Death of Tiki-Taka? You may want to put a bullet in the head to make sure......

The scene; World Cup 2010, South Africa. Iker Casillas holds aloft the most elusive of laurels. Spain swept all and sundry aside brutally to claim the mantle of World Champions. 

The pre-tournament favourites and the only nation that could come close to the sheer amount of talent in Spains squad was Germany, who were dumped out in the semi-final stage by the eventual winners. The Final was viewed, after the game was played, almost as a battle between good and evil.

Spain were the purveyors of the beautiful game, trying to show all that you can gain results without resorting to cynical behaviour or negative tactics. The Netherlands, obviously before the game realising that they couldn't match Espana for guile, set up their team akin to trench warfare. Give them not an inch. It verged on the bestial at times, none more so than when part-time doorman Nigel de Jong planted his boot firmly into the torso of pass maverick Xabi Alonso.

The Oranje had set out their stall to disrupt and unsettle. Spain though, went about their business much like they had all tournament; pass, move, keep possession. They did just that, albeit needing extra time to earn another 1-0 win, with the jewel in their crown Andres Iniesta grabbing the most famous goal in their history. 

So, to recap, Spain, already European Champions, were crowned Champions of the World for the 1st time in their underachieving history, on the back of a footballing ethos that had nullified all threats on all stages for the best part of four years. 

Now let's grab the remote and press fast forward. Present day. Spain, large and present the same squad that had sparked their nations biggest Fiesta just four years ago, had now been unceremoniously left out in the rain like a tramps lunch, dumped on their 'culo'.

A comprehensive defeat by Chile and, on the first game of their campaign, a horrifying, gut-wrenching, rip-your-entrails-out-and-watch-as-they-use-them-as-a-skipping-rope, truly condemning 5-1 loss to the very opponents who had watched in silent fury as Spain lifted the famous trophy four years ago; the Netherlands. It all started so well as well. Spain were coasting to a half-time interval 1-0 lead, a Xabi Alonso penalty was the certificate of authenticity as to who had pretty much dominated the game thus far, if it weren't for Diego Costa's profligacy in front of goal, the lead would be double and no doubt LvG and Co would be trudging off to the dressing room half beaten. But we know what really happened. He tried to chip Cillessen who stood up bravely, denied him and it sparked a counter attack.

Daley Blind, son of famous Dutch stalwart Danny Blind, stood out on the left wing, received possession with the clock ticking towards half time. He looked up, saw Van Persie had started a run and launched a pass toward him. We have all seen the travesty that is Spains central defence when Puyol isn't present, so when Van Persie connected with a header, never mind what he did with it, we shouldn't have been surprised. The header, loath as I am to admit it, has to go down as one of the finest examples of heading we have seen on the global stage. It had improvisation, it was laced intricately with planning. RvP knew Casillas had strayed inexplicably off his line and he managed to get enough power and lift to float it over the stricken Spaniards head and nestle into the net. 

1-1, the force was now strong with the Oranje. 

I won't go into a blow-by-blow account of the game, needless to say, Spain were given a hiding in the second half akin to my beatings as a boy when I wrecked my brothers artwork because it was better than mine, (to be fair I had created mine using my own sh!t, but that's a story for the therapist). The headline-writers were foaming at the helmet, what an opportunity to finally knock those cocky bastards off their pedestals! THE DEATH OF TIKI-TAKA!