Awooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!——
The moment the final whistle blew…
Everyone on Croatia's bench—except for Bilić—rushed madly onto the pitch.
They sprinted, tackling teammates in celebration wherever they could.
Hot tears welled up in their eyes. Their hearts pounded like drums, as if they might burst from their chests. Their chests burned like furnaces.
The final!
The final!!They had made it to the European Championship final!They had defeated the mighty Spain and created a glorious, unforgettable moment in history!
At that moment, no one could stay calm.
"The final! The final! The final—Croatia! Boys! We—We've made it!!!——"
Klausić had gone completely manic, his words breaking and stumbling.
He had so much to say, but no words felt adequate. Or maybe he simply couldn't stay calm enough to form them.
All he could do was shout into the microphone over and over.
Whoooooaaaaa——
In the commentary booth, not just the commentator Klausić but even the crew, producers, and other staff jumped to their feet.
They embraced one another in sheer ecstasy.
After 90+3 minutes of fierce battle—After such a hard-fought match—Croatia had made it to the European Championship final for the first time in history.
It was a moment of glory.It was a moment worthy of the record books.
"We did it! We actually did it!!"
"Oh my God! The final!!"
"God bless us!"
Šuker raised his arms and sank to his knees.
All around him—Modrić, Dujmović, Srna, Mandžukić—formed a circle.
Their voices trembled.
No one could stay composed at this moment.
Šuker was overwhelmed with joy.
They had done it.
They hadn't wasted their effort.
Everything had gone just right.
At this moment, they were Croatia's heroes.
Whatever they did now—they would be forgiven.
"Hell yeah! I told you Spain wasn't that strong! Hahaha! I was right! Eat shit, you damn tiki-taka!"
Van Stoyak had completely lost it.
He was on his knees, screaming his lungs out.
Beside him, Coach Bilić stood watching Van Stoyak and the celebrating players with a complicated expression.
If not for everything that happened earlier…If he had supported the high press tactic, maybe now he too would be celebrating without holding back.
But now… there was a knot in his heart.
The young Croatian players, and Van Stoyak, had just proven through an incredible match that they were right.
And he… had become the clown.
A bitter smile crept across Bilić's lips.
In this moment, his confidence as a head coach wavered.
He even began to question—am I really cut out to be a manager?
"Final! Final! Final!"
In the stands, Zvonimir Boban roared with passion.
He planted a foot on the railing, fists clenched, swinging them wildly.
His chest burned so hard, it felt like it might explode.
Davor Šuker, surprisingly, was calm.
He watched the young players celebrating on the pitch and applauded softly.
His eyes were misty, red-rimmed. The corners of his mouth trembled with joy.
He smiled, but tears poured uncontrollably down his face.
So many regrets.So much helplessness.In this moment, it all felt complete.
Yet even then, he couldn't be fully happy.
Šuker and his generation had succeeded—but in a way, they had also failed.
There was still bitterness in his heart.But more than anything—resignation.
Time couldn't be turned back.Even if it could, he wasn't confident he could've done better.
They were Croatia's Golden Generation.
They had brought Croatia its first taste of football glory.
But now, they had stepped off the stage.
It was time to hand things over to these young warriors.
All across Croatia, people were celebrating.
Some rejoiced, others wept.
Spain's players and fans were drowning in the pain of defeat.
Iniesta sat on the turf, head down, tears streaming freely.
He couldn't accept it.If he had just gotten past that last defender, maybe—just maybe—Spain would have had one last chance.
But now, it was too late to say anything.
Xavi, Ramos, Alonso… all hung their heads.This defeat meant their European Championship journey was over.
All their previous efforts—gone.
On the sidelines, Spain's veteran coach Luis Aragonés shook his head with a bitter expression.
They had lost.They had really lost.
Spain's elegant, calm tiki-taka had been beaten by Croatia's frenzied counterattacks and fierce defense.
He knew what this loss meant for him.
Sigh…Aragonés exhaled deeply, then turned to his assistants.
"Thank you all for your support and help along the way. Just getting here was an achievement. But from here on… I probably can't continue this journey with you. Someone has to take responsibility."
His wrinkled face bore a bittersweet smile."Don't worry. I'll take all the blame."
"Don't give up on this path. Failure is temporary. What matters is learning from it."
"The future is up to you now. Thank you again."
Aragonés bowed to his assistants.
They looked stunned.
"Enough. The match is over. No more crying. Even in defeat, we must show grace. Gather everyone for the handshakes."
The players from both teams lined up again.
The contrast was stark.
Croatia's side was energetic and bright.Spain's was quiet and somber.
The handshakes began.
Spain's players—most of them still young—had red, puffy eyes.
This was many of their first major tournament as starters. The loss hit them hard.
Several players—like Torres—stared at Šuker with intense focus.
"Next time, I will beat you!" Ramos said in a low voice. "I swear!"
Šuker gave a tight, awkward smile and nodded—then quickly walked away.
And so, the match ended.
Croatia defeated Spain and advanced to the Euro final.
But now, all eyes turned toward the next semifinal.
June 27: Germany vs. Russia.
Croatia had already secured the first ticket to the final.
The second would be claimed by either Germany or Russia.
The next day's semifinal was also intense.
Though it didn't have the tactical variety, tempo swings, and psychological drama of Croatia vs. Spain…
It was Germany vs. Russia—a clash with deep historical hatred.
When enemies meet, it's a fight to the death.
From the very first minute, tensions flared.With Rolfes brutally sliding into Sychev and forcing him out injured, the air was thick with gunpowder.
Both sides kept retaliating.The fouls were rough and often excessive.
In just 20 minutes, the ref had handed out 5 yellow cards—one every four minutes on average.
Each team hit back: "You foul me, I foul you."
Amidst all the chaos, the match went on.
Surprisingly, in the 29th minute, Arshavin and Pavlyuchenko combined to give Russia the lead.
But Germany struck back quickly.Within ten minutes, Schweinsteiger and Klose each scored, turning the match around.
Then in the second half, just one minute after kickoff, Lahm unleashed a rocket from outside the box to make it 3–1.
Though Arshavin managed a gutsy goal in the 89th minute, risking injury as he forced his way through defenders, it wasn't enough.
Final score: Germany 3–2 Russia.Germany secured the second ticket to the Euro final.
And so, the stage was set.
Germany vs. Croatia in the final.
Western Europe's Panzer tanks versus Eastern Europe's Checkered Army.
An East vs. West showdown.
Interestingly, both teams came from the same group.
Suddenly, Group B's value skyrocketed.
Both the 1st and 2nd place teams from that group had made the final.
Austria and Poland were quick to chime in:"It's not that we were weak—it's just that our group was insanely competitive!"
Poland even boasted:"If we were in any other group, we'd at least have made it out as second!"
But the media ignored this kind of petty attention-seeking.
Right now, all of Europe was focused on one thing:
The epic final — Croatia vs. Germany.