Russia 0 – 3 Spain
The team of, now perennial choker, Guus Hiddink came out last night with all the conviction of a British tennis player with a wildcard at Wimbledon and never looked liked they would upset the Spanish.
While the Spanish looked pretty, too many of the Russian players who lit up Basel last Saturday simply didn’t survive the knock-up and the reason why was just as unfathomable as to why Fabregas isn’t a tennis-shoe-in to start for the Spanish. He made it all look too easy and had the swagger that comes to many of Wenger’s lads just before they leave for Barcelona and then Major League Soccer a year later.

In Italy’s absence, Iniesta is becoming my Camoranesi, though he is by far a better player. But he spent a lot of last night on his bum, pleading for a free-kick, with those cold empty eyes staring from his clammy, pallid face, after going down easier than Monica Lewinski. Don’t like him, and his mum should tell him to get out in the sun more and to eat more greens.

Not a single one of you got the score right last night and not many even got the result, which perhaps reflects the truth that this Spanish campaign is lasting longer than Bogdanovic’s on court 999, or to put it another, though comparable, way, longer than it takes to suck a wine gum, and is tempting you to start thinking, “could this be their chance, is this their year?”. But despite the evidence of the semi-finals to the contrary, you have to think that the match point will go to Germany on Sunday, don’t you? Not because the Spanish aren’t the better team, they are, but because they are, well . . . Spain, and Germany are Germany and the natural order of play will out.
Not that I want to influence your predictions, though god knows you need the help. However, if I was any good at predictions then I would have entered wouldn’t I.