Afterwards, there was an awful lot of messing about. Probably more than you would expect after a briefly absorbing quarter-final whose outcome was never seriously in doubt. The Swiss players performed the world’s slowest lap of honour. The Spanish players posed for a group photo, but it kept having to be retaken as more players arrived. OK, now one more with Aitana. Now one more with Irene. Now one with the staff. Now in portrait for the ’gram. Then the teams gave each other an honour guard off the pitch. At one point you would swear someone laid out some picnic blankets and Scotch eggs.
Finally they left. And if there was a strangely ceremonial feel to the post-match perhaps it was because there was a strangely ceremonial feel to the match itself: more event than genuine contest, even as Switzerland held out for more than an hour, counted their blessings, fleetingly hoped. But there was always too much time on the clock. There were always Athenea del Castillo and Salma Paralluelo and Vicky López to come on. There was always one more attack to weather, one more shot to block, one more ricochet that had to bounce just right.
