Matildas brace for World Cup gunfight that made Messi whisper to his late grandmother

Here they come. Penalty shootouts. They decided the men’s World Cup. Could be death or glory for the Matildas. “Sucks,” is Sam Kerr’s experience of them.

Argentina’s Gonzalo Montiel celebrates after scoring the fourth and winning penalty in the men’s World Cup final against France last year. Picture: Getty Images.

Who’ll win the World Cup?

You don’t know, I don’t know, none of the players know, none of the coaches know, none of the little kiddies know, none of the neon teens know, none of the grandmas know, Nostradamus wouldn’t know, there’s not a crystal ball on earth that knows. There’s nothing between a whole lot of teams, which means a whole lot of draws are coming up, which means a whole lot of penalty shootouts are on their way, which means a whole lot of players are going to be national heroes or looking for the nearest hole to crawl into.

Even the winners of penalty shootouts, the players who find the net, reckon they’re unbearable. Argentina’s Gonzalo Montiel booted the winner in last year’s men’s World Cup final under the sort of insane pressure that sapped him of the energy to go properly bonkers in his crowning moment. He removed his shirt, put it over his face and bawled like a baby. I think he’s still going back and forth in a rocking chair in his Buenos Aires mansion, sucking his thumb, seeking assurances it’s over. ­Because they’re a bit much, penalty shootouts.

“I felt I was stepping off the edge of the world into silence,” said Chris Waddle, after missing a penalty for England against West Germany in the 1990 World Cup.

“An endless, terrible walk into one’s fears,” said Andrea Pirlo, who scored for Italy against Eng­land at the 2006 World Cup.

“I just wanted to stop and cry my eyes out,” said Paul Gas­coigne, who never cried.

“That walk from the centre circle is the longest, hardest 50 yards I’ve ever known” said former England captain Alan Shearer, who scored against ­Argentina at the 1998 World Cup.

“The pressure of the situation, knowing that your whole country depended on you and that a billion people around the world were watching you, ate away at me,” said Steven Gerrard, who missed for England against Portugal at the 2006 World Cup.

“The penalty is with me every day, but the nightmare in myself is all about the long walk to the spot,” said Daniele Massaro, who missed for Italy against Brazil in the 1994 World Cup final.

“It’s not just the game,” Shearer once told The Athletic. “It’s the days leading up to it. It’s the night before, playing through your mind – ‘What if ...?’ And then you find yourself praying for someone to pull you out of the mire. It’s worse in the last 10 minutes of extra time. It’s a creeping fear.”

The men’s World Cup last year seemed destined to be decided by a pulse-stopping penalty shootout because the difference between the best sides was about the same as the gap between the women’s teams now. Not much. About the size of the trophy on offer: 47cm. The men’s final finished 3-3 ­before Argentina won the shootout 4-2. It got a bit lucky. I’ve watched Pablo Dyala’s penalty a thousand times and it still looks like a shaky putt that went in anyway. Straight along the ground and directly up the middle.

Was that really where he meant to put it? France’s goalkeeper, Hugo Lloris, could have picked it up one-handed while reading Lionel Messi’s biography if he wasn’t too busy leaping at thin air to his left.

I thought the Women’s World Cup would be very good. It’s great. The real stuff is only just beginning. Knockout matches begin on Saturday. The first fortnight has been nerve-shredding but we ain’t seen nothing yet. Every game now is sudden-death. Tiptoes on a tightrope towards the August 20 final. The Matildas could win it, the Poms could win it, Spain could sure as heck win it, Sweden could win it. The US has stumbled around like it cannot possibly win it, but it could goddamn win it. Brazil could have won it but Marta’s getting old enough to be GrandMarta and the team is on its way back to Rio. Virtually every side still in it, they could win it. Barely 47cm between them ... or perhaps just a penalty or two.

A shootout is best-of-five. The Matildas players most likely to be stepping off the edge of the world into silence, to be sent on the endless, terrible walk into one’s fears, to just want to stop and cry their eyes out, to know their whole country is depending on them and millions of people are watching, the players most likely to be ­already thinking – what if? – are Sam Kerr, Steph Catley, Alanna Kennedy, Mary Fowler and Caitlin Foord.

Catley has already nailed two penalties at the Cup. Like a stone-cold killer. She’s stared at the ball as if hypnotising it. Goading it. ­Intimidating it.

Don’t you dare miss. She’s ­imparted as much spin and curve on her deliveries as Australia’s champion ten-pin bowler, Jason Belmonte, and both her shots have swooped into the top left of the net. It’s not her only go-to.

Catley was the only Matilda to land her penalty in the devastating shootout loss to Norway at the last World Cup. On that occasion, she went bottom-right. Will she keep going top-left here? If you’re the goalkeeper for her next ­attempt, is that where you’re heading? It’s like watching a roulette player choose red, red – sooner or later, she has to go for black. The result will stay with her for the rest of her life.

“Sucks,” is how Kerr described the loss on penalties to Norway four years ago. The best player usually takes the first shot – Messi and Kylian Mbappe did it for ­Argentina and France at Qatar – and Kerr did it for the Matildas. She shanked a wild attempt high and to the right.

If it was a golfer’s stroke, the ball sailed out of bounds and was never seen again. It missed the goalkeeper, and the posts, and all reckoning, and the Scandinavians won the shootout 4-1.

No one will burn the Matildas at the stake if they lose a penalty shootout at this World Cup but the personal ramifications for a miss can be harrowing.

France’s Kingsley Coman botched a penalty at Qatar that can never be retaken, except in his restless dreams and gravest nightmares. He hurried it a bit. Just wanted to get it over with. He went low and right but so did ­Argentina’s keeper, Emiliano Martinez. No goal. No fathoming the consequences.

He stood motionless, head bowed, paralysed by the moment and what the future held. As he suspected, he was subjected to vile racial abuse by twits on social media and was made to feel like he should spend the remainder of his living days with a bell around his neck.

Sucks. Bravo to any player brave enough to step up to the mark. It couldn’t be more pressurised shootout with pistols at the OK Corral.

You’ve gotta pick your spot and go for it. You can’t flinch. You’ve gotta pull the trigger. You’ve gotta back yourself.

First thought, best thought – or you can have a panic attack and change your mind at the last second. As the hero Montiel did for Argentina.

He was an emotional wreck after conceding a penalty that ­allowed France to level the final at 3-3. Coach Lionel Scaloni asked if he was in any fit state to be ­involved.

“He asked me if I was ready to kick the penalty because he saw me crying with anger,” Montiel recalled. “I told him yes, then he asked me again. I told him, ‘Sure’. I was thinking to shoot in the middle – but I changed the decision in the last second.’”

What a moment it must be. You must feel sick to the stomach with fear and hope and just about every human emotion a human can have. Your sporting life must flash before your eyes. Every ­injury, every rehab session, every hope, every childhood and adulthood dream, every aspiration is about to be realised or crushed like a cigarette stub under a shoe. I imagine every important person in your life hits your thoughts.

The best video of Messi wasn’t from the moment of Argentinian victory.

It came right before it, when he was captured on camera whispering to the woman who started his journey – his late grandmother, Celia Olivera Cuccittini, who convinced a junior coach in their hometown town of Rosario to let a very young Messi play against the bigger kids ­because she thought he might be something special.

After four failed attempts to win a World Cup, in his last chance, aged 35, when Montiel was about to shoot from the hip, aiming straight then no hang on, low and hooking left, the great Messi blinked away his sprinkling fountain of tears, glanced up at the heavens, danced on his toes, grim­aced from tension, looked at his boots and mouthed the words that translated to, “It could be today, grandma”.