Portugal 2-1 Croatia: I aged about ten years tonight but WE'RE THROUGH

My hands are still shaking as I write this. I mean it literally — I've got a cup of tea next to me going cold because I can't hold it steady. That's what Portugal did to me tonight in Toronto. They took my heart, put it through a blender, set the blender on fire, and then at the very last possible second reached in and handed it back with a smile. We beat Croatia 2-1. Gonçalo Ramos in the 94th minute. And I am simultaneously the happiest and most emotionally destroyed I've been in weeks.

Let me try to write this coherently, though I make no promises.

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The build-up: two old kings, one last dance

Before we even get to the football, can we just appreciate what this fixture was? Ronaldo, 41, against Modrić, 40. Two of the greatest players of their generation, both chasing the one trophy that has always escaped them, both knowing — really knowing — that this is almost certainly the last World Cup either of them will ever play. One of them was going home tonight. For one of these legends, the World Cup dream was ending in the Round of 32.

Toronto was electric. The Portuguese support was deafening — the drums, the chants, that particular sound of thousands of our people packed into a stadium believing. And on the other side, the Croatian fans matching them, because Croatia at a World Cup knockout is never, ever an easy night. These are the people who've knocked out contender after contender over the last two tournaments. You do not take them lightly. I did not take them lightly. I spent the whole first half chewing my nails down to nothing.

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The first half: all the ball, none of the end product (again)

And here's the thing that's driven me mad all tournament — the first half was the SAME Portugal we've seen all World Cup. Loads of possession. Cancelo bombing forward down the right, causing problems, creating chances. Control of the ball. And then... nothing. No end product. No cutting edge. All that talent, all that possession, and we go into half-time at 0-0 having not really tested Livaković.

It's the story of this generation, isn't it? I wrote about it after the group stage and here it was again — a team full of world-class individuals that just can't quite become greater than the sum of its parts. Croatia, meanwhile, sat back, absorbed it, and looked perfectly happy to take us to extra time or beyond. Modrić was doing Modrić things in midfield, that ageless control, spraying passes, slowing the game to the rhythm HE wanted.

I had a bad feeling at half-time. I'm not going to lie to you.

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The second half: from despair to delirium

And then the bad feeling came true. Croatia came out for the second half transformed. They stopped sitting back and started coming AT us, and it worked almost immediately. In the 53rd minute, Ivan Perišić — 37 years old, another one of the old Croatian guard who simply refuses to age — drove home a loose ball after we failed to clear our lines. 1-0 Croatia. And Toronto's Croatian section went wild while my living room went completely silent.

Down 1-0 in a World Cup knockout. Ronaldo starved of service. That old, familiar dread creeping in — the "here we go again, another tournament ending in frustration" feeling that every Portugal fan knows in their bones.

But then. The 67th minute. A VAR review — one of about three that night, this game had more stoppages than a Lisbon traffic jam — and Portugal are given a penalty. And who steps up? Who else. Cristiano Ronaldo. 41 years old. The man the whole world has spent this entire tournament debating whether he should even be starting. He puts the ball down, and I swear the whole of Portugal held its breath at the same time.

He scored. Of course he scored. 1-1. And with that goal, he registered his FIRST EVER World Cup knockout-stage goal — after all these years, all these tournaments — and joined the all-time top 10 World Cup goalscorers list. The relief in that moment was physical. I was up off the sofa, arms in the air, shouting at a television in an empty room like a lunatic.

Then, in a moment that summed up the madness of this game, Ronaldo thought he'd scored a SECOND — he was already mid-celebration when the flag went up and the goal was chalked off. And not long after, Roberto Martínez took him off. Ronaldo, subbed, in what might genuinely be the last World Cup appearance of his career, walking off to a standing ovation, a fan literally bowing to him at the side of the pitch. Whatever you think of the man — and I've had my frustrations this tournament — that was a moment. The changing of the guard, right there in front of us.

