Portugal and Croatia Close Toronto World Cup with a Classic

Thursday would see the final World Cup match in Toronto and what a match it was.

As the 2026 FIFA World Cup transitioned from the group stage to the knockout rounds the drama was undoubtedly going to increase. Canada-South Africa, though nerve-wracking for the partisans, was a quiet affair, but in the games that followed viewers have been treated to some excellent fare. Brazil-Japan, the shootout in Germany-Paraguay, the entire 120 minutes and penalties of Netherlands-Morocco, and that was just the second day.

France look imperious, Mexico unstoppable (at home, at least), England made their fans sweat, as they always do, and Belgium-Senegal was stunning, so when Thursday rolled around and it was time for the pick of the lot in Toronto, anticipation was high.

Despite an earlier than usual departure, one could feel it on the streets. It wasn’t just the oppressive humidity of a summer heat dome, this one had been building.

When Croatia played Panama in Toronto, their fans turned out in masses. Panama put up a brave fight, brought good numbers to the occasion, but they were dwarfed by the red-and-white checker board. That would not be the case on this day: for every person of Croatian descent in the Toronto area, there is a corresponding one of Portuguese ancestry. This was going to be something else.

Toronto was spared an Italy-Canada clash in the first game as hosts. Only that could have rivalled what awaited.

GO Train, tunnel, pause to watch the crowds stream by, a little shorter this time to ensure the shirt remained presentable and not drenched in sweat – not that it helped all that much as the night wore on.

As play transitions to winner-takes-all how teams approach the games changes, things get cagey, nobody wants to take too many risks, the stakes are too high. It is visible in hours before kickoff too with the number of people milling about, at the stadium two-plus hours before start time, despite the rocketing temperatures.

The Portuguese contingent announced themselves as the side arrived in town. A motorcycle club escort, fans lined the highway, the hotel surrounded long into the night, the prematch gathering began around noon, and marched to the stadium en mass. Croatia too were voluminous, that massive flag dwarfed by the marchers around it. Wow.

Inside the stadium the unfocused din became concentrated.

A massive cheer rang out from the south when the Croatian goalkeepers began to warm up, a roar from the north replied when the Portuguese ones emerged, followed by a cheeky boo of a response from the other end of the stadium. The lineup announcements are usually accompanied by an excited cheer as the combatants are listed. Portugal’s roll call was almost subdued: Cristiano Ronaldo was on the field, taking warm-up shots, all eyes were glued to the Portuguese legend. Croatia’s eleven was more forcefully acknowledged.

It was an interesting dichotomy. Despite a star-studded lineup, nearly every Portugal shirt in the stands bore the number seven. Croatia, while the number ten dominated, were far more variable in their name and number of choice. A family on the train all had different members of the squad spelled out across their shoulders. They loved them all, more-or-less equally. Portugal largely had eyes for one, at least on this day.

Aside from the idea of Portugal-Croatia in a World Cup knockout match, the headline of the day was that for either Ronaldo, 41, and Luke Modric, 40, this could be their final match on this stage. Neither had confirmed that possibility, the same narrative surrounded the last World Cup, but when their playing days are done both have already secured their spot in the pantheon of greats.

Anthems at the World Cup are precious things. North American sport, where those songs are dutifully sung before every league game, cannot appreciate the moment fully. Both these are good ones and served to rile up the crowds as anticipation built towards kickoff.

Ronaldo, presumably with memories of Gabe Gala scoring against his Real Madrid the last time he was in this stadium echoing in his head, met with Modric for the handshakes and coin toss. The sound as the two approached the referees was unimaginable.

The former Madrid stars are such different characters, Ronaldo all abs and smiles, a physical specimen, Modric is less assuming in every way. The two hugged after the handshake and went their separate ways for the time being. One to prepare for business, the other to douse themselves in water as the pack of photographers snapped countless images despite the urging of the media stewards ushering them away.

Was this the loudest countdown on the planet? Who knows, but this crowd was up for it. Drumming from the north was met with chanting from the south, a clash of styles, off the pitch at least. On the pitch both teams were so tidy on the ball, the Portuguese midfield of Bruno Fernandes, João Neves, and Vitinha were masterful; Croatia are no slouches themselves. Wow.

