Spain- European Champions.

 Spain- European Champions.

We knew it would end in tears because it normally does anyway. England's latest European Championship adventure sadly came to a bitter end. For the last couple of weeks, England have been travelling through a land that was so fraught with difficulty that their defeat by an extraordinary Spain side was no more than they deserved. In fact, so great has the torment been for England, yesterday's release valve came as a blissful relief. 

They weren't enjoying themselves at all in Berlin last night and when they come to make  historical assessments about this Euro Final, the experts will probably say that they told you this would happen. It wasn't a self fulfilling prophecy but you could see England were suffering and it was best to put them out of their misery sooner rather than later. Surely one of the most unimpressive England teams to travel abroad for the Euros, this seemed like the ultimate act of cruelty. Spain were so utterly in control of this Euro 2024 Final, that their possession based game seemed to run circles around an England team who looked so dizzy by the end of the game that you almost felt sorry for them.

This was an accident waiting to happen for England, the appropriate punishment for a team who had so obviously failed to turn up in Germany. This was, quite simply, men against boys, a no contest in many ways and a further demonstration of England's total ineptitude at this level of football. We left them in the good and caring hands of manager Gareth Southgate and his well qualified coaching entourage and this is how they reward us. To be sure, this wasn't essentially, Southgate's fault, governor. There was no culpability on his part and he'll wash his hands of any wrong doing.

Not for the first time, England once again traipsed and trundled about the Berlin pitch rather like men wading through treacle. This almost felt like a painful imposition for England, a painstakingly unbearable ordeal that kept going on and on and never really looked as if it would ever end. There was never any likelihood that Spain would be in a humane and benevolent mood since they, unlike England, have won both World Cups and European Championships, this was their fourth Euro trophy and England were still casting their minds back to 1966 and all that.

We all know then that this was England's second consecutive European Championship Final defeat and how our fingers were burnt yet again. England were just second best, outclassed from start to finish and then just looked totally demoralised by the sheer frequency, weight and volume of Spain's beautifully proportioned attack, a team of delectable skills, ravishing passing that would have lit up any other big football occasion and some of the most stunning football that most of us have ever seen.

England were forewarned and must have known what they were letting themselves in for. It now seems to the outsider looking in and all impartial observers that England are just lacking in any kind of tournament savvy, showing naivete at times, woefully underprepared and just incapable of finding any kind of performance for the football royalty present last night. When the likes of former Arsenal manager Arsene Wenger was seen among the football dignitaries, we knew exactly what to expect. Even the King of Spain must have had a hunch that something special was being readied for him.

This was not the way Gareth Southgate had planned this for England. You'd have thought that even though England had shuffled awkwardly through Euro 2024 and shown even a semblance of their real form, that their arrival in a major European Championship would galvanise them, stimulate their senses, providing inspiration rather than perspiration. But this was a horrible shambles of a display, a shabby, underwhelming, misshapen and totally ineffectual display that had little in the way of a coherent shape or structure about it.

This reminded of you a group of late night train commuters who'd missed the last train and couldn't find a ticket office open to them. Here England were stranded, helpless, leaden footed, a team with restrictive chains around their ankles and not a single clue between them. You kept looking for consolation in this Euro Final defeat for England and just saw a red tidal wave of Spanish shirts cascading against England's defensive shores mercilessly and stylishly. Sometimes class tells and Luis De Fuentes, Spain's wise and wily manager, coach and shrewd tactician, must have thought this was the easiest assignment his Spain team had ever been faced with. 

Spain played the kind of open, expansive, expressive, flowing and decorative football that we may have come to expect from them. In another age and incarnation, the likes of Xavi, Iniesta and Fabregas were like midfield architects with some of the most effective tools at their disposal. It was a side that won World Cups and European Championships at exactly the right time of their development, a side with the perfect blend and chemistry.

And yet for the first half an hour or so, the defensive bastions of Kyle Walker, Luke Shaw, John Stones and Declan Rice shielding a comfortable back four, were just minding their own business. Spain were beginning to create a storm and stir with their exquisite one touch football but nothing seemed to be getting past England goalkeeper Jordan Pickford. But not a single glove was laid on the Spanish and Phil Foden, Kobbie Mainoo, Jude Bellingham and Harry Kane were like sparring partners, tentatively picking out their punches but never really connecting. England were just content to wait for the right moment and then found all their attacking avenues were being blocked stubbornly.

Last night though was all about the coronation of a new Spanish footballing king. At 17, Lamine Yamal may yet to have experienced his first shave, nor an alcoholic drink. But the youngster from Barcelona showed once again why Spain have produced one of the most lustrous diamonds. Lamal was simply unplayable, irrepressible, a pearl of a player, dribbling in and out of white English shirts as if the game was just a piece of cake and needed no clarification.

He toyed, teased and taunted the England defence rather like the kid in the playground who just wants the ball all the time, regardless of the consequences. He dummied players effortlessly, nutmegging for fun, dancing through forests of feet with the kind of close ball control that drives defenders completely berserk. Last night no England player could deal or live with Yamal. He was a child of nature, a man of impulse, off the cuff, a player with the most unexpected, a constant source of danger and surprise, the sudden killer touch when it counted.

