"Gooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaal!!!!!!"
"GOAL!!!!!!!"
"England concedes at ho! Oh my god! They're falling behind — and edging closer to elimination!"
Croatian comntator Kraushević couldn't hide the sheer joy in his voice.
Even a powerhouse like the Three Lions looked powerless in front of these rising Eastern European Knights.
The much-hyped English backline—Carragher, Terry, and Ferdinand—had finally crumbled under Suker's relentless assault.
"Mario Mandžukić scores the opener for us — Croatia takes the lead!"
At Wembley Stadium, a small patch of Croatian fans erupted in celebration.
The English fans, anwhile, held their heads in despair, faces heavy with anxiety.
Conceding the first goal left England completely on the back foot.
"Another poor decision from McClaren! Why use three centre-backs?!"
The English comntator was fuming, his voice full of bla.
Was four defenders not good enough?
Against Suker, why opt for a three-man backline?
Even McClaren looked pale.
He hadn't wanted this either! Who could have guessed Suker would start as a striker today?!
McClaren turned to glare at the Croatian technical area, teeth clenched as he watched Croatia's eccentric coach Bilic celebrate like a madman.
Every ti they played Croatia, this damned Croatian always had his number.
"Van Štoyak, you genius!"
Bilic hugged his assistant coach tightly.
Everything was going better than expected.
Van Štoyak couldn't help but smile.
Even he hadn't expected it to be this easy, especially with McClaren so "cooperative" by using a three-at-the-back system.
To be honest, Van Štoyak didn't think any manager had truly mastered the three-centre-back formation—it had too many flaws.
Sure, it strengthened the midfield, but Croatia wasn't even bothering with midfield build-up.
They kept it simple: long balls over the top, bypassing midfield, dropping directly into the final third—then let Suker wreak havoc.
If England had used four defenders, they might've had so buffer space.
But with only three, they simply couldn't withstand Suker's pressure.
After celebrating, Croatia regrouped.
Suker glanced at England's defenders—Terry, Carragher, all top-class.
But… let's not forget—
"I play in Serie A."
When he first joined AC Milan, Suker had faced the ironclad chain-defenses of Juventus, Roma, Inter…
When it cos to the art of defending, how could the Premier League even compare to Serie A?
"Well done, Mario!" Suker praised Mandžukić, clapping him on the shoulder.
Mandžukić grinned, "If I missed a chance like that, I shouldn't be a pro."
Back on the bench, Dujmović scratched his itchy ear.
"Who just cursed at ?" he mumbled.
With the first goal secured, Croatia's morale soared.
England, on the other hand, beca visibly anxious.
"Attack! Attack! We need a goal!"
Rooney was desperate.
Lose this ga, and they'd be out of Euro 2008—the ultimate humiliation.
All other teams off to the Euros, while England… went on holiday?
Unacceptable.
"They're getting frantic," Suker noted after the restart.
England began relentless attacks, crashing into Croatia's half.But against their tight, compact defense, they found no breakthrough.
Both flanks were sealed off.
Crouch was tightly marked by Šimunić.
Rooney resorted to long-range efforts.
Ironically, Ashley Cole was England's best perforr.
He consistently beat Rakitić, making runs down the line…
But what then?
Even when he whipped the ball into Croatia's box—it was packed with Croatian defenders.
"You're leaking like crazy!"
Mandžukić yelled at Rakitić, who was getting repeatedly dribbled past.
"You're a freaking colander!"
Rakitić sulked.
"I'm an attacking midfielder! What kind of defensive output do you expect?!"
"Force him in one direction—wait for !" Mandžukić finally had enough and decided to track back and help defend.
Next ti Ashley Cole received the ball, Rakitić didn't even reach for it.
Cole tried to bait him into tackling—but Rakitić stayed still.
As Cole prepared to drive past, a blast of force ca from the side.
"Outta the way!"
Mandžukić shoulder-charged him, stole the ball, and launched a counterattack.
"See that? That's what real defending looks like!"Mandžukić smirked smugly.
Suker grinned, "This guy actually pulled it off…"
"Suker!"
Kranjčar shouted.
Suker turned, took the ball, and drove forward.
"Collapse on him! Sides pinch in!" Terry barked defensive orders, then rushed Suker.
Suker began stepovers, his torso swaying wildly.
The pendulum move—incredibly effective.
Without considering fatigue, it was almost unstoppable.
Watching his footwork, Terry's head began to spin.
Suker approached.
Terry broke into a cold sweat.
Now!
Terry lunged in to poke the ball.
But Suker nudged it sideways with his right.
"Not so fast!" Terry grabbed him as he tried to cut inside.
Just as Suker changed direction, he lost his balance, and the ball rolled toward Ferdinand.
Suker exaggerated his fall—he even jumped into the box. (Olympic Gold dalist Diver)
FWEEEEEEEET!
The whistle blew.
Terry jumped up to explain, but the ref waved him off and went to Suker.
"That's a warning." The referee pointed to his own eyes.
"I'm not blind."
Suker looked embarrassed.
It was… a bit of a dive.
But to be fair, Terry did grab him.
In the end, the referee gave England the ball.
Suker got off with a verbal warning—no yellow, no free kick—just a scolding for the dive.
"That flop was awful,"Mandžukić grumbled.
"Even the Professor makes mistakes," Suker muttered with a cough.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!"
Although it didn't result in a free kick, it helped burn ti.
By the 35th minute, the first half was slipping away from England.
"Fall back! Defend!"
Bilic was now shouting from the touchline.
Everyone but Suker dropped back into defense.
In the stands, the English fans grew anxious.
They watched their team surround Croatia, but still couldn't score.
All the shots ca from distance.
Crosses into the box?
Crouch couldn't win a single header.
"What's the point of being that tall?"
"Oi, beanpole! Do sothing!"
"Hey! Use your head! Literally!"
"Pass the damn ball! What is this crap?! Do you even know how to play?!"
"This is pathetic."
Frustration boiled over.
England looked toothless.
Rooney lacked his club form.
Crouch was no threat in front of goal.
The midfield looked dominant, but was completely rigid.
Lampard couldn't control the tempo at all.
In short—a disaster.
The fans were seething.
Where was the brave, aggressive Three Lions they once knew?
Suker stood alone up top, watching this ltdown, and couldn't help but sigh.
"The Beckham-era England still had bite…"
But this version?
The Three Lions were turning into… the Three ow Cats.
And it would only get worse.
ow Army!
Hype Team!
Squad!
A national side built for internet jokes.
This was England's gradual descent.
Sure, they'd still have the occasional flash of brilliance—but this wasn't how a true powerhouse looked.
Too unstable.
Suker, standing calmly at the halfway line, felt it clearly.
To him, this England wasn't a strong team.
The real elites at this point in ti were:
Germany, Italy, and Spain.
Boom!
Croatia's goalkeeper pald the ball out for a corner—
At the sa mont, the halfti whistle blew.
"That's halfti! Croatia leads 1–0 thanks to a goal from Mandžukić."
"England looks helpless against Croatia's fortress-like defense!"
"McClaren needs to co up with sothing. If we lose this match… we're not going to Euro 2008!"
The English comntator sounded genuinely afraid.
England was drifting further and further away from Euro 2008…
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