Ante Budimir got the first shot, a tidy move crafted by Ivan Perisic and Martin Baturina up the left, but he struck it weakly. Rafael Leão showed early what a problem he would be up the left, blazing up the flank before picking out Fernandes. His first attempt was denied by Dominik Livakovic, the second blocked from close range, prompting shouts of handball.

This Portuguese side is wild. Name after name on the squad, dark horse is not strong enough. Pedro Neto cuts inside from the right, hangs one up at the left post for Ronaldo, who can’t make contact as chants of ‘Por-tu-gal’ reverberate. Croatia have no answer for the pace and power of Leão; Ronaldo sends a free kick into the wall.

The hydration boos come fast, but ‘Summer of ‘69’ from Bryan Adams deafens those protests. One very sunburnt fellow has taken off his blue shirt.

When play resumes Croatia look to take the sting out of the game, Perisic urging Marin Pongracic to slow it down, lull Portugal in and their active but unproductive attack to sleep. That desire is immediately countermanded by Modric and a 40-yard dash to chase a ball. Wow. One can only shake their head as a ‘Luka’ chant starts up in the south. That man is all heart.

For all the Portuguese threat, Croatia find their moments, manipulating the open space when they go forward. It was reminiscent of that Panama game, where the central Americans were harrying them endlessly, but they thought their way through that bother. As half-time approaches a chant of ‘Hr-vats-ka’ emerges from the lake end, a mirror to the earlier three-part Portugal refrain.

Between the heat and the stakes, the general takeaway at the break is that both teams were a little slow at times, a little wasteful, but also a little cautious.

Croatia made a single change at the half, Igor Matanovic on for Budimir, and were much better for it. Mateo Kovacic does well to keep his balance to get a shot off, but it is deflected into the outside netting by Diogo Costa.

A few minutes later the first goal is scored. In games like this it often takes that ice breaker to bring some clarity to the affair. At 0-0 the possibilities are endless, each action setting a new branch on the timeline. When one goes in, it narrows the attention.

It came in the 53rd minute.

A Josip Stanisic cross from the right, flicked on to the far-side, falls to Perisic and he buries it under the goalkeeper to give Croatia a lead. The bench rushes across the field to celebrate with their teammates on the far side, Portugal complain about the delayed restart as the offenders return to their side in a march in front of the south end.

A flag goes up as Croatia play right through Portugal again – the ol’ lull them to sleep in the first half, punch them in the mouth in the second routine, oldest trick in the book. Modric is prowling like a spry 33-year-old. The will is there, even when the muscles can’t keep up.

Portugal have had enough of playing games, Leão cuts in from the left and rattles the crossbar with a right-footed smash. Nanometres away from an equalizer – those are the margins on days like this; the swings come faster and faster. Croatia respond on the counter, Baturina bounds forward to find Petar Sucic on the left, but his attempt is forced wide by Costa.

Up the other end a long ball from João Cancelo is brought down deftly by Ronaldo in the 61st minute and touched past Livakovic, the crowd goes wild. No matter what shirt one wore on the day, shamefully even a few of the stoic neutrals in the press tribune, let out a gasp. Wow.

But no, the flag goes up and a video review determines Ronaldo was offside by a shadow. It makes one pine for the daylight offside rule the Canadian Premier League is trialling, though that just shifts the problem a few inches.

The intensity has increased noticeably – every game needs a goal and some frustration to get going. Roberto Martínez makes a quadruple sub for Portugal, drawing a spirited cheer for Bernardo Silva’s introduction, and a seemingly innocuous corner kick forces a stoppage to play. There was wrestling in the box, Nikola Vlasic wrapped his arms lightly around the waist of Renato Veiga and he goes down.

There seemed to be some confusion. The placement of the referee’s video screen at BMO Field is incendiary, located up the tunnel, tightly packed between both benches. Both groups inching towards the refs monitor. The second the word ‘holds’ emerges from the referee’s lips, Modric understands what is coming. Penalty for Portugal. Wow

And Ronaldo will take, his stuttered run sending the goalkeeper early as he thumps it up the middle with his right-foot. Suuuiii – Wow, Ronaldo becomes the second Portuguese number seven to score a goal in a World Cup knockout match.

68th minute, game on.

But first, of course, another hydration break, just as the action was building to a new high. Modric takes the opportunity to give the ref and earful, despite already being on a yellow card.

