24 June 2004, Estádio da Luz, Lisbon. Portugal 2–2 England, after extra time. Portugal win 6–5 on penalties.
By Hamish McTavish
A Thursday night in the new Luz, the hosts in the quarter-final, and a golden generation that had decided this time it could be their year. Sven-Göran Eriksson, who had spent five years at the old stadium with Benfica, said the belief among the players was very big, that they were peaking at the right time, and that if they went on like this it would not be easy to beat them, so why shouldn’t they be one of the favourites? Steven Gerrard said they had confidence they could go all the way, and that this time it could be their year. David Beckham said in three more games they could be in the final, and that they would keep the dreams to themselves. The Star, in the morning, would not keep anything. Reffing Disgrace. The Sun would find You Swiss Banker. The Mirror and the Guardian would share two words they already owned: Not Again.
Wayne Rooney had been the tournament. That is the certainty they walked into the Luz with: the boy, eighteen, already the noise, already the thing Portugal were supposed to fear. Eriksson had said not to expect a couple of goals every night, only that he be focused. Luiz Felipe Scolari had already taken a World Cup off this England in Japan. He still had Luís Figo. He had Deco. He had a nineteen-year-old called Cristiano Ronaldo. He had Ricardo in goal. Urs Meier, of Switzerland, had the whistle. England had Michael Owen, Frank Lampard, John Terry, Sol Campbell, and the idea that a partial success was not enough because Eriksson did not want to go home. These tournaments, he said, are what you live for. It smells of football twenty-four hours a day.
Lisbon in June smells of that and of a host that has already stumbled once and got up. Scolari had gone to the kids after Greece. Figo was still the name. Ronaldo was already the run. Eriksson had the same last-eight problem he had had against this man in Japan, and a shorter gap to recover in than Portugal. The English end had come for the boy. The boy would be in the X-ray room before the hour.
They kicked off anyway.
Three minutes. Costinha misread a ball in the air, Owen was onto it, and the finish was already in before the ground had sat down. One-nil, and the year they had promised each other looking like a night. Then, on twenty-seven minutes, Rooney went for a ball with Jorge Andrade and came back lame. A metatarsal, the English bone. Darius Vassell came on. The teeth came out of the attack. They held the lead into the last ten anyway, because that is what a lead is for, and then Lampard gave one away, Simão crossed, and Hélder Postiga, unmarked, headed in. One-one. Owen headed a Beckham free-kick onto the bar. Campbell forced the rebound over the line. Meier decided Terry had impeded Ricardo. The linesman had been ready to give it. The Swiss was not. Extra time.
That is the turn they will take to the grave, and it is not the night. The night is what happened after they had already been told they were robbed. Rui Costa, on as a substitute, hit one from distance that David James could not live with. Two-one, extra time, the host finishing the job. Lampard, from Terry’s nod, made it two-two with five minutes of the extra period left, which is a midfielder doing the thing he was picked to do. Penalties, the fourth time in fourteen years.
Beckham went first and over, the standing foot going on the sandy spot, the captain looking at the mark as if it had moved. Rui Costa did the same for them. Owen, Lampard, Terry, Owen Hargreaves, Ashley Cole all scored. Vassell, the seventh English kick, went low to Ricardo’s left. Ricardo had taken his gloves off. He saved it with the bare hands and then walked up and put the winner past James himself. Six-five. Marca, in Spain, did not need Meier. Ricardo and Scolari send England home. L’Équipe had Portugal by knock-out. The Star had the ref. The Sun had the banker. Not again is the only honest one.
Owen had the three-minute finish. Rooney had the bone and the walk. Campbell had the goal that was a goal until it wasn’t. Terry had the foul Meier saw and the penalty he scored. Lampard had the equaliser. Beckham had the slip and the sky. Vassell had the gloves that were not there. Ricardo had the save and the kick. James had the rocket and the last one. Eriksson had why shouldn’t we be favourites, and the same Scolari, and the flight. Gerrard had this time it could be our year, which is a sentence that ages in a night. Meier had the morning papers. He did not have the five English kicks that went in, or the two that did not.
They said one of the favourites. They said go all the way. They said our year. They said reffing disgrace. If you still think it was only the Swiss, a funeral is only a Tuesday. The Swiss took a goal off them. The shoot-out took the rest. They had been here in Turin, in Saint-Étienne, at Wembley. They would be here again in two years, against the same lot, with the same keeper in their way.
The film is up. UEFA still keep Owen, the bone, the header that did not count, the gloves coming off. Do not review it. Watch the year die on a sandy spot.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlEUdZgH0gc
Related reading
- One stupid boy — Saint-Étienne 1998, another shoot-out that became a name
- A cross that drifted — Shizuoka 2002, Scolari’s first England quarter-final
If the nights sit right, the shirts and the wall are at /shop.
FAQ
What was the score when Portugal beat England in Lisbon 2004?
Portugal 2–2 England after extra time; Portugal won 6–5 on penalties, on 24 June 2004 at the Estádio da Luz. Owen and Lampard scored for England; Postiga and Rui Costa for Portugal.
Why “Reffing disgrace”?
The Daily Star’s morning headline after Urs Meier disallowed Sol Campbell’s late header. The Sun went with You Swiss Banker; Not Again covered the rest.
Who saved the decisive penalty?
Ricardo, bare-handed after taking his gloves off, saved Darius Vassell’s kick and then scored the winner himself.