Italy implode, Bale brilliance: In defence of the international break
International football rocks, do not come at me.
One of modern football’s generally accepted fan takes is that the international break sucks. But here’s my hot take on that seemingly universal opinion. It can get in the bin.
I love international football. It fascinates me, entertains me and informs me more than any other form of the game.
Today’s action sums up exactly why.
In Europe, the continental conquerors Italy were dumped out of contention. As if punishment for the lip-smacking that welcomed the opportunity of a Portugal-Italy shootout the Azzurri are out - North Macedonia doing what Turkey couldn’t against Cristiano Ronaldo’s men.
The manner of the victory was all the more satisfying. Football, for all its developments in stats, advancements in tactics and managerial philosophy, can sometimes be a brutally simplistic art.
North Macedonia ‘keeper Stole Dimitrievski punted the ball into the stratosphere. When it came down, 6ft 2in forward Bojan Miovski met it in the mixer and the nation’s new hero, Aleksandar Trajovski, bereft of ideas and energy, forced a long-range strike goalward, beyond the outstretched arms of one of the world’s most gifted shot-stoppers, Gianluigi Donnarruma. Palermo erupts. Italy implode. Once again, a World Cup without the famous blue.
Then there are the events in Cardiff. Gareth Bale, dubbed a parasite this week in the Spanish media for the wretched way his time at Real Madrid is dwindling to an end, burst into life again when called upon by his nation.
His second goal in Wales’ 2-1 triumph over Austria was a pure striker’s finish. His first, only a few in world football could dare to emulate. A spiteful strike of a ball that kissed the crossbar on its way into the top corner and left Austria stopper Heinz Lindner on his knees, prayer the only hope of stopping such a wicked effort.
Cast aside at the Bernabeu, Bale does appear to be the first player to have protected his international career by reducing his club commitments. Wales advance.
Meanwhile, Heung-min Son, possibly football’s most loveable character, continues to inspire his nation. Sweden, as they tend to do, found a way. Canada are made to wait by Costa Rica. The likes of the USA, Mexico and Australia continue to limp and in my neck of the woods, a Raphael Lea’i hat-trick inspires the Solomon Islands whilst a young man I interviewed last year, Jamie Searle, who would have been building caravans in Whakatāne were it not for a family contact in England, beams with pride at making his international debut.
In no other collective clutch of fixtures do you get such a broad spectrum of abilities and players but all of whom with one goal. From Bale, the one-time world’s most expensive player, to Searle, the former caravan maker. They just love playing for their nation.
Sure, the proximity to the World Cup and the added stakes make this a far more exciting international window than most. But the same can be said for weeks in the Premier League or La Liga. At least they roll around annually. Failure here means four years of hurt. Four years of what-ifs, buts and maybes. Some, on the other side of 30, might not get another chance. The stakes are immensely higher.
Perhaps the dislike of international football is more of an Englishism. The Premier League-isation of football. All the time. Never-ending 24/7 football that creates this feeling of abandonment among some fans when the clubs dissipate and the nations take hold.
But for me, the break away makes it all the more sweeter when those marquee fixtures return.
In the meanwhile, enjoy Canada trying to make history, watch only one apiece from Cameroon and Algeria, Nigeria and Ghana, and Egypt and Senegal, book their ticket from an ultra-competitive African section, revel in Peru, Colombia and Chile scrapping it out for just a second chance, hope that North Macedonia might do it again and be inspired by the likes of Tahiti, Papua New Guinea, Iraq and Mali, daring to dream.
The international break is an intriguing, inspiring and instructional period. Football, once the whistle blows, perhaps at its purest on the professional stage.
And I love it.