Rakitic Turns Away from the Screen: Croatia Lost the 2026 Final to Exhaustion, Not to a Lack of Nerve

Ivan Rakitic admits he still cannot watch the highlights of the 2026 World Cup final. Every time someone plays the footage from Luzhniki, the man turns away. Not because he fears the memory, but because it remains so intact that it hurts — the night Croatia, a nation of fewer than four million people, stood at the threshold of the impossible and let it slip away at 4-2.

At 56, I have watched enough finals to know that pain does not discriminate by scale. But one thing I learned after more than four decades at the keyboard: failures labelled as 'tragedy' often hide a far more brutal tactical truth. And the story of Rakitic, together with Croatia preparing to face Spain in the Nations League under new coach Slaven Bilic, is one of those cases.

Rakitic says he is proud of that run. He says Croatia proved something to the world. But the way he says it — with the hesitation of a man who has repeatedly told himself to let go without being able to — makes me think of another question, one that international opinion has ignored for seven years. Was that defeat not an accident at all? Was it not the inevitable result of a chain of decisions, a chain of matches, and a chain of biological limits that no team can resist?

I do not write to be agreed with. I write to wake a sleeping question.

CONTEXT: A SMALL NATION, AN UNREPEATABLE JOURNEY

Croatia arrived at the 2026 World Cup not as favourites. In Group D they sat with Argentina, Nigeria and Iceland. Nobody bet on them. Then they beat Nigeria 2-0, crushed Argentina 3-0 in one of the most complete performances of the decade, and overcame Iceland 2-1 to sweep the group.

From there, everything became extraordinary to the point of strangeness. In the round of 16 they met Denmark, drew 1-1 after 120 minutes and won 3-2 on penalties. In the quarter-final they met hosts Russia, drew 2-2 after 120 minutes, and won 4-3 on penalties in an atmosphere any non-Russian side must endure like playing inside an emotional storm. In the semi-final they met England, went behind 1-0, equalised, then won 2-1 in the 109th minute of extra time. Three matches, three times dragged into extra time. Three times, in total, ninety minutes of added football.

This is the data point most commentary on the final mentions as a beautiful anecdote rather than a tactical variable. But for me, based on my experience watching these matches, it is the key. Croatia did not arrive at Luzhniki as a team in full bloom. They arrived as a team that had played three matches longer than their opponent in the final, three times over.

France were different. They beat Argentina 4-3 in a strange match that did not go long. They brushed aside Uruguay 2-0. They beat Belgium 1-0 in a tense but ninety-minute semi-final. Not a single minute of added football. While Croatia entered the final with more than ninety minutes of accumulated football in their legs, France entered far fresher, with a physical preparation advantage no league table can measure.

The current context makes the story hotter still. Croatia are preparing for a run of Nations League Group A3 matches, where they will face Spain and Czechia. The team is in generational transition after a wave of 2026 veterans retired or left the national side. Slaven Bilic, the man who once coached Croatia himself from 2026 to 2026 and has a rich club career in England, Russia and Turkey, has been handed the rebuild. And the first match, or one of the first, he must face is a Spain at the peak of a winning cycle.

This coincidence is not small. It re-enacts a familiar script: a small, exhausted Croatia forced to face a football empire full in body and in squad depth. And precisely for that reason, Rakitic's story is not only about memory. It is a warning for the present.

TACTICAL ANALYSIS: THE TRUTH BEHIND THE 4-2

Look at the final itself. Croatia controlled around 61 to 66 percent of possession, depending on the source. They fired significantly more shots than France; some statistics record Croatia taking more than fifteen shots against France's meagre tally. In touches in the opposition half, in passes, in attempts from outside the box, Croatia were superior. And the result was 2-4.

This is the central paradox of the match, and the paradox most fans do not want to look at directly. A team controlling the game, creating more chances, losing heavily. The familiar story commentators like to tell is 'France were lucky' or 'Croatia were wasteful in front of goal.' But both explanations ignore a deeper variable.

