Switzerland humiliates Italy 2-0, Azzurri out of Euro 2024

Berlin - Forget magical nights and the world championship triumph of Berlin 2006. This time it is not enough to evoke sweet memories and recall the winning times of the past. This time, we return home sadly from the Olympiastadion, and rightly so, for an Italy in which we wanted to believe until the end but which, on the decisive occasion, offers the worst version of this Spallettian adventure, full of difficulties, excuses, flashes and shadows. Hamstrung by Switzerland (a solid team, but not Brazil...), we closed the European Championship with no certainties and the morale under the heels. Dominated physically, technically and psychologically by Yakin's men, the Azzurri leave the continental tournament without ever having given the idea of being able to really play to defend the title won just three years ago at Wembley. But in football (and for a national team that has also experienced Roberto Mancini's traumatic farewell) three seasons are an eternity, and nothing like the bitter night at the Olympiastadion reminded us of that.

This time the eve's predictions were right. With Di Marco out with an injury and Calafiori disqualified, Spalletti launched a flexible 4-3-3, with Donnarumma in goal, protected in the centre by Bastoni and Mancini, and Di Lorenzo and Darmian on either side; In midfield, the two reigning European champions Cristante and Barella are the shields of the surprise Fagioli, and if necessary (and this is a move that is almost a reference to Mancini) they can also take on the burden of direction to help the Juventus player; up front, once again, trust in Scamacca, with Chiesa and El Shaarawi on the outside, but with the Roman player ready to double up as cover. Yakin confirms en bloc the team that did so well in the group stage. Embolo will be the offensive terminal supported by Rieder and Vargas. The 'Bolognese' Aebischer and Ndoye on the lanes to give thrust to a team that is nevertheless very offensive.

Yakin's men immediately took control of operations, finding a couple of spurts on the left with Torinista Rodriguez; Barella took a knock behind his left thigh, but gritted his teeth; we struggled to stretch out, crumpled in our own three-quarter. A midfield spin, a through ball and a deep throw from Fagioli shake us from our torpor after a quarter of an hour. And in the 22nd minute, just like a flash, yet another miracle by Saint Donnarumma: Aebischer sent Embolo deep into the box, Gigio bewitched him and repelled his right-footed shot! Chiesa retaliated immediately with a slalom hit into the corner, but the blue torpor continued, while in the Berlin sky the blindingly hot sun was obscured by clouds.

He gesticulates, shouts, then walks towards the bench, then back towards the sidelines. Luciano Spalletti cannot help but be at least pensive in front of his Italy, mired in the grass of the Olympiastadion as if it were an Amazonian swamp. And in the 37th minute the deserved Swiss lead came with Vargas feeding Freuler from the left into the centre of the box, from where the ex-Atalanta man from Bologna left Donnarumma no chance this time without Mancini being able to thwart him. It was a more than fair score for Yakin's men, but in the face of the Azzurri's nothingness it is also difficult to quantify their actual merits. And thank goodness that Saint Gigio cleared a venomous Rieder free-kick at the post and then into the corner. Marciniak's whistle that ended the first half came like the end of a torment, and thus unconsciously had at least something liberating about it, the only pleasure (if one can call it that) experienced so far at the Olympiastadion.

But the worst was yet to come, and it materialised in Ruben Vargas' right-footed shot, which just as the second half dawned, netted the Swiss 2-0, when Zaccagni, the hero of the draw-qualification with Croatia had just emerged from the subway in place of El Shaarawi. A trauma, just as grotesque is the fact that we also come close to scoring, but only thanks to a dunk by... Schär, who unintentionally hits the post to the left of Sommer, who has not even got his gloves dirty so far. Spalletti tried to pair Retegui with Scamacca, but of two centre-forwards we couldn't make one. Scamacca's paolo from one metre on Zaccagni's header was the emblem of failure. None of the Azzurri coach's bets have paid the assumed dividends. Yakin's boys simply had more, more legs, more ideas, more desire. They go ahead, with full merit. We, from the roof of Europe, plummet into the abyss of our mistakes, of our limits, from which we must somehow get out as soon as possible.