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The finish: I have never screamed louder

The last twenty minutes were absolute torture. Beautiful, unbearable torture.

Croatia threw everything at us. Kovačić — who was superb all night — hit the post, and Diogo Costa (our hero, again, our goalkeeper who has been our best player this entire tournament) somehow tipped the rebound over the bar. Then he made another save. Then Pašalić somehow headed wide from six yards when it looked easier to score. Every single Croatian attack felt like it was going to end our tournament. I was pacing. Actually pacing around the room.

Extra time was looming. Everyone had accepted it. Croatia would have taken it happily. And then — the 94th minute.

Rafael Leão, who'd come on and been brilliant on the left wing, picked up the ball, burst past his man with that ridiculous acceleration of his, and whipped in a cross. An inviting, gorgeous, hang-in-the-air cross. And there, rising to meet it, was Gonçalo Ramos. The super-sub. The header. The net.

2-1.

I don't remember standing up. I don't remember the noise I made. My neighbours might. Toronto erupted — the Portuguese half of it, anyway — and Croatian hearts shattered into a million pieces. Ramos wheeled away, Ronaldo (from the bench) celebrating with him, and I was a mess. An absolute mess. Pure, uncut, delirious joy.

But — and this is the most Portugal thing ever — it wasn't over. Because of COURSE it wasn't. Deep into stoppage time, Croatia poured forward one last time and Joško Gvardiol stuck the ball in our net. For a horrifying second, it counted. 2-2. Extra time. My heart stopped.

And then the offside flag. VAR confirmed it — the faintest touch earlier in the move had played a Croatian attacker on, or rather off. The goal was disallowed. The faintest of margins, the thinnest of lines, and it fell OUR way for once. After all the times these calls have broken Portuguese hearts, tonight it saved us.

Full time. 2-1. We're through.

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What this means

Portugal are in the Round of 16. And waiting for us there? Spain. The same Spain that just dismantled Austria 3-0, the same Spain with an 18-year-old Lamine Yamal who looks like the best player at the whole tournament. That is a monumental, terrifying, mouth-watering fixture. Iberian derby. World Cup knockout. It doesn't get bigger.

Am I worried? Yes. Spain look far more coherent than we do right now — they play like a TEAM, and we still play like a collection of brilliant soloists who occasionally find the same song at the same time. If we perform in the first half against Spain the way we did against Croatia, we'll get punished. Badly.

But you know what? We're through. And we're through in the way champions sometimes have to win — ugly, late, on the ropes, riding our luck a little, and finding a way when it mattered. There's something to be said for a team that plays badly and STILL wins a World Cup knockout game. The great tournament sides often do exactly that early on before clicking into gear. Maybe — maybe — the Croatia scare is the wake-up call this team needed.

And for Modrić, this is the end. One of the greatest midfielders to ever play the game, out of his final World Cup, at the hands of his old rival's team. Football is poetry and tragedy in equal measure, and tonight Toronto gave us both.

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One more thing about Ronaldo

I have to come back to him, because I can't stop thinking about it.

When he walked off that pitch tonight, subbed with the game still level, there was a real chance — a real, genuine chance — that it was the final World Cup appearance of Cristiano Ronaldo's career. If Portugal had lost, that would have been it. The end. And even though we won and he'll be back for the Spain game, that image of him walking off, a fan bowing to him, the whole stadium rising — it hit me harder than I expected.

Whatever frustrations I've had with him this tournament — the missed chances, the "should he even be starting" debates — the man scored the penalty that saved us tonight. His first-ever World Cup knockout goal, at 41 years old, in what might be his last dance. When it mattered most, on the biggest stage, with his career on the line, he stepped up and delivered. That's who he's always been. That's who he still is.

Spain next. God help my nerves. But tonight, right now, we celebrate.

Força Portugal. I need to go find a stiff drink and let my heart rate come back down to something survivable.