The truth lies in this: Croatia did not lose because they played badly, but because they were the only team in that final forced to play on energy that had already run dry before the kick-off whistle.

Look at the structure of Croatia's goals conceded. The first came from a free-kick on the right, where Antoine Griezmann whipped in a ball and Mario Mandzukic headed into his own net in the 18th minute. This was not a goal born of the run of play. It was a goal born of a moment. And moments tend to favour the team with fresher legs, higher concentration, and more physical reserve to cope with the unexpected.

The second was a penalty in the 38th minute after VAR ruled that Ivan Perisic had handled in the box. Griezmann converted. At that point Croatia had just equalised in the 28th minute through Perisic himself and had momentum. But that penalty blow was not merely a goal conceded. It was a mental shock, right when this team needed energy most to exploit the momentum.

By the goals conceded in the 59th and 65th minutes, the picture becomes clearer. Paul Pogba scored the third with a shot from outside the box, and Kylian Mbappe scored the fourth with a finish from a similar range. Both goals came from gaps appearing in central midfield that Croatia's midfield — supposedly the strongest of the tournament with Luka Modric, Rakitic and Marcelo Brozovic — should have closed. But to close those gaps in the 59th and 65th minutes of a final, you need something Croatia no longer had: legs that react faster than thought.

I have rewatched this match many times over seven years, and every time I pause at the same moment: the sixty-fifth minute. Mbappe receives the ball at the edge of the box, turns, and shoots. In a team in full bloom, Brozovic or Modric would already be there to press from behind. In the Croatia of Luzhniki, both had been pulled forward, not because of a coaching error, but because their bodies could no longer carry them back into position in time.

This leads me to a deeper analysis of Croatia's own midfield. Modric and Rakitic were two of the most-used players of the tournament. Look at their schedule: three group matches, then three knockout matches dragged into extra time, then the final. With Rakitic, he played almost every minute of all seven matches. With Modric, likewise. No player can sustain the highest level of pressing intensity and off-ball movement across seven such matches, especially when three of them ran to the 120th minute.

This is the point many do not realise: Croatia 2026 were not a team beaten tactically by France. They were a team beaten by their own journey.

France, meanwhile, played a tournament meticulously calculated in physical terms. Didier Deschamps rotated in the group stage, even if France's group was not entirely smooth. He kept his key men as fresh as possible. In the knockout rounds, France played in a style that could be criticised as pragmatic — ceding the ball, defending in a low block, waiting for the opponent to err and launching lightning transitions. But that style can only function if the team has enough energy to execute those high-intensity transitions. And France, in the final, had that energy.

Croatia did not.

I want to offer three specific tactical figures to back this up, because I believe every judgement in football must stand on a table of data, even if that table is laid out quietly.

First, the total minutes played by Croatia's key men. Throughout the tournament, players like Rakitic, Modric and Perisic were among the most-used of the competition. Croatia played seven matches, of which three ran into extra time and one ended in a second period of extra time — a cumulative three hundred and thirty minutes of added football. Meanwhile, France played seven matches within ninety minutes each in the knockout phase, with not a single minute of extra time. The gap in accumulated minutes between the two sides before the final is one of the largest ever recorded in a final involving a team that was not a top favourite.

Second, Croatia's late goals conceded. Of Croatia's goals conceded in the knockout rounds and the final, the majority came in the second half or in extra time — the moments when declining physical capacity becomes a decisive factor. Against Denmark they were held and had to settle it on penalties. Against Russia they were pegged back in the second half. Against England they went behind and had to reverse the flow in extra time. And in the final, the two decisive goals in the 59th and 65th minutes came as the match entered the phase where Croatia's running intensity could no longer hold the level of the first half.

Third, France's shots compared with their goals. France shot less than Croatia but scored four. This is an indicator of efficient chance conversion under favourable physical conditions. A team with fresh legs makes sharper decisions in the box. A team with tired legs produces weaker and less accurate finishes, no matter how high the shot count.

