Internazionale entered the cauldron of the Santiago Bernabeu on unfamiliar ground in the Champions League – favourites. Where, in the quarter and semi-finals Jose could exploit his ‘us against the world’ attitude (No, we didn’t think he liked Westlife either), going into El Gran Finale the Nerazzurri were everyone’s safe bet to complete the treble. And that is what was enthralling in the pretext to the match, both teams chasing trebles, and on top of that a win for either side would yield a supplementary Champions League place for their respective Leagues starting in 2011.
After a relatively tame first half hour with early blows exchanged with both Robben for FCB and Sneijder for Inter surfacing – as expected – as the players to dominate proceedings. It was the latter that evoked the dancing on the streets of Milano, though. A long ball blasted forward from the often razor-sharp Julio Cesar found the head of the ever-potent Diego Milito, who nodded down to Sneijder, and within seconds the ball was in the net. Wesley Sneijder returned the favour, playing a deceptively simple ball, splicing the Bayern defence through to Milito, who feinted, paused, and cultivated the football over the outstretched hands of the flailing Butt and into the net to open the account for the final.
Within eight minutes, this wonderfully forged pair dub tailed brilliantly once again to provide another glorious chance for Sneijder this time, who could onlt find the keepers hands. There was still no Bayern response. And by half-time the bulk of Bayern’s possession was held in front of eight Inter players, as the characteristically tactically-drilled Mourinho side didn’t give Die Roten an iota of an inch. Robben found it tough to cut in from the right-flank, and a sliced Olic effort from range rather summed-up their chances.
If Bayern ended the first half with a whimper, they introduced themselves into the second with an instantaneous roar, as Muller (no yoghurt jokes here) almost levelled, before Inter raced to the disparate end and came equally close to changing the game tenfold. Fortunately for the neutral it was a foreshadowing of things to come as chances continues to present themselves at both ends of the pitch, but after no reward Inter chose to relax, and start playing the possession football that was so evident in earlier rounds, whilst Bayern’s chances remained only at half in measure and often as tidy as Marouane Fellaini’s fro.
Then on ’62 Robben finally found himself half-a-yard to split a gap and win a free-kick, which he himself drove low and curling, before a rebound found the waiting Muller, who, this time, was denied by another staunch example of Esteban Cambiasso’s exemplary defensive capabilities from holding-midfield.
After eventual fruition from Robben, finally creating some space and with it a chance, Inter were no sooner up the other end when the ball came to the feet of the illusive Diego Alberto Milito once more. An expertly visioned cut-inside from said genius and textbook tekkers in the opening of the body and placing of the shot into the corner with the delicacy of a watchmaker to rise Jose from the bench and set the 21,000 fans of the black and blue fragment of Milan packed into the Bernabeu into full chorus of Forza Milano.
As little more than tactical changes from Mourinho ensued, Inter started to rest of their laurels and prove that they are schooled to the greatest superlative on how to win a game of football by the Portuguese managerial genius. Who could well be staying here at the Bernabeu for the upcoming season, typified by Barcalona being the only of the two Spanish giants to fully begin their Summer transfer program.
The final whistle came and went and unlike his Champions League victory with Porto (where he disappeared down the tunnel in the knowledge of never leading the Portuguese side again) he was decidedly emotional, and after commending all staff and players on the Bayern side he congratulated his own set of creations in a way that suggested he no longer had anything to prove the critical Italian media, he had once again talked the talk, and duly walked the walk, and heck, he does it better than anyone else.
0 comments:
Post a Comment