You’re only as old as you think; but is everyone else as old as you imagined?

Have you ever wonder why Cyrano de Bergerac, for all his brilliance, acts like a hormone-mad teenager? Of course, you could rationalize that love makes us all goofy adolescents. You can spare yourself all that postulating: Cyrano happens to be 19 when the play begins.

How old was Hannibal at the start of his Punic War? No one over 30 would think of talking elephants across the Alps. If Hannibal had waited until he was 31, he would have looked for the best shipping rates.

How old was Cardinal Richelieu in The Three Musketeers.? Dumas, himself, teases the reader about it. Allowing for my paraphrase, the author says “You probably are thinking of Richelieu as the old invalid, the brilliant mind trapped in the crippled body. As a matter of fact, Richelieu now is only 37 and an excellent horseman, although he is starting to feel a slight stiffness in his legs.”

Imagine Adam Sandler as Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof? No, I am not trying to justify Anti-Semitism. Although the role of Tevye would require more talent than Sandler possesses, the actor is not too young for the part. At the time of the musical’s setting, Tevye probably was in his late 30s or early 40s. Remember that a bar mitzvah used to be literal; at 13, one was expected to be an adult. Tevye–assuming that he was physically functional and not unusually repugnant–would have been married by his mid-teens and a father well before he was 20.

But if Hollywood is planning to make a movie of Das Kapital, volume 1, Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson are about the right age to play Marx and Engels.

p.s.  Let’s not forget the historic significance of this day:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/07/23/pure-italian/

Ex-Romanian dictator Ceausescu and wife exhumed

It took 21 years but Blue Cross finally decided that the bullet wounds were covered by the Ceausescu’s policy.

Several businesses have expressed interest in the Ceausescu.  Employing the late Rumanian tyrant as its chairman would certainly improve the image of BