There's a tendency to call it a "miracle," this remarkable journey by Iceland to the quarter-finals in Euro 2016. Major media outfits have referred to it as a "miracle run" and in the United States, the victory over England has been explained as "Soccer's Miracle on Ice Moment."
But, with all due respect to persons of religious belief and others, there is no such thing as a miracle. There is merely belief in miracles; faith in the possibility of divine intervention or magic to alter an outcome foreordained by logic.
To call what Iceland has done a miracle is an insult, actually. Throwing fairy dust over it is cockeyed nonsense. Iceland prepared well, played with determination, used a well-thought plan in each game and executed it with aplomb. "Fail to prepare, and prepare to fail," Alex Ferguson used to roar at his Manchester United players. Roy Keane, one of those players, used the same phrase with venom when he was unhappy with the Republic of Ireland preparations. It's apt.
Here's the thing about soccer: A small player can beat a big player and a small country can beat a big country. That's always been true about the game. In major tournaments, usually, but not always, major powers end up in the final match. But, along the way, soccer can mock the facts of history, geography and population-size. Prepare well and it happens.
It's why Iceland, population 330,000, plays France in the Euro quarter-final on Sunday.
To anyone who pays attention to international soccer, Iceland's success at Euro 2016 is less than a shocking surprise. A sweet one, but no supernatural sensation. It's the inevitable arrival of a team that's been kicking at the door for a few years now.
Iceland came within a hair of qualifying for the 2014 World Cup in Brazil. It made it beyond its qualifying group to a two-leg playoff against Croatia. It held Croatia 0-0 in Reykjavik and fell 0-2 in Zagreb. No team gets that far by relying on luck or some kind of sorcery.
The secret to its success –much discussed these days in countless news reports and feature stories – is its smallness. It's a miniature country experimenting with developing excellence and, because it's a minnow of a soccer power, the experiment has been easier to execute and there's unity in the resolve to fulfill it. While Iceland carries the obvious disadvantage of having a smaller pool of talent than almost all European countries, the advantage is that an effective plan can be executed perfectly if the community is small but committed.
"Brexit vs Bjork" read the sign outside a downtown Toronto bar on the day of England's match against Iceland. Made sense. Iceland has for years punched above its weight in the popular culture. The band The Sugarcubes, singers Bjork and Emiliana Torrini, plus post-rock alternative band Sigur Ros and folk-pop band Of Monsters and Men are all international stars. A small music community took advantage of the openness of the post-punk movement to insert themselves.
The same with soccer, in a way. Plan, prepare and insert yourself. Iceland has had an impact in soccer since Arnor Gudjohnsen emerged from it to play for Anderlecht – then a powerful team –in Belgium in the 1980s. His son Eidur emerged in the 1990s to play for top clubs in England and Europe. Meanwhile, Iceland's women's national team began to have an impact internationally. This was particularly notable. The women's game faced fierce, sexist opposition in Iceland itself – lack of resources, lack of respect. But the game was growing on the island.
With each step forward, Iceland was entitled to money from UEFA, the governing body of European soccer. It invested it wisely, especially in coaching. There are, apparently, 600 UEFA-certified soccer coaches in the country. It's not somebody's dad with an amateur's enthusiasm, it's an expert coaching those boys and girls. Indoor, heated soccer fields and training centres were built to ensure year-round training. During Iceland's economic boom years, even more indoor facilities were built. When the economy collapsed, the facilities were still there and soccer was a glorious distraction. The country's national belief seemed to be, we're good at this and if we concentrate and work hard, we can be even better.
It worked, and good young players emerged from the system, well-qualified and prepared to work as professionals. Few have become stars, but are good enough to play with clubs in Sweden, Norway, Denmark and other countries. They're disciplined, expert in the basic skills and confident.
Thus it was with assuredness, not awe, that Iceland strode into Euro 2016. The team defends well, uses its possession well (usually only about 30-per-cent possession of the ball in matches) and strikes when the openings are there. That is no miracle. It's pragmatism anchored in the confidence of a small country determined to do one thing well – master the game, be thoughtful and tactically astute and unleash its practised skill. No fairy dust needed.
England was there for the taking and Iceland knew it. An England without a coherent plan of attack, bereft of ideas against a defensive team, spooked by the possibility of defeat by a tiny country. It takes prowess and readiness to assess the opposition and defeat it. Iceland's had the readiness for years now, a readiness forged in these indoor training grounds on dark cold nights, month after month, year after year.
The only thing that's ethereal or ghostly about Iceland's success is the extraordinary bond between the team and its supporters – something illustrated in the way the players and fans joined in that mass clapping exercise after the England match. That's powerful, magical to some outsiders, but it can also be nailed down as, simply, unity of purpose. It's what Iceland has, not miracles. It can beat anyone. Even France.