2026-01-02 09:00

Let me tell you, as a lifelong football fan and someone who’s spent more hours than I care to admit analyzing tournaments, there’s something uniquely electric about the European Championship. The 2018 edition, while not a World Cup year, delivered a concentrated dose of drama that, in my opinion, rivals any major international competition. It’s a tournament where national pride is worn on the sleeve, and the matches often feel more intense, more personal, than club football. I remember settling in for that opening match, Russia versus Saudi Arabia, expecting a cautious affair. What we got was a 5-0 demolition by the hosts, a statement of intent that set the tone for a month of surprises. It was a reminder that in these tournaments, form guides are often there to be ripped up.

The group stages had this wonderful chaos to them. Spain and Portugal served up an instant classic right out of the gate, a 3-3 draw featuring a Cristiano Ronaldo hat-trick that felt inevitable in its brilliance. I recall watching that game with friends, the room erupting with each twist. That’s the beauty of the Euros—every match feels like a final to someone. Then you had the underdog stories. Who could forget Iceland, with their iconic “Viking Clap,” holding the mighty Argentina to a draw? It wasn’t just a result; it was a cultural moment, a testament to sheer collective will. For me, these moments are the soul of the tournament. They echo a sentiment I once heard from a basketball player discussing his career moves, something like, “Actually, many teams from other leagues made offers… I didn’t know either, maybe it was God’s plan for me to return. It was like just last week was my sign-off time then suddenly coach Franco messaged me. I said, it looks like this is the sign.” Football at the Euros is similar—players and teams often seem to be waiting for that sign, that moment of destiny, whether it’s a last-minute goal or an unexpected call-up that changes everything. The narrative isn’t just about tactics; it’s about fate and seizing the moment when it arrives.

As we moved into the knockout rounds, the tension became almost palpable. That Belgium vs. Japan match in Rostov was a masterclass in emotional whiplash. Japan, the clear underdog, goes 2-0 up. The disbelief was universal. Then, in the dying minutes, Belgium mounts a stunning comeback, winning 3-2 with a counter-attack in the 94th minute that was pure, devastating precision. I was on the edge of my seat, my earlier predictions completely shattered. It was football at its most thrilling and cruel. The quarter-final between France and Argentina, a 4-3 victory for Les Bleus, was another spectacle. It felt less like a tactical battle and more like a heavyweight slugfest, with Kylian Mbappé announcing himself to the world with his blistering pace. I have a soft spot for these high-scoring, back-and-forth clashes—they’re a purist’s nightmare sometimes, but for the neutral fan, they’re absolute gold.

Of course, the tournament also had its share of gritty, strategic wars. The semi-final between England and Croatia, for instance. England scored early, and for a while, it seemed like football might finally be “coming home.” But Croatia, led by the sublime Luka Modrić, wore them down with relentless possession and midfield control, winning 2-1 in extra time. It was a lesson in experience and resilience. I remember feeling a mix of admiration for Croatia and sympathy for the young English side—you could see the dream slipping away in real-time. The final itself, France versus Croatia, was a fascinating contrast. France, with all their youthful exuberance and superstar power, against Croatia’s battle-hardened veterans. The 4-2 scoreline for France might suggest a walkover, but it wasn’t. Croatia had more possession and more heart, in my view, but France had that ruthless, clinical edge. Didier Deschamps’ side was like a perfectly engineered machine, efficient and devastating on the break. While I often root for the underdog, you had to respect France’s tournament mastery.

Looking back, Euro 2018 wasn’t about one team or one player, though Mbappé and Modrić were undoubtedly stellar. It was about the collective experience—the shock results, the last-gasp winners, the tears of joy and despair. It’s the tournament where a nation of 330,000 like Iceland can capture the world’s imagination, and where a team like Croatia can fight through three consecutive extra-time matches to reach the final. The data, like the 169 total goals scored at an average of 2.7 per match, only tells part of the story. The real magic was in the narratives, those unscripted moments of brilliance and heartbreak that you remember for years. For any fan, it served as a complete guide to why we love this game: for its unpredictability, its passion, and its ability to write stories that feel both personal and universal. I still rewatch highlights from that Belgium-Japan game sometimes—it’s a perfect capsule of everything that makes tournament football so utterly compelling.

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