17 October 2007, Luzhniki Stadium, Moscow. Russia 2–1 England.
By Hamish McTavish
A Wednesday in the Luzhniki, cold enough to make a qualifier feel like a different sport, the plastic pitch the week had already started arguing about, and a side that had come three thousand one hundred miles to put the group away. Steve McClaren had five wins on the bounce in qualifying and a job that, for one afternoon, looked like a job he might keep. Wayne Rooney had the night in him. Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard had the midfield the country still treated as a solution. Paul Robinson had the gloves the papers already wanted taken off him, a keeper who had been living on last year and a bounce. Guus Hiddink had a substitute on the bench named Roman Pavlyuchenko and a plan that did not look like a plan until the second half. The Luzhniki's artificial surface had been the English week: too fast, too true, not grass, a reason in waiting. England, at 1–0, would have been through on their own steam. Russia, at 2–1, would leave them needing Israel to do them a favour on the seventeenth of November and then Croatia at the new Wembley four days later, which is a sentence McClaren would have to live with for a month. The rugby team, the same week, were going to a World Cup final against South Africa. The Sun would remember that in the morning and put a football manager's head inside a rugby ball, which is a kind of English joke that only works if you have already decided the football is finished.
Moscow in October is a Luzhniki that does not care what you promised after five wins. England had come as the side that could qualify on their own steam if the lead held. Russia had come as Hiddink's side, with a substitute waiting and a pitch the English week had already filed as an excuse. The English end treated one-nil as a plan. The plastic treated one-nil as a beginning it had not agreed to. A win here still looked like a job kept. Four minutes here, and the rest of November would be a man walking toward the rain.
They kicked off anyway.
Rooney silenced the place in the first half. One-nil, and the hostile crowd went quiet in the way hostile crowds do when the script has been taken off them. England looked, for three-quarters of an hour and a bit of the second, like a side that had come to qualify. No trouble, the reports said. Then Hiddink sent Pavlyuchenko on, and the night changed temperature on the plastic. Rooney tugged at Konstantin Zyryanov. Luis Medina Cantalejo pointed at the spot. The Mirror, in the morning, would call it a plastic bullet and put Rooney on the back conceding it. Pavlyuchenko put it away. One-one. Four minutes later — four kamikaze minutes, the same paper said — Robinson came for a ball he did not hold and Pavlyuchenko had the second. Two-one. McClaren's world, the Mail wrote, had disintegrated around him in four second-half minutes. Outwitted by Hiddink. Game's up for you now, Mac. The real villain, they said, was the manager who had stuck with the keeper.
The Sun did not bother with four minutes as a news story. Kick Him Into Touch, on the front, McClaren's head inside a rugby ball, because the other England were still in a final and this one was not. Iron Curtains on the back. England's pampered footie stars, the editorial said, had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory and let the nation down yet again. The Mirror had We Need a Miracle on the news pages and Nyet Mare inside, Pavlyuchenko as the Russian sub who had torpedoed them. Fans who had made the trek were fuming. Qualification was no longer in English hands. Russia would have to slip in Israel. Then, and only then, would Croatia at Wembley still be a night that could save him. Israel did not slip. Croatia did not save him. That night is already filed: the brolly, the debut, the 3–2. Moscow is where the brolly became inevitable. Four minutes on plastic, and the rest of November was a man walking toward the rain.
Pavlyuchenko had both, off the bench, the penalty and the one Robinson did not hold. Hiddink had the change and the win. Rooney had the first half and the tug. Robinson had the second goal and the papers. Zyryanov had the foul. McClaren had the five-game streak, the plastic, the rugby ball on the front, and a month of hoping for Israel. The Sun had Iron Curtains. The Mail had the villain. The Mirror had the miracle they would not get.
They said five wins. They said no trouble. They said qualify in Moscow. They said the pitch. If you still think it was only the referee, a funeral is only a Tuesday. The referee gave a penalty. The keeper gave the second. The paper put the manager in a ball and called the back Iron Curtains, as if a Cold War pun could do the work of a defence. Four minutes. Then a month of Israel. Then the brolly. Moscow is not the night they missed the Euros. Moscow is the night they handed the Euros to everyone else and asked to be saved.
The film is still on the old uploads and in the BBC page they kept: Rooney's first, the spot, Robinson, the second. Do not review it. Watch the curtains come down.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/internationals/7047720.stm
Related reading
- The wally with the brolly — Wembley 2007, Croatia 3–2, the night Moscow made inevitable
- Football's not coming home — Moscow 2018, another Luzhniki night that ended the song
If the nights sit right, the shirts and the wall are at /shop.
FAQ
What was the score when Russia beat England in Moscow in 2007?
Russia 2–1 England, on 17 October 2007 at Luzhniki Stadium, Moscow. Rooney scored; Pavlyuchenko scored twice off the bench.
Why “Iron curtains”?
The Sun’s back-page pun — Iron Curtains — after four second-half minutes on plastic turned a qualifying lead into a defeat.
Did England still reach Euro 2008?
No. Israel did not slip; Croatia beat them at the new Wembley. Moscow is where the brolly became inevitable.