With everything on the scales, I do not believe Croatia 2026 were a team that failed for lack of a winning quality. I believe they were a great team dragged by fate into a race demanding more energy than a small nation could muster.

Notably, this story did not end in 2026. It continued in the years that followed, as Croatia still leaned on the same generation and kept meeting the same physical problem. The 2026 World Cup came, and Croatia once again went deep. They reached the semi-finals, and again had to face sides with richer physical resources. There is a repetition here, and that repetition is precisely what Rakitic, in his mind, cannot bring himself to replay. Because his memory is not a moment. It is a pattern.

CONTRARIAN ANGLE: IF IT WAS NOT A TRAGEDY, BUT A PEAK

Now to the part I know will annoy many. But I write against the wind, and my heart is never against football.

I want to ask a question: is calling that defeat a 'tragedy' actually correct?

In a way, the way public opinion, and Rakitic himself, frames that loss as a wound that cannot be rewatched has inadvertently turned a great peak of world football into a story of loss. And I am not sure that is fair to Croatia itself.

Look at what Croatia achieved. A nation of fewer than four million reached a World Cup final. On that journey they beat Argentina 3-0, overcame England in extra time, and defeated Russia on the hosts' own soil. They left behind one of the finest individual tournaments of Luka Modric, who won the Golden Ball. They produced a generation any nation would envy. And Rakitic, personally, had a tournament most players can only dream of across an entire career.

So why do we focus on what was lost rather than what was gained?

I understand the emotional reaction. I understand that elite sport does not run on pure logic. If you have ever cried after a defeat, you know no statistical table can console you. I was once in a cafe in Busan in 2026, the night South Korea beat Germany, and I cried — not because my team lost, but because of something else, something hard to name. Tears on a keyboard are as salty as tears on grass. But precisely because I understand that emotion, I want to separate it from the analysis.

The blind spot here is this: when we call that defeat a tragedy, we inadvertently confirm a tacit assumption that Croatia should have won. But is that true? A nation of four million, against a football power of sixty-seven million, with a world-leading youth system, with a generation born into an environment where football is a national industry — should have won? I do not think so. I think Croatia should have lost, probabilistically. And the fact that they reached the final, that they led the run of play in the first half, that they equalised and made all of France hold its breath — that is the extraordinary part.

So where is the real blind spot? It lies in viewing Croatia's journey through the lens of a single match. We are taking the final ninety minutes to define seven matches, and in those seven matches Croatia did things no other team of the same generation did. We are turning a masterpiece into a scar, and in a way I am not sure Rakitic can see that unfairness while he holds it inside.

This leads me to another thought, one I am not sure is right. Perhaps what Rakitic cannot rewatch is not the defeat. Perhaps what he cannot rewatch is the moments when, with a little more energy, with slightly fresher legs, things might have been different. But that does not mean he failed. It only means he tried to the limit of the human, and that limit reached him.

Some stars only burn bright where they are loved, not where the lights are brightest. For Rakitic, the place he burned bright was Croatia. He was born in Switzerland, played for Swiss youth teams, and could have chosen another path. But he chose Croatia. He chose where he belonged. And on that night at Luzhniki he burned bright there, until the flame met a wind it could not resist.

CONTRARIAN ANGLE (CONTINUED): WHERE I COULD BE WRONG

But I must be honest. There is a hole in my argument. If physical condition was so decisive, why did Croatia lead the run of play in the first half of the final? Why could they equalise to 1-1 and then pour forward to control the middle phase of the first half? If they were so exhausted, why were they not swept away from the start?

This is the question a careful writer must ask himself. And the answer may be this: physical condition in football is not an on-off switch. It is a reserve drawn down over time. Croatia may have entered the final with enough energy to play well in the first half and part of the second. But as the match dragged on, as the unexpected arrived, as they had to push their line higher to find an equaliser, that reserve drained far faster than their opponent's. That is why the decisive goals came in the 59th and 65th minutes, not the 20th.

