the 1920s. Trait d’union of the two eras? Probably the tentacles of Amadou Onana.
Half-time: Sweden never gave the feeling of worrying the orderly Belgian defence, but the Friends Arena seems to live up to its name without fail. Applause, not a boo or a complaint, it all recalls sportsmanship and friendship. As it should be, on the other hand. But then why there hit all this grace in Sweden-Belgium?
The second half begins. Lukaku aims Ekdal on the right wing, double step, left shoulder crossing the chest of the Swedish defender, cross deflected for a corner kick. Short corner taken, Lukebakio isolated in 1vs1 with Forsberg on the right half space, double step, left shoulder to protect the advantage obtained with dribbling, low right-footed cross from the backline, Lukaku is not casually there but casually hits it. 0-2, the red wedge of Solna, in tune with the atmosphere, celebrates responsibly. Is back (?) Big Rom.
Wherever you are right now, pay attention: it should be there you say Amadou Onana nearby.
Theate misses the timing of the pressure / Svanberg attacks the space behind: hendecasyllables taken from “Il Bologna di Siniša”. At the turn of the 60′, four annoying things happen. In chronological order: stands so elegant and so that they seem created by a CPU with the indication “fans with yellow jersey with vertical blue inserts”; Tedesco replaces the author of the two assists, depriving us of imagining imaginative meanings of the verb dodingare of which Lukebakio is present gerund with complement of term in enclitic position; one of Onana’s legs misses the first support of his prevailing performance; Forsberg eats a sensational opportunityslipping at the moment of the shot, wasting the first exchange in speed in which Kulusevsi and Isak seemed the data Kulusevski is Isak.
The Friends Arena goes crazy. Help, what’s going on? A back marked by the face of a lion is about to be covered by a yellow shirt. Zlatan is about to become the oldest to play for Sweden. It seems, perhaps for the first moment, that emotion can erupt. Ibra hasn’t entered yet, but Solna’s anticipation is incredible. The ball comes out and the Friends Arena cheers. Sweden didn’t score, but that story is about to change. Isak exits, 11 enters. Very nostalgic, not at all muffled.
A quarter of an hour from the end the tedium of Sweden – Belgium returned: Kulusevski swallowed Belgium’s right flank, the ball glued to his left foot and a chocolate served on Svanberg’s right foot. At the time of the shot, the Wolfsburg midfielder slipped, shooting at the stars. It was good while it lasted. Lukaku is eaten by Ekdal, Ibrahimović doesn’t have time to check with his chest that Faes has already recovered possession. It was January 2021 when statements, murals and vitriolic posts after the Coppa Italia derby inflamed the Milanese rivalry. Two years ago Ibra and Lukaku they claimed the personal superiority of one over the other. Now they are two clay giants.
Belgium can only score in this way: the right winger with an inverted foot passing past the Swedes closest to him, late diagonal from the Scandinavian centre-backs, Lukaku finalizing the creation of his partner, first Lukebakio now Bakayoko. He’s back (?) Big Rom.
Lukaku comes out, replaced by Bornauw. No look with Ibra. No framing to this, no narrative cue. Lukaku comes off after a somewhat aseptic hat-trick, as opposed to that of Hojlund the night before which seemed to light up the whole of Europe with hype and good vibes. Another sign that in Sweden-Belgium everything is toned down, everything in a low key.
Drunkthe center of mass of the match, magnetically attracts yet another carom in the middle of the field. He and Dodi Lukebakio Ngandoli sucked all the electricity out of Solna’s Friday night, without the Friends Arena ever managing to shake itself from its torpor except in the couple of minutes when all eyes were on Ibra’s bare back. Sweden-Belgium ends 0-3 and everyone can go home, happy and friends as before. Not even a trace of controversy or disappointment. All muted.
1 comment
Great blog post! I enjoyed reading your detailed analysis of the Belgium-Sweden match. I have a question, what do you think was the key difference between the two teams that led to Belgium’s victory? Was it their tactical approach or individual performances of players like Lukaku and Lukebakio? Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this.
Y. E
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