Thought the penalties in the Germany v Italy game hilarious.
(And both goalkeepers excelled).
Ever since (the Italian legend) Roberto Baggio blazed a penalty over the bar in the World Cup Final in 1994 I have been interested in this strange spectacle, that penalties - and above all, penalty shoot outs - present.
A penalty shoot out is compelling viewing, yes, almost addictively so. Tension and torture, an dripping.
But it also offers, affords, this test of skill, stress, it tests the ability to cope with pressure and is really a test of character, a lonely place when highly paid players can no longer hide or seek safe refuge in the collective scaffolding of the team, or the press spokesperson, or the manager, but must cope as individuals, and must make that stiff-legged walk alone to the penalty spot and test their ability to kick a ball, test their ability to kick it accurately, with force, aim it, and focus on where it should go. Above all, this test takes place in a context and setting where they are exposed, because the consequences of getting it wrong are so great. So, if you are paid stupid money to be able to kick a ball,
Now, of course, a goalkeeper will try to stop that shot. And, in a way, it is a contest - a kind of a gladiatorial contest, between the outfield player and a goalkeeper, and the goal, where the odds are stacked in favour of the overpaid, - often highly strung - forward, - or, sometimes, if it goes on long enough, a more stolid defender, but the outfield player must cope with the responsibility, the stress, the strain, the challenge of getting it right.
Sometimes, being in the eye of the world is not just about them worshipping you, and screaming your name, so that you develop that pouting jaded palate associated with a life of adulation, effortless ease, fame and bottomless entitlement; that long and lonely walk to the spot is about being able to take responsibility as you show that you have mastered the skill and craft by which you make your living. Sometimes, when the cameras of the world are on you, you have to step up - literally, and psychologically. The strain on the face of some footballers as they move to do this, the stiff legged walk, shows that - for some - attention without adulation is something they find difficult.
But, if your job description is about kicking a ball, and you receive a salary of five, or six figures a week to do so, I believe that the job description comes with being able to do so - kick a ball - reasonably well under pressure, such as when facing an opposing team's accomplished goalkeeper in the penalty shoot-out of the quarter-final of a European Championship.
Let's put it another way: It is culpable in the extreme not to have practiced penalties in this day and age just in case you need to be able to take one.
Now, tonight, Iceland lost to France, by two goals to five. For me, this was a head/heart dilemma.
Subjectively - because I love the narrative thrill of decent, charming, underdogs, the delight of being the entitled and arrogant upended - Iceland's joyful progress has been an unalloyed pleasure to watch.
Inevitably, the gulf in class was going to show, and, sooner or later - France, like some of those beautifully engineered Peugeots of the early twentieth century - could sometimes take a while to get going - but, France, as in 1998 - one they stutter and splutter into life, late in a tournament, can play with real skill, passion and conviction, and, on their day, they can demolish anyone.
Iceland were a delight, and I wish them well, and would love to see them again. But France showed just why they are considered one of the best teams in the world. (And yet, Iceland still put two past them.)