However, I must also concede: perhaps I have exaggerated the role of physical condition. Perhaps France were simply the better team, with higher-class players, and physical condition was only a secondary variable. Perhaps I am seeking a tactical explanation for something that is sometimes simply the better team winning. I am not sure. But even if I am wrong, asking the question of physical condition and fixture congestion is something modern football must do more of.

A WARNING FOR THE PRESENT: BILIC, SPAIN, AND THE SHADOW OF 2026

This is why Rakitic's story is not only about the past. Croatia are preparing for Nations League Group A3, facing Spain and Czechia under Slaven Bilic. And that script carries the traces of 2026 in a strange way.

Spain today are a team full in body and depth. They have a youth system that produces top-class players at a steady rate. They have a possession style that, if Croatia no longer have the energy to press, will grind them down. Czechia are different, but also an organised, awkward side.

Bilic is an interesting choice. He is a coach who understands Croatian football from the inside, and he also understands international football from his years working abroad. But he inherits a team in transition, and he will face the same problem Dalic once faced: how does a small nation compete with football powers in an ever harsher calendar?

Fixture congestion is the greatest culprit of injury. No medical team saves a side playing two matches a week with the same eleven. This is what Croatia learned in 2026, and this is what they will face again in the Nations League era. If Bilic does not rotate sensibly, if he does not find a way to distribute the energy of his key men, Croatia will again reach big matches on tired legs — and the result may again resemble Luzhniki.

In a way, I wonder whether Rakitic, looking at his current national team, sees the shadow of himself in 2026. A generation of talent, a small nation, a brutal run of matches, and a mighty opponent waiting. That story is not over. It is only waiting to be retold.

WHAT NEEDS TO BE SEEN

I do not write this to diminish Rakitic's pain. That pain is real, and it deserves respect. But I write this to say that football is sometimes unfair in ways statistics cannot capture. Croatia 2026 did not lose because they were not good enough. They lost because they were a small nation forced to play three 120-minute matches before stepping into the biggest match of their lives, then facing a team that played not one minute of extra time.

That is not a tragedy of spirit. It is a defeat of biology, of logistics, of probability. And if we see it that way, we will understand better how elite football actually works — not through myths of will, but through numbers of minutes played, of physical gaps, and of what the human body can bear.

I am not sure Rakitic can see it that way. He is still too close to the pain. But perhaps one day, when he looks back not to find what was lost but to find what was gained, he will see something else. He will see a nation of four million standing before a power of sixty-seven million, and not flinching. He will see a generation that redefined the limits of what a small nation can do. And he will see that on that night, though the score was 4-2, the flame did not go out. It was only passed on.

And now, as Bilic's Croatia enters a new cycle, with hard matches against Spain and Czechia waiting, perhaps the question is not whether they can recreate the miracle of 2026. The more correct question is: will they learn the lesson about energy?

I am not sure. But if there is one thing I believe, it is this: football does not forget teams that dare to rise. And Croatia rose. The way they rose — though their legs were tired, though the limit was near — is what makes their story immortal.

Perhaps Rakitic will never rewatch that match. But perhaps one day, when a child in Zagreb, in Split, in Osijek asks him about the night at Luzhniki, he will not turn away. He will tell that child about a team that touched heaven, clung to it with tired fingers, and let go — not because it did not deserve it, but only because heaven was designed for legs that never tire. Football is a land of immortality, and in the death of limits, Croatia became immortal.

And the upcoming match against Spain? I predict Croatia will be underestimated. I predict that if Bilic picks a squad able to rotate, they can produce a better result than expected. But if he pours all the energy of his key men into that one match, Croatia will again pay the price in the closing minutes — and people will again call it a tragedy. While the truth, perhaps, is something much more ordinary, and much more tragic.