Feeling hard done by, Kovacic takes matters into his own hands in the 75th minute, bounding up the middle of the pitch before sizing up a shot bound for the bottom corner – did Costa get a touch? – it smacks the base of the right post. A cross and a layoff later Kovacic hits a delicate whirling right-footed half-volley that looked to nestle under the bar, requiring fingertips from the Portuguese keeper.

The crowd is announced once more as 43 036, even most of those persistently stubbornly open seats seem occupied, though that one northeast corner remains spotty.

It is Ronaldo’s turn to urge his side to slow it down, to stay calm, to regain some control as Croatia are on the front foot, testing every gap in the Portugal midfield. It does not work.

Sucic is played through in the 80th minute, banking his low finish in off the left post, the Croatian bench are eager to storm the pitch once again, only for the flag to deny them this time. Ruben Dias, eager to restart play, forces the ball back out from Sucic’s now pregnant shirt. Back-and-forth, round-and-round.

The substitutes board come up and Ronaldo’s race is run. Boos rain down, he’s not happy, neither is the crowd. He must now sit on the sidelines to watch his fate play out unable to influence.

Mario Pasalic sends a header wide, 10 minutes of stoppage-time are announced, Leão, with Portugal having used all five subs, seems to be struggling with something. As he squares up to his defender, rather than take him on he floats a ball towards the back-post where it is met by Ronaldo’s indirect replacement, Gonçalo Ramos. Rising up between three defenders, he hangs in the air, guiding the header into the far-side of goal. Wow.

Somebody has managed to smuggle smoke into the stands to the left, it oozes slowly in the already thick air. Too much is happening to process, the scenes in the stands, the scenes on the field.

A fan in a Ronaldo shirt somehow manages to penetrate the ring of stewards guarding the pitch, sprinting across the field in the direction of his shirt-sake. Security steps in, executing a textbook shoulder tackle from that other football, one of Ronaldo’s teammates was prepared to intervene if necessary. Not a great look.

The stadium is loud. Ten minutes have come and gone, but play goes on.

13th minute of stoppage-time, Perisic flings a desperate cross into the box, Matanovic goes up but does not seem to make contact, it skims off the head of Veiga to Pasalic, his kneed touch is heading towards Josko Gvardiol, whether Gvardiol got the final touch or Rúben Neves to sliced it in, the ball was in Portugal’s net. Wow.

But the referee is called to the monitor once more, both benches inch closer, one in hope, the one in fear. The desperation on the face of Croatian assistant coach Vedran Corluka. It wasn’t clear at the time, but in retrospect it becomes so. Matanovic was judged to have touched the ball using the audio technology inside the ball and Pasalic was offside.

If that was his touch, where was Veiga’s? Removed for simplicity, only to complicate immensely.

The implications of such a crucial moment being determined by an equal parts poorly understood and secretive technology are many. Fate distilled into a graph of a sound wave. Surely at some point clarity will be revealed, but in the moment there is only emotion.

Bottles and cups rain down from the Croatian fans to the south, Costa tries to catch one, a second wave of missiles pelt as soon as the first is removed.

Finally in the 19th minute of stoppage-time the final whistle blows. Ronaldo’s World Cup career goes on, Modric’s, maybe, comes to an end. Croatian players fall to the pitch and are picked up by teammates. Portugal celebrates, but not too much, their dreams are bigger than the Round of 16. The coaching staff seems more enthusiastic about it, the fans in the stands even more so.

Ronaldo and Modric embrace again after the final whistle, the match ending as it began. After the two go their separate ways, Ronaldo leads Portugal to clap their fans in the north, Modric and Croatia head south towards theirs.

When Croatia played Panama, Modric’s teammates donned special shirts after the match, celebrating his 200th appearance. It was Ronaldo’s turn to mark a moment, slipping on a number 21 jersey in memory of Diogo Jota. Thursday was the one-year anniversary of his shocking death, Portugal are playing this World Cup with their lost teammate in mind.

That is football, it is life and death, beginnings and ends, the most important of the least important things, as some wise undoubtedly once said.

Martínez praised the city, the training surface in Centennial Park (a string of words that still boggles the mind), BMO Field and it’s vintage English ground feel, and the support for his side in the city.

Toronto hosted six games during the World Cup, each more spectacular than the last. With BMO Field famous for it’s late drama, this was a fitting end to the circus. Wow.