This was an epochal game, for at least one young man watching at home in England. I'd been brought up to think of the Brazilians as something special, as a football team head and shoulders above all others. The generation before mine had put them on a pedestal, due to the World Cup wins of 1958 and 1962, and had regarded their being kicked out of the 1966 tournament as nothing less than a crime. In 1970, with the British press going bonkers about England's chances of winning in Mexico, it had come as no surprise to find that Brazil had been better, but the margin of their superiority over not only England but everyone else in the world had shocked the entire planet.

  With Holland needing only a draw to reach the Final (on goal difference), the game was fierce and competitive, the first half a catalogue of savage fouls, largely unpunished by the thoroughly uninvolved referee, and other than that notable only for a series of missed chances.

  Both sides had their moments in the tense opening period: Zé Maria failed to deal with an early cross, and the ball dropped invitingly to Cruyff, whose snapshot was saved well by Leão; Neeskens took the ball off a defender, but shot wide. Brazil's attacks were perhaps rather more incisive: Valdomiro rounded Haan, Jongbloed flapped at the ball, and was relieved to see it ricochet to safety after being half-blocked by Krol; but Jongbloed dealt more convincingly at the near post with his next challenge, a long-range shot from Valdomiro.

  Holland relied on their offside trap even more than in previous games, but the World Champions had been well briefed, and opened the defence up rather too often. Dirceu put Paulo César Lima through, to shoot wide with Jongbloed beaten.

  The game was rough and tough right from the start. Van Hanegem found Suurbier in a good position on the left. The shot was saved at the near post, before Suurbier's admittedly late challenge on Pereira provoked a savage kick from the Brazilian defender. On the next Dutch attack, Rep, having been balked off the ball, decided to run into Pereira for no good reason other than to further ruffle the Brazilian feathers. As the action moved upfield, Krol fouled Valdomiro, and nearly incited an international incident. The referee had lost control of the game early, and never looked like regaining it.

  The first Dutch goal, early in the second half, was a gem. Rijsbergen, tackling harder than most even in this game, took Jarizinho's ankle, greatly to the Brazilian's displeasure. A minute later, Jairzinho went in on Rijsbergen with only one thought on his mind, and duly conceded a free-kick. Van Hanegem took the kick quickly, deep inside his own half, to Neeskens, who played the ball out to Cruyff on the right. Cruyff measured to perfection the chip into the box, onto the exact blade of grass where the onrushing Neeskens wanted it, but Neeskens still did brilliantly to meet the ball at exactly the right weight and exactly the right angle to float it over the advancing Brazilian goalkeeper, most of whose team-mates were stood around at the other end, arguing about the free-kick. An extraordinary, inspired and memorable goal, and it led to a exuberant celebration.

  Neeskens, having now recovered fully from his first half tribulations, sent in a long shot after a corner: it reared up off the turf at Leão, but the alert goalkeeper saw it all the way. At the other end, Jairzinho slipped past the Dutch defence at a free-kick, to fall into what was now a rather more effective offside trap. He also whacked Rijsbergen again right in front of the referee, who incredibly still could not summon the courage to even caution such a persistent offender. Brazil brought on Mirandinha for Paulo César Lima, as they fought to retain their hold on the World Cup, but still made little impression on the stern and well-drilled Dutch defence. Although a deep cross from the left by Marinho Chagas (wrongly named "Francisco Marinho" on British TV) was fisted away by Jongbloed, the opportunities for Brazil were now few and far between.

  Pereira ran through the Dutch defence, but was flagged offside, whereupon he picked up the ball and ranted at the referee. From the briskly-taken free-kick, while the Brazilians still argued fatuously, Van Hanegem put Cruyff clear of the Brazilian defence. The linesman's flag quickly went up for this too, but Cruyff, ever the cool one, chipped the ball into the Brazilian net from 40 yards, just to remind his opponents what they were up against. For me, this exchange summed the game up perfectly.

  The reigning world champions were beaten, as far as the football went, but still had time to surrender what was left of their dignity. Their willingness to dish out fouls was not matched by their ability to take punishment in return: every time a Dutchman committed an offence, a Brazilian crashed to earth and rolled about until play moved on, when he quickly recovered.

  For those who had witnessed the joyful, carefree Brazil team of 1970, this game ended up a truly dispiriting spectacle. Valdomiro stamped at Krol, then Rivelino (not exactly a pale shadow of the player he'd been in 1970, more a dark shadow) clattered Cruyff, and was in turn fouled by Rep, who was cautioned. Valdomiro had another nibble at Krol's ankles. A clever pass by De Jong, quickly adjusting to the pace and temperature of the game, found Rep running at goals, to be taken out again by Marinho Peres. Suurbier fouled Marinho Chagas from behind, and was studded in the face by the Brazilian full-back for his pains: during the ensuing melée, Neeskens (inevitably!) was kicked to the ground by Valdomiro, with the referee of course unsighted. Cruyff set off on another through run, Peres couldn't even get near enough to foul him, but Paulo César Carpegiani brought him down instead, with the ball 30 yards away. Rivelino had now pretty much lost any vestige of self-control he ever had, and launched himself through the air at Cruyff, who prudently jumped out of the way, but Neeskens, following in, challenged the Brazilian along the ground, and was promptly flattened. A spate of foul and counter-foul outside the Dutch penalty area ended with Rivelino bouncing off Haan, and throwing himself to the ground. Of course, he won a free-kick, but blazed it just wide of the goal, though Jongbloed would probably tell you he had it covered.

  Luís Pereira finally managed to get himself sent off, for an alehouse challenge on Neeskens, waist-high, studs first, and so late it might have been early for next time.

  Pereira stood around for a long time before he could be persuaded to quit the field, pausing even then for a slanging match with the Dutch supporters and the bench. Once he saw Israël was getting stripped for action though, he decided to get down the tunnel quickly! Neeskens would take no further part in the game, and Michels brought on another defender to see out the last few minutes. Sadly, this would be Israël's last international appearance.

  The contest wasn't quite over. Marinho Chagas flicked the ball over the defence, and Jongbloed, hitherto confidence itself, fumbled nervously as he tried to collect the ball. Chagas writhed in agony for a while after the "challenge", but the referee was not impressed. Israël, always keen to make a new friend, found Mirandinha keener on talking to him than he was on playing football: a contemptuous shrug of the Dutchman's broad shoulders was all he got for his efforts at provoking a confrontation. With the game increasingly confused, Brazil had Wilson Piazza warming up for the last few minutes, but it doesn't appear he got on the field, Holland's possession football ensuring the ball didn't go out of play for long intervals. In the dying minutes, Jairzinho even managed to foul the utterly inoffensive Jongbloed, hacking the goalkeeper's ankles as he ambled out to clear another speculative through ball. The crowd, strongly pro-Holland of course, were so incensed after this one they refused to return the ball, even when Cruyff intervened, and another had to be found. At this point, the referee decided to blow the whistle. There were few handshakes as the players trooped off.

  This had been an intense, passionate, pivotal game, with, it seemed, the old world order swept away by the new, the favourite team of the previous generation turned sour and being blown away by the exciting champions of my own experience. Or so it seemed at the time.