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The atmosphere in Salta, a city in the north of Argentina, is one of stunned disbelief. People are wandering about wide-eyed as though a troupe of vicious sous chefs had just rampaged through town belting everyone in the back of the head with iron skillets. It’s hard to believe three thousand Argentines can be so silent.
As the final whistle goes, the crowd vanishes from around the town’s giant TV screen with barely a word.
Just how it happened defies belief and rational thought, but somehow Argentina managed to play 85 minutes of beautiful, exhilarating, attacking football, yet fail to score a single goal.
Their German opponents, after an early piece of good fortune, were content to sit back, bide their time, and attack sparingly on the break.
They did so with devastating effect.
Four has been the number for Germany this World Cup, the same number of goals they put past England and Australia. But few would have backed them to do it against today’s opposition, and 4-0 is a bizarre result given just how fully Argentina were in the match for most of its duration.
It was the South Americans’ failure to switch on straightaway that cost them. After just three minutes, Bastian Schweinsteiger – always likely to be one of the danger men – sent in a speculative cross from a free kick. The Argentine defence utterly failed to deal with it, and England’s tormentor Thomas Müller was able to head home despite glancing the ball off keeper Sergio Romero’s leg.
A depressing start for Argentina, though comic relief came from German Chancellor Angela Merkel needing to be told when her team had scored so she could stand up and clap. John Howard at the cricket or Steve Bracks watching Geelong weren’t so bad, but when politicians completely feign an interest in sport for the sake of patriotism it really is cringeworthy.
The Germans continued to make the play for a short time afterwards, culminating in Miroslav Klose firing over with the Argentine goal entirely at his mercy. The impressive young Müller had set up the chance.
But it didn’t take long for the Argentina we had expected to find its feet, with the power-packed front line of Lionel Messi, Carlos Tévez and Gonzalo Higuain beginning to elicit hopeful rumbles from the crowd as they continually surged forward.
Time and again though, the final part of their move broke down, be it a threatening through-ball that was just too heavy, or hard-won space being skilfully closed down.
Messi was double and sometimes triple-teamed as he tried to create, and still succeeded in making some thrilling runs, but was generally defused before release.
Out on the flanks, a roving Angel di Maria was as busy as a kebab shop on Cup Day, but his final touch had about as much class. Time and again the lanky midfielder found himself in space, charged forward, jinked opponents … then put in weak crosses and passes that seemed to have much more to do with hope than any well-conceived idea.
His forwards did what they could with his offerings, but still went scoreless into the interval.
The intensity only lifted after the break, with the strength of the contest making this match one of the best spectacles thus far. Uzbek referee Ravshan Irmatov helped by putting the cards away for most of the afternoon, controlling the match well with common sense, and proving much less of a sucker for the hysterical dive than some of his counterparts.
Argentina continued to attack, but each push forward met black shirts strung across the box in a veritable Berlin Wall. This version, though, proved impossible to tear down.
With Maradona’s men exchanging brilliant passes through midfield, and the tension amping up in the crowded Salta streets, it seemed that surely they had to score.
But “surely” is the reason why so many gamblers have been separated from their money, and it was Germany collecting the winnings in the 68th minute.
Lukas Podolski broke forward on a counter, tricked his way to the line, then squared the ball across the face, leaving Klose with a goal that was as hard to finish as a packet of Tim Tams.
Markets closed, bets off, game over. Argentina had no choice but to go all-out, and as against England, Germany punished them twice on the break when they over-committed.
Neither goal was a thing of beauty, but then appearances aren’t everything. If they were, Tévez would be locked in an underground bunker somewhere, given his first-place tie with Frank Ribery in the Man Least Likely to Advertise a Fragrance competition.
Ugly but effective, Germany finished the game off.
No doubt Maradona’s stock will be falling faster than Wall Street’s in 2007. An ESPN reporter collars me in the street straight after the game, his immediate demand in rapid-fire Spanish being “What did you think of Maradona, tactically speaking?”
The next little while will be very interesting. If knives are being sharpened for Maradona, expect the man described as looking like Latino Gimli to come out swinging an axe in return.
I don’t know that El Diego can be hung out to dry when a couple of quality touches from his strikers might have made the difference. The scoreline is ugly because Argentina gambled as they had to.
Whether a team goes down 4-0 attacking or 2-0 defending, they end up on the same plane home. My only gripe was how anxious and defeated he looked after the second and third goals. At that point a coach should be willing his team on to do the improbable, not sinking into despair.
But World Cups do a rich trade in despair. Just two days ago most of the talk was of an Argentina-Brazil final, and even the possibility of an all-South-American set of semis. Now Uruguay is all that remains.
The salsa and samba World Cup suddenly looks likely to become a Teutonic North Sea waltz, with Holland likely to tackle Germany in the battle of Clockwork versus Kraftwerk.
In a recent article on Argentine footballing passion, I wondered what the fans would do should they lose. Today, I’m amazed at how well they take it.
Despite the late goals, no-one leaves until the final whistle, and when it blows they give a hefty round of applause for their team rather than howling abuse. Most of the spectators helpfully stack their plastic chairs as they go, rather than setting them on fire as many football fans would do.
There are some tears, and plenty of disconsolate faces, but no shouting, no rage, no destruction. Perhaps the overwhelmingly conclusive nature of the defeat means there is no option but to accept it meekly.
The blue-and-white merchandise stalls are packed down in five minutes flat, and everything assumes a strange calm. The people vanish, just the ESPN crew grabbing the odd straggler to drag out their autopsy.
One my way home I pass the local parilla restaurant where I eat every other day. One of the waiters, Fernando, is standing out on the front step. He shakes my hand. “I’m sorry about the game,” he says. “It’s a shame.”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s very sad. The crowd down the street are pretty upset.”
His tone is even and philosophical. “Well, that’s football. That’s life. You just have to have strength of heart,” and here he thumps his own heart with his fist, “and keep on going.”
He pats me on the back and smiles kindly, and it seems oddly as though he’s the one trying to console me.
Argentina will keep going, as it always has. For another four years though, the dream will have to wait.
Germany’s defence will grind it out with the 1-0 specialists of Spain.
Argentina’s beautiful game is no more. Their artistry and passion that lit up the first few rounds wasn’t enough in the face of skilful pragmatism. And it’s a shame.
Knocking Argentina out of the World Cup is like burning down the Louvre. But I guess for Germany, torching parts of Paris is nothing new.