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I’m pretty sure of that.
On a plane that made it desperately difficult to balance, in a seemingly worsening rain and against one of the best teams in the world: Sweden was a pure disappointment in the first half, several classes worse than a Croatia that showed its technical skills against a visiting team without countermeasures. The 1-0 lead was low, the game-related confusion was worrying, and he felt bored, this seemed so much fun beforehand.
On the right, Dejan Kulusevski had been spared more blows. At the front, Alexander Isak had the opportunity alongside the attack’s own father, Marcus Berg. With Victor Nilsson Lindelöf and Ludwig Augustinsson healthy and Kristoffer Olsson, Albin Ekdal and Emil Forsberg behind the attacking duo, Janne Andersson put on the field a national team that seemed so technically oriented that it could be excused for putting on a smiling face.
Kulusevski became the central figure
Here I sat with my smile and felt how it escaped from my face. Unfortunately, both initiative and self-confidence would be lacking during the opening act. Isak disappeared completely, Berg barely won a duel, the midfield was exaggerated and the whole baseline seemed uncertain. Sweden sank deep and didn’t seem particularly comfortable.
For the second half, Janne Andersson and I needed to see a team that dared to play with more risk and players who dared to harness their own talents. That was exactly what we got. A penalty situation (a hand on Lovren that slipped), a good break on a near free kick from Isak and a good free kick from Forsberg added flavor.
Suddenly the photo of the match appeared, of which at least he had little hope; a Sweden that could measure itself, not only with organization, discipline and risk minimization, but with the help of the ball.
With every minute that passed, Dejan Kulusevski began to appear as the central figure of the game.
He played, as he always does, with the relentless conviction that every failed attempt to smash through opponents is just a countdown to how decisive it seems to be in his hands. In my opinion, it’s a kind of healthy frustration that he unleashes, and while there were times when maybe he should have dropped the ball, he secreted the kind of authority and forward thinking that his national team needed and needs going forward. .
Sweden found its voice
The rest of the team began to act with the same determination.
Ekdal won more ball and found Emil Forsberg (excellent in the second half) between the lines, Berg’s tireless duel provoked Lovren, the Sweden captain that night opened space for his speedy colleagues up front. Viktor Claesson came in and ripped wounds into a totally paralyzed home team, Augustinsson and Lustig continued to rage and it was, as in this fall’s away game against Romania, an equally fun and ticklish feeling to see a Swedish national team decide to dominate free pull out the hair and weigh more in the offensive direction.
It would also be worth it: Lustig divided the Croatians’ defensive line as he rushed forward and threw the ball at Emil Forsberg’s feet. A moment and a wise decision later, Marcus Berg knew how to cut a tie that began to feel well deserved.
Sweden had found its voice.
When he looked up he was gone
It was also in the direction that this third round of the Nations League was headed, towards a creditable Swedish victory, a kind of milestone in the ongoing transformation of the national team that Janne Andersson oversees. In all seriousness, I can’t remember the last time I saw a Swedish national team shed such advanced outfielders, seek so many offensive solutions centrally on the field, push with such conviction, or take down an equally skilled team.
Little drops of what is to come, and little drops of another kind in Pontus Jansson’s eyes, or whatever it was that got his head pierced in the race duel with Ivan Perisic. When he looked up, it had disappeared, and that was also the point that Sweden had won.
When he and everyone else have dried up, they can recall a midgame that says more about the situation than the results tonight.
