There is football in Denmark: the incredible success that was fished in Euro 92

The phone rings. The federation delegate widens his eyes, gasping for what he has just heard. When he hangs up, he walks down a long hallway to tell everyone, “We have been caught!“. In Copenhagen they welcome the news with shrugs. Better that way, okay, but where do we want to go?

Let’s get away from the fabulous narration, because the prodigy’s anteroom has blood-stained walls and exudes horror from the carpet. In the summer of 1992 the Denmark blocked entry to the European football championships by only one point. Enough to finish behind Yugoslavia. Except that country that is there is about to dissolve. The conflict is raging and also forces UN peacekeepers to take refuge in the hottest areas. Croatia, Bosnia and Slovenia are on the path to independence, even if it is paved with bombs. What remains of this torn place is clear to everyone, it no longer shares the values ​​of a peaceful Europe. Exclusion from competition is a ridiculous side effect compared to the bleak thought of war massacres. It happens though. The Danes remembered that the T-shirts had to be pressed into the suitcase in a hurry.

For Europeans, sure, it doesn’t take off the ticket Vicini’s Italy. After the bustle of magical nights at home, it’s time to sink. The future that is about to arrive is called Arrigo Sacchi, but without a doubt this is another story. We go back to Denmark where, as Marcellus tweeted in Hamlet, there is definitely something rotten, yes, but between the people and Mr. Møller Nielsen. The latter – it’s the ubiquitous smell – not only failed technically. His main sin is of a moral nature. Armed with unusual arrogance, he decided to distill the football rush of the Laudrup brothers, Miki and Brian. In the last game, he even replaced them both. For Michael it is too big an affront to be digested: “That’s enough, from now on my team will only be Barcelona”, he announces. Only the little brother goes to the Europeans in Sweden: no doubt remorse is a reluctant wound to close.

Okay, everything is fine. Schmeichel between the sticks it already announces that it is predestined. Vilfort, a steel midfielder, has one more reason to fight: he travels between the field and the hospital where his daughter, who suffers from severe leukemia, is admitted. In front is Povlsen to make a door, while Brian flutters. The structure is more than decent, but the real favorites are others. Holland by Dennis Bergkamp, for example, is a talented juice. It also promises well Platini’s France, which comes from 19 consecutive useful results. The spectrum, however, remains Germany, the new holder of the World Cup. Also because the wall has fallen and, for the first time since the war, it may seem compact, armed with the class of people like Sammer, Hassler and Klinsmann.

Here comes the narrow ending. Denmark stopped England 0-0, but gave way to the hosts of Sweden. It already seems like a depressing epilogue, but the clash comes, unexpectedly, against France: 2-1 and goes through the semifinals from the second position. But in Gothenburg, on June 22, it seems impossible to win. In front are Gullit’s Holland, Van Basten and an inexhaustible catalog of other luminescent stars. Instead, Larsen’s double (then at Pisa) dragged the Danes into overtime and therefore into an unexpected penalty victory. Absurd: final.

Now, however, experts say, the stroke of good luck has been consummated. Against Germany by Berti Vogts he should definitely lay down his arms. Except that, reluctant to predict, Møller Nielsen’s selection proves to be an unmanageable stone guest. Jensen uncovers the game in the 18th minute. Then it is a flow of unstoppable events. The German coach shuts down the reason for the team, removing Sammer in the half. Ideas become clouded. The usual perception of invulnerability of the Germans is again punished. Riedle and his teammates all pour forward, taking more than one risk. Until Vilfort, the same father with a worried heart, closes it for good.

From fish to winners, with all due respect to those who discuss logic. In the summer of 1992 even the skeptics repented. After the final whistle, they explode in the streets of Copenhagen whispering words of butter: there is football in Denmark.

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