At one point the whole of the England team were surrounding Yamal and Nico Williams on both wings and wondering whether it wasn't just a futile exercise. Every time Yamal and Williams had the ball, England looked perplexed and hypnotised by the sheer individual cheek and effrontery of this young Spanish upstart. Besides, England should have had both men's cards marked from the start but could only manage more than a flailing tackle and fruitless challenge.

Now both Phil Foden and Declan Rice began to lose the ball more often than gained. Foden, although a bundle of energy and exuberance, looked as if he'd played one match too many. Rice, for his part, has leadership qualities in abundance and skipped around Spanish red shirts as if they were simply inferior to him. This was not to be Rice's night, however. He is an immensely reassuring presence for England but England looked groggy and under the weather and the Arsenal player at times looked sluggish and out of sorts at times. There can be no doubting his quality though and maybe his day will come.

And so it was that Spain inevitably took the lead shortly after half time. Another breathtaking sequence of quick, quick, slow and staccato passes stretched right across the pitch. The ball, now adopting a mind of its own, fell to Yamal. Now the new kid on the block from Barcelona, from whom he will receive the best football education, Lamal went to town, luring England defenders into his trap, jinking and darting between all and sundry. Then the wonderfully creative Dani Olmo, Aymeric La Porte, Fabian Ruiz  moved the ball from feet to feet with an instinctive knowledge of where each was. 

Now though Williams shifted the ball quickly from one foot to the other. The ball stayed magnetically at William's feet and, a ferocious low drive from the man of the moment, had far too much power for England goalkeeper Jordan Pickford and the ball flew past the Everton keeper. Spain were, crucially, in front and never relinquished their stranglehold on the match. Their movements on and off the ball were dreamlike. England were on the rack, pinned back desperately as the ball was clipped neatly between one red shirt and another.

Then, in a lull period during the second half, Spain seemed to take their eye off the ball. There were brief lapses of concentration when England brought on Chelsea's Cole Palmer from the substitute's bench. Suddenly, England woke up, startled into life, revived, resurrected and almost completely transformed.  Bukayo Saka, the Arsenal winger, finally turned on the afterburners for England just when it was required. Saka once again embarked on a dazzling run, an electrifying turn of pace that was cut back with heavenly timing for Palmer, who strode on to crack a fabulous shot that soared into the net for an England equaliser that nobody had seen coming.

For a while it looked for all the world that England were in the ascendancy, their passes much cleaner and their attacks both impeccably co-ordinated and choreographed. Foden was finding much more space to run into and Kobbie Manoo, the Manchester United midfielder, was by far England's most inventive player, a stabilising influence and always involved in the heat of the action. Palmer was now running at Spain, a free and independent spirit while Walker and Stones were giving their colleagues welcome ballast at the back. Walker, although one of England's most experienced veterans, can still take on his opponents for pace without worrying that the windows might be open at the back.

But then it all fell apart at the seams for England. Their attacking momentum began to run out of steam again and the entire team found itself withdrawing deep into their shell. They'd been rumbled by Spain and there was no way back from the trenches that England had fallen back into. Alvaro Morata, another ageing striker for Spain, hemmed Walker and Stones into the most confined spaces. Now the red Spanish shirts came storming forward back into the match with  yet another session of handsome passing that England had no answer to. Fabian Ruiz and Dani Olmo were now dictating the game with some of the sweetest footballing concepts ever seen on a football pitch.

With minutes left and the game still hanging in the balance, Spain went about stripping open England's now brittle and frail looking defence with football from the purest source. Another decisive break from Spain ended up with lively interchanges that led to a smart cut back to Mikel Oyarzabal who slid the ball past Jordan Pickford with the goal that won the European Championship for Spain again. Spain were European Champions for the fourth time and exactly 60 years after winning their first trophy. There was no way back for Gareth Southgate's England. Victory had been snatched away from them.

This morning, England stepped off the plane and back to reality. The mood of course was sombre, an air of deep reflection and introspection which have now become familiar themes throughout the years and decades. For England, this had been another grave disappointment and too anti climactic for words. Of course we have been here for the national side on innumerable occasions and the result was somehow tinged with a sorrowful inevitability about it.

Gareth Southgate walked past hundreds of cameramen and women, past those brightly lit duty free shops groaning with booze and cigarettes. If only things had gone according to some grand plan. If only they'd won and done so with some conviction. We were all ready to acclaim our heroes with open top bus parade celebrations, an air of festivity while not forgetting that national Bank Holiday arranged almost immediately. Sir Keir Starmer, Labour's new Prime Minister, must have thought that the year was about to get even better for him personally. Sadly, it'll be 60 years ago since England sampled its greatest World Cup victory and perhaps one day, it can still wend its weary way home. It's a tall order and big ask but sport does occasionally give something back for perseverance. You never know.