Spain win World Cup 2010

By Henry Winter

Never mind the quality, feel the justice. A World Cup final so far removed from the Beautiful Game, so far out of keeping with such a largely upbeat tournament, was deservedly settled Spain’s way by Andrés Iniesta four minutes from the end of extra-time. Spain have waited so long to lift the World Cup so what was an extra half-hour?

The memory of the excruciating, pockmarked, foul-filled preceding 116 minutes was washed away with Iker Casillas’ flowing tears of joy, with the flowing champagne. The climax of the season was really an abomination, scarred by Dutch fouling and occasional Spanish retaliation, forcing Howard Webb into brandishing 14 cards, two to Everton’s Johnny Heitinga.

Spain celebrates World Cup win over Holland Webb spent so much time writing in his book that he almost risked RSI. He certainly rewrote the record books, comfortably eclipsing Romualdo Arppi Filho’s record of six yellows in the 1986 final. The crime count rose all night, Webb registering caution after caution. He must have felt as if he were back on the beat in Sheffield.

Holland, frequently far too physical, must endure all the “clogs of war’’ headlines, the accusations that they deliberately decided to rough the Spanish up and disrupt their famous rhythm. On this chilling evidence, if the Dutch had sought to sink the Spanish Armada they would have targeted them in the shipyard.

Holland did counter-attack at times and Casillas needed to be at his very best to deny Arjen Robben but it was hard to square Dutch intentions with the tradition of Total football. Johan Cruyff’s next column in his Spanish paper should be lively.

All the lessons the Dutch taught the Spanish down the years, all the advice given by Cruyff, Rinus Michels, Louis van Gaal and Frank Rikjaard was absorbed into the nation’s DNA and reproduced in recent years. The old Dutch commitment to passing and intelligent moving was seen in Spain’s European Championship triumph two years ago and now this.

For all the pain endured in reaching nirvana last night, Spain are worthy champions because they play the game the right way. Every English school, every English club should be given a DVD highlighting how Iniesta and Xavi cherish possession, how Sergio Ramos particularly and Joan Capdevila push down the flanks, overlapping and creating chances.

Even with David Villa suffocated by Heitinga and Joris Mathijsen, Spain kept probing down all avenues. Even with Fernando Torres a lame thoroughbred Spain never changed their style.

They always accentuate the positive, always look to stretch the boundaries of the game, always maintain momentum. Even when struggling to storm the well-organised Dutch barricades, they kept going.

In overcoming the obdurate Dutch, Spain earned their right to sporting immortality. Modest men like Iniesta and Xavi will loathe the proffered pedestal but they deserve all the acclaim as they make such wonderful role models. Any English father can tell his football-mad child: look and learn.

Last night will have made painful viewing for the Football Association and not simply because its youth-development programme is light-years behind Spain’s. In claiming the 2010 World Cup, Spain also made an eloquent case for hosting the 2018 competition.

Their presentation will run along simple lines: Hola, we are the home of the world and European champions, of the planet’s premier league and the place of Xavi, Iniesta and Villa. And wise owls of the dug-out like Vicente del Bosque, an honourable man who would never compromise his beliefs.

As Del Bosque’s craggy features at last broke into a broad smile, the vanquished Bert van Marwijk quickly removed his loser’s medal from his neck.

Defeat means that Holland continue to be haunted by a final flaw, continue to find their sleep disturbed by nightmares in the form of Paul Breitner, Gerd Müller and Mario Kempes from the Seventies and now Iniesta. To 1974 and 1978 can now be added 2010 in the Dutch Hall of Hurt.

The evening ended well, had a dreadful near two hours in the middle, but had started memorably. An hour before kick-off, following a spectacular closing ceremony featuring the eclectic but electric combination of Shakira, three fighter planes and 13 automated elephants, Nelson Mandela was driven on to the pitch in a buggy.

Resplendent in a Cossack hat, the great statesmen smiled and waved as Soccer City stood in emotional salute, chanting his name. Twenty years ago, Mandela, newly released from prison, had marched into the same arena, the then FNB Stadium, and declared “we are going forward’’. His beloved country has certainly taken another stride into the international limelight this past month.

Mandela’s people were out in force for this, sporting the kits and face-paints of Holland and Spain. Inevitably, the Spanish had been first to show in a game that swiftly and sadly lost its way until Iniesta struck.

Chances came and went. Ramos met a Xavi free-kick with firm header but was denied by Maarten Stekelenburg. Ramos was then thwarted by the stretching Heitinga. Villa found the side-netting.

Those expecting a masterclass of elegant football were being disappointed. For long periods, it was end-to-end fouls, particularly from the Dutch. Webb’s pen was in danger of running out of ink. English ref, physical game?

It was sad to see even technical players stooping so low. Van Persie had already poleaxed Sergio Busquets and now set about Capdevila, catching the Villarreal defender with a nasty challenge. Spain were hardly angels.

Carles Puyol arrowed in on Robben’s ankle. But Holland were the main miscreants. Mark van Bommel, never shy in examining opponents’ shin-pads and mettle, clattered Iniesta from behind.

Ramos crashed into Dirk Kuyt but Holland were guilty of the most heinous offence, Nigel de Jong’s attempt at acupuncture on the chest of Xabi Alonso.

By fair means and foul play, Holland blocked Spain’s route to goal. Kuyt almost ripped Gerard Piqué’s shirt off at a Spanish corner. Wesley Sneijder, hitherto anonymous, decided to stamp himself on

Busquets, rather than the game, planting his studs in the midfielder’s thigh. As the half closed, the game suddenly opened up. Robben brought a scrambling save from Casillas.

Things could only get better, prayed the fans inside Soccer City, echoing sentiments of roughly 700 million poor souls worldwide. Spain were then rescued by Casillas, correctly guessing the intentions of Robben, who was through one on one.

Holland were looking to soak up the pressure and hit on the break. When Van Persie flicked Stekelenburg’s long kick on, Robben was off and running, breaking through the middle, accelerating ahead of Puyol, who wrapped an arm around the flying Dutchman. Robben managed to escape but could not find a way past Casillas, who dived at his feet and again saved Spain.

Extra time felt a slow lingering death. Opportunities came and were wasted. Spain screamed for a penalty when Heitinga caught Xavi. Then Stekelenburg saved from Cesc Fabregas. Nobody seemed prepared to score. Some “olés”, almost of relief, swirled around the ground when Iniesta nutmegged Robben. Then Fabregas glided through before poking his shot wide.

Torres’ arrival for the second period of extra-time was greeted with almost messianic fervour. Heitinga, already cautioned, then pulled back Iniesta and walked.

But then came Iniesta again, ending the sourness with the sweetest of finishes. Telegraph