Mario Gotze was horizontal when he connected with that ball. Night was about to fall; the setting sun balanced on the head of the Christ of the Redeemer, Rio's most famous icon – aside from perhaps Romario or Garrincha – resembling just another Brazilian on the beach. And yet this was a night won not with flair at all, but with hard work thawing German hearts: a country reunified in the 90s, re-energised in 2006, with a fourth star – a first as one nation, one Germany – stamped by a son of post-Cold War Bavaria.
Whatever the cliches may claim of Germany's sense of humour, you'd have been met with stony faces had you told anyone in white that night in the Maracana to wait at least 16 years to win another World Cup knockout fixture. Imagine telling them that night, Das Defining Deutsch side of its time – its Krooses, Lahms and Neuers, Jogi Low overseeing with his furrowed frown and haircut ripped from a Jungle Book vulture – that they would stand tall across the world for one night only. Success in Brazil. But no more.
In 2017, it seemed even less likely than three years prior. Low regenerated his warriors for the Confederations Cup, made Julian Draxler captain, blooding young talents in Timo Werner, Joshua Kimmich and Leroy Sane. They walked it. The future was distinctly German.
Yet a year later, Sane didn't even make the squad. He'd just come off the back of a 100-point season with Manchester City and was arguably the Premier League's most devastating talent at the time – arguably, too, the only player Die Mannschaft had capable of running beyond a full-back. He was shunned. Perhaps he didn't fit in with the system. He wouldn't be the last.
It felt like a stunning decision at the time. It looks even worse now. 2014's vintage won the biggest trophy of all with a group at the very top of their game, arguably the best manager of all time coaching the lion's share of them. Seven of Bayern Munich's spine were selected for the squad; four were competing opposite them at Jurgen Klopp's Borussia Dortmund. Another four were picked from the cream of the Premier League. This was a side used to winning: they had reached a peak individually and as a group.
In 2018, it felt very different indeed. Another seven came from Bayern, but this time, only one from Dortmund. Bayern had won all four titles in the interim, the chasm ever-widening. RB Leipzig's Werner led the line, this his baptism with only the Confed Cup as a medal in the back pocket. Ozil had sat most of Arsene Wenger's final Arsenal season on the sidelines, while Reus returned, a secret weapon semi-firing; Kimmich, Brandt and Goretzka hadn't achieved much yet.
Fast-forward to 2026. Germany's titans of the last few years feel a world away from Rio. German football is alien to that landscape. Neuer is the last man standing from the team that defeated Messi, clinging onto top-level football at 40. Kai Havertz is adored by every manager he works with; Florian Wirtz has overcome injury hell to reach immortality. All three have had uneven seasons, one way or another; Gundogan and Kroos left for the sunset a while ago. And that's it, really. The rest are either prospects, potential or still-as-yet fully unrealised world-beaters.
Since 2014, only one team other than Bayern have won the Bundesliga: Wirtz played in that team, and no one else from Xabi Alonso's Invicibles made the cut, his Leverkusen legends made up of Nigerians, Spaniards, Dutchmen, and Swiss, among others. Four players come from Stuttgart, who won the Pokal in the last couple of years: they have fewer than 30 caps between them. It's not entirely unfair to suggest that the Dortmund quartet in this squad haven't achieved anything, really, at BVB: somewhere on that spectrum of equity, one may suggest they're simply waiting for a move to Bayern themselves.
Yep, Bayern broke the Bundesliga, and in turn, it broke the German national team. This was a one-and-a-half-team league, up until the point where Pep Guardiola came along. Yes, the Salatschussel often ended up in Bavaria – but perhaps the yo-yo counter-attacks and physicality gave this league the illusion of being competitive. But no more.
Pep inverted his full-backs to stem the transitions. Where he saw chaos, he replaced it with control. Since then, the title has belonged in Munich, and as a result, German football has suffered. Bayern themselves have even recognised it, moving away from purchasing the best of the Bundesliga – and getting beaten to it, on occasion – first by plundering the Eredivisie, then assembling a world-class front three from Premier League talents.
The very view of a German footballer has altered into something rather Spanish, too. Think of a German player, and you used to conjure a Klinsmann, a Neuville or a Matthaus: now, you think of Jamal Musiala, Kimmich or Wirtz. Neat, tidy, intelligent. Excellent in close spaces. Pass-happy, secure on the ball. Ironic, as Germany scored with a header against Paraguay, when the chips were firmly down.
That used to be what Germany were all about: yet the god-like chance creation of Ozil, the dynamism of Schweinsteiger, the battering ram of Podolski, the inevitability of Muller has deserted them. They've been overengineered, and Julian Nagelsmann has been left with a mood board squad. Great ideas on paper. Unicorn profiles. A metronome in midfield, Kimmich, who seemingly couldn't pick his way through a defence all month, while club-mate Michael Olise did it for fun for France. Security in possession with Wirtz, who was left recycling the ball with Musiala. The former has struggled at Liverpool; the latter is yet to explode consistently quite like teenage pal Bellingham on the biggest stages (there's still time). He's one of the best players in the world, sure, but not with a crowning moment in front of the world to his name yet.
Even Germany's strikers these days – Havertz and Woltemade – are target men with the brains of midfielders. It's simply a collection of footballers who looked useful in their respective academies: 20-odd players each with an interesting attribute, but none of them fully rounded as a player. Yet for all his detractors, trolls and critics, Havertz has been there and done that already, with two Champions League final goals. He showed that drive in North America. Where were his equals?
Germany aren't alone in post-Pep confusion, but they are taking it the hardest. Spain, too, haven't won a knockout game since lifting the trophy but have supplemented the tiki-taka that keeps letting them down with the brute force of Mikel Merino and directness of Nico Williams. Dean Huijsen is a beautiful footballer on paper, but the game's played on grass, and he's not won anything on there yet. England have brilliant technicians in Wharton, Foden and Trent, yet chose the mentality of Rogers, Bellingham and Rashford instead. France, too, have a one-team league, yet only really plundered Paris Saint-Germain's frontline for their spine, with Didier Deschamps looking to the Premier League and getting a few of the old band back together.
Nagelsmann, meanwhile, went for parts that fit together in theory. A left-footed centre-back here, a no.10 capable of wriggling out of a paper bag, there. An AI-generated XI without the hunger of a Schweinsteiger or the battle scars of Per Mertesacker to make this team a little uglier, angrier, grittier. Weaker on paper, but with blokes you'd actually seen run through brick walls for the flag.
Perhaps it says a lot that Denis Undav was arguably his best player all month – and yet he didn't have anywhere for him. Where Low made concessions for Muller to be a raumdeuter and Ozil to play on his unfavoured flank, Nagelsmann made concessions to bring back 40-year-old Neuer, seemingly, merely for the aura.
Of course, it had to happen on penalties. The nation's brot und butter to display its steely mentality, now, the loose cord in their parachute.
And in his post-match conference, Nagelsmann stressed how young this group was. They need patience, he suggested. He's right: Angelo Stiller, for one, is a talent; Nat Brown can hold his head high for his performances.
But that's half the story. That's not the crux of what lifted the ice in 2014. 12 years ago, iron sharpened iron. Where's the iron in this German side?
