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A team, performing well above their pre-tournament expectations, clammily prepares for an unlikely semi-final.
One game, a scratchy goal, a staunch defensive performance, and a place in the ultimate match can be theirs.
They have key players missing – a midfielder and a defender, to be precise – and so further weight is heaved onto the shoulders of their one bonafide superstar, a Real Madrid Galactico, their elite talisman, the person from whom superlative, decisive moments have most readily come.
The satellite players in orbit around the mighty gravitational fields of this star are useful, and will play their part, perhaps even steal the limelight for a moment or two. But here, in the air-starved latter stages of the tournament, and with the squad tiring and shorn, it is the time for the hallowed figureheads to lead their lot over the line.
Now, would the above paragraph best describe Portugal or Wales? Cristiano Ronaldo or Gareth Bale? There is something striking that emerges, as these two teams twitch and huff opposite one another, awaiting with fervour their semi-final clash. It is a little like looking in a mirror, but one that contorts things slightly, decrepitates the subject, twirling gnarled, spindly cirri around the features and into the nooks of those in the reflected image.
Because, in reality, Portugal and Wales’ journeys to the semi-finals have been rather different, both in tone and results.
Portugal, in a sort of frustrated, veiny struggle, appear to be exorcising the demons of 2004 by “doing a Greece” and advancing to the latter stages on the back of a series of taut, often incoherent attacking displays.
They’ve even made it this far without actually winning a game in normal time. Yes, that’s right, every single Portugal match has seen the game clock tick past the 90th minute in stalemate. Their win over Croatia was eked out in extra time, and all the rest have been draws, some of them utterly dour, others a little frenzied and bonkers, like the 3-3 against Hungary.
All the while, powering this tortured voyage with his own distilled, vibrating petulance, is Cristiano Ronaldo. It’s hard to imagine that Portugal’s other players really enjoy sharing the field with the Real Madrid kingpin, especially this late-career version of Ronaldo who does little else other than carry out his refined role as a plundering goalscorer, historically focused and highly strung.
Every off-the-ball paroxyism is captured by modern television, converted conveniently into low-weight GIFs or videos, and passed around Facebook feeds and Twitter timelines with relish. Even the failures of Portugal’s other players somehow become more about Ronaldo.
Not that he hasn’t failed along with them, and one must assume that – considering the way he visibly physicalises his contempt for his teammates shortcomings – Ronaldo must apply an even more severe level of scorn on himself. He is a relentless self-improvement expert, and so his missed penalty against Austria must have grated horribly.
His two-goal explosion against Hungary was a fine response, albeit one that was ruined by Portugal’s shipping of three Hungarian goals. Ronaldo has taken 22 shots in this tournament, and has attempted only six take-ons.
There is something depressing about how the Portuguese dynamo – capable of filling almost any attacking role on the pitch – has sliced off the unnecessary frills from his game and sharpened it only to pierce through goalscoring records season after season. Those frills are what are so lovely about talented footballers, evidence of a certain joy, of an indulgence in the varied beauty of the beautiful game.
So, standing there, across from Portugal, are Wales. As the Portuguese grit their teeth through this tournament, the Welsh are drinking it in, taking deep, liberating gulps. Their journey to the semi-final has been made in joyful bounds, like an adolescent calf romping out into a lush field after a long winter in the sheds.
The pent-up spirit of all that Welsh talent that was denied this sort of stage – Gary Speed, Ian Rush, Mark Hughes, Ryan Giggs et al – is flowing freely through the hearts of the current crop, and they’ve channelled it superbly. Aaron Ramsay – missing the semi-final through suspension – has been electric. Gareth Bale – while not playing consistently well – has been directly involved in most of Wales’ decisive moments.
Everybody loves Wales, and as Bale waxes lyrical about the virtues of Joe Allen, and leads post-game group hugs, the Welsh appear even more starkly as the bizarro-Portugal. This is a team who appear to have forged thick, tactile bonds with one another, whose star leads by example in his play and selflessness, and who have convincingly beaten highly-touted opposition as a result.
They won their group with gusto, despite suffering a winding defeat to their neighbours England. They have clicked into highly fluent attacking sequences, against Russia and Slovakia. They have faced down incredible obstacles; down a goal to the flaky Belgian heavyweights, only to rally uproariously and seize the day.
On form, Wales are favourites, but we can’t forget that they’re at the pointy end of their first ever modern Euros appearance. With Ramsay missing – as well as Ben Davis – it appears as though this match will define Bale as Real’s premier superstar, assuming he can take control of it.
His dribbling is really something else, running past opponents like a marlin powering through a whole sea of tethered buoys. Wales aren’t short on heart, and will fear falling back into the wilderness of non-qualification once this sojourn ends. They are one win away from a shot at the title.
This semi-final is about more than just Bale versus Ronaldo. Arguably, Ramsay’s absence will have the most telling effect on the outcome of the tie. But the two Real superstars neatly complete this uncanny, bizarro reflection. Two teams, so alike in some ways, so utterly different in others, will meet here, and only one can progress.