“The holding midfielder is like a spring: whoever can bear more wins. If he’s strong, you’re weak. If he’s weak, you’re strong.”
— Lei Feng
The first day of the knockout round made one thing painfully obvious: this Italy team just isn’t it.
They had nothing—no edge, no control, no spark—and Switzerland rubbed their faces in it. They got outplayed in every way imaginable. Even the old advantage of looking good while losing seems to have deserted them.
Day two: accidental wake-up call, then a Spanish massacre
I wasn’t even planning to watch.
Then I woke up sweating in the middle of the night, checked my phone, and saw Georgia leading Spain 1–0 live. Instantly wide awake. So I got up and watched Spain turn the game into a slaughter.
And after that, one question kept sticking in my head: is Rodri the best defensive midfielder in the world right now?
Because this is what elite holding midfield play looks like. When that position is dominant, it dictates everything around it. Rhythm, pressure, second balls, transitions, the confidence of the center-backs, the freedom of the attackers—everything.
Day three: France vs. Belgium as a sleep aid
France against Belgium nearly knocked me out.
In fact, it basically helped me recover the sleep I lost by unexpectedly staying up for Spain the night before.
Day four: Romania were too weak to test anyone
Romania were simply not at the level.
When the opposition can’t control the holding midfield zone, suddenly even players who hadn’t really stood tall in the previous three matches start looking imposing. That was the case for Schouten and Reijnders. Against stronger resistance, they hadn’t exactly imposed themselves. Here, with the other side weak in that area, both suddenly carried themselves like established internationals.
That black-and-white pairing even reminded me of two Dutch predecessors: Winter and Jonk. Reijnders in particular has something in the eyes and face that faintly recalls Winter.
Of course, compared with those two, there’s still something missing. Winter had that late-arriving surge into the box, Jonk had the long-range shot. These two don’t offer nearly as much in front of goal. Still, maybe a beatdown like this can give them some confidence.
Gakpo starred, but Dumfries deserves plenty of credit
The biggest contributor was obviously Gakpo.
For me, the second-biggest was Dumfries.
He absolutely battered the Romanian side physically—Hagi Jr. took a hit that nearly blew his head open, and number 22 got barged right off the pitch. It was one of those performances where you could feel the damage every time he charged forward.
Depay and Xavi Simons: a double act in wasted attacks
Depay and Xavi Simons were doing a full vaudeville routine of squandering chances.
Forget finishing badly—they could hardly even get the shot away. If the complaint is that the front line lacks a focal point and lacks attacking organization, do both of them really need to be on at the same time? Couldn’t you leave just one on, drop one of the chaos merchants a little deeper into the No. 10 role, and put Weghorst up front?
At least then there’d be some kind of target to hit.
As for Xavi Simons, what exactly is going on with that braid? In the long shots, with one quick blur, he looked a bit like Lombardo. And he always seems to wear this permanently aggrieved expression when he plays. Doesn’t exactly scream future grand figure.
Depay’s set pieces, one good strike, and Van Dijk wandering off again
Depay kept taking corners, one after another, despite delivering them horribly, and still wasn’t taken off them. That tells you plenty about his seniority and how much license he has.
To be fair, that low shot he scored with was excellent.
Van Dijk, meanwhile, drifted out of concentration again. And again. And again.
Aké had to clean up after him several times. With displays like that, how does the “best center-back in the world” label still survive? Van Dijk also brought an earlier famous name to mind: Rio Ferdinand. Huge price tag, huge reputation, actual on-pitch return—not quite matching the legend.
And then there was the Hagi nostalgia
When Hagi Jr. was being introduced on commentary through his father’s legacy, the phrase “the Maradona of the Carpathians” got repeated several times.
But not a word about the nickname that really had some bite to it: “the Midfield Schemer.”
That’s football talk these days. Nobody seems able to say things properly anymore.