Oyarzabal shows the value of De la Fuente’s ‘true team’ on the way to winning Euro 2024 | Euro 2024

AAt 1.22 a.m. Berlin time, Henri Delaunay set off for Checkpoint Charlie, hidden in a simple metal suitcase. Only when he was safely in the bus under the Olympic Stadium did Álvaro Morata open the suitcase and retrieve the trophy. The European champions rolled out into the darkness towards a hotel on Marlene Dietrich Square, less than a mile from the border crossing, where family and friends were waiting for them. They had actually made it, the party could continue.

That afternoon, a few hours before the biggest moment of their lives, five Spanish players were chatting after lunch. A month earlier, before they had even left for Germany, Morata had insisted that a substitute would make the decision; now, at a table in the Grand Hyatt hotel, Álex Remiro, the third goalkeeper and the only member of the squad who had not played a minute at Euro 2024, told Mikel Oyarzabal that he would be the one tonight. And so it came to be.

Oyarzabal missed the last World Cup due to injury and felt he had lost something on the long road back. “In these moments, negative thoughts come to mind: what will become of me, how will I come back,” he said. “But with the help of so many people, you can be the same as before or adapt to what you are now and do something different. Just being here is something big.” Here he scored the goal that took Spain to its fourth European Championship, a record. A first for every member of that team, except Jesús Navas, who said goodbye with two of them.

There were four minutes left to play when Oyarzabal scored. The Spanish players crowded into the coaching area, unable to sit down. Morata was already in tears. When the final whistle blew, they stormed the pitch. Nico Williams went to look for his mother: his medal was for her. The players shouted at security to let their families onto the pitch, which wasn’t always easy, so some climbed into the stands instead. Confetti was everywhere, photos had to be taken. Shirts were handed out, number 4 on the back. Kings of Europe, they said.

Lamine Yamal received the trophy as the tournament’s best young player, Rodri was named most valuable player and Dani Olmo was one of the top scorers. He didn’t score in the final but he did clear one off the line – a moment that should be put in a frame and hung on the wall with many other pictures. Every player had excelled. At the start of the tournament, Morata was asked if Spain really had world-class players who could win the Ballon d’Or. Yes, he had said at the time, naming Rodri and Pedri and insisting that Williams and Lamine Yamal would one day be candidates.

Soon. “I seem to have an eye for a player,” Morata said now, laughing. “You can pick one, it doesn’t matter which one!” It would not be easy: there was something decidedly collective about it, half a dozen or more candidates for the best footballer of the last month. No single star, which was not bad, but 26 of them. Or 27: Gavi, 19 years old and injured, had flown in to spend the day with his teammates; he spent part of the night on their shoulders.

Few have defined this solidarity, this cohesion, as Navas has: the Sevilla defender says he has been in pain every day for six years because of a hip injury. Playing Spain’s third game as one of the ten non-top division players, he injured his ankle in the first minute but played on for 89 minutes because he knew Dani Carvajal needed a rest. Now Spain has not only the youngest winner of this competition, but also the oldest. Lamine Yamals fatherwho wears a T-shirt with the number 304 printed on it, the postcode of their Rocafonda neighbourhood, is younger than Navas.

That unity was De la Fuente’s focus, his obsession. “We are a real team, champions of Europe,” he said. So was Morata’s. The Atlético Madrid striker, who had previously hinted that this would be his last game with Spain but did not want to talk about it after the match, lifted the trophy; this was his moment, but he shared it with everyone, and his teammates couldn’t be happier to have another captain, the best they’ve ever had. Their affection, Morata said, “is worth more than 20 goals at the Euros. I feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

Morata also publicly thanked Andrés Iniesta and Bojan Krkic, who were responsible for him being there in the first place; without them he would not be here. They too had suffered from mental health problems and had now guided him. “At the end there is light,” he said. At the end he hopped off the stage carrying the 8kg of sterling silver, named after the Uefa general secretary whose idea the whole thing was. The Henri Delaunay Trophy was redesigned in 2008: since then Spain have won three of the five. No one has dominated an era like this; no one has dominated a tournament like this generation. Seven games, seven wins without penalties. Four world champions defeated.

“Previous generations showed us the way,” Rodri said. “In the end, it was a blessing that we got the tough side of the draw. That speaks to the mentality of the team. It’s something that is cultivated; many of us were champions at U19 and U21 level. The coach knew what he was doing. I won a lot of things with my club and that was brutal. But the feeling of building something with your country, you can’t even describe it. We saw Spain at the top when we were very small. You see them and think, wow. And now… well, my voice is breaking.”

Mikel Merino recalled: “Those photos we saw as children of the Spanish national team… we were also making history. We knew we had an exceptional team. Even after the game against Scotland, when we seemed to be on the brink of the abyss, we were clearly aware of it.” And so they became champions, something nobody else had expected.

In the time between their title win and their return to the dressing room, someone had gone down there and changed the decorations. Above the benches, a sign in tournament colours and font was plastered across the entire wall: “European Champions” it said. The fridge was full of Bitburgers. They hadn’t emptied it, nor had they emptied all the five-litre glasses, beer was on the way back. The champagne, huge bottles of it, was gone, more spilt than drunk, the room was soaked. Fruit, energy gels and anti-cramps medicine were left behind as they exited to the right and walked down the corridor.

Ferran Torres and Fabian were the first to arrive at the bus, throwing game balls into the air as souvenirs. Next came David Raya, a beer in his hand, shouting something about a haircut. Ayoze Pérez showed off his medal. Navas, the oldest player on the team, managed to look like the youngest, and his boyish smile gave him almost a sweetness, an expression of disbelief.

At 1:22 the trophy passed in the box, was rolled unnoticed to the bus and smuggled out. Then came Merino and Martín Zubimendi. Dani Olmo and Álex Baena arrived with Morata, the captain carrying a huge black boombox. The song was Potra Salvaje. As they left, a member of the coaching staff glanced in their direction, his admiration palpable. This is a new era, he dared to suggest: these guys are so good and so convinced; even if they concede goals, it doesn’t matter.

“The future is theirs,” said De la Fuente. “As long as they give me tickets,” said Morata. At 1:37 a.m. Williams arrived. At 1:39 a.m. Lamine handed Yamal papers to sign, a star not so much in the making as already made. Plans for the party in Madrid went through. “Get your hips ready, we’re going to break them,” said Williams.

At the hotel, family members wondered what was taking them so long. On the bus, someone got behind the wheel and honked, honked, honked, honked. Rodri came limping heavily with his trophy for player of the tournament. And then, at 1:52, Morata, being Morata. “Where’s the manager?” he asked.

There he was, the last man to leave, the coach who some people hadn’t heard of a month ago, whose team few believed in. At least not in the way he believes. “That’s normal and there’s still time to change that: wise people correct their mistakes,” admitted De la Fuente, not least because he shouldn’t care anymore.

“This is a dream. It’s very nice to win the title, but the road to get there, the way we’ve travelled it, is even nicer. I’m not sure we realise how big this is. They are here today because they are the best. I hope people now realise that and give them the place they deserve. I don’t know if you’ve been listening, but I’ve always told you that I have the 26 best players in the world.”

At least the best in Europe is waiting for him on the bus. The word “Champion” is written in the window above where the goal should be – 26 men and a box. The Henri Delaunay trophy is inside and it belongs to them. Morata carefully takes it out and carries it to the hotel on Marlene Dietrich Square at 2:16 a.m., where those who never gave up on him are waiting. His mission is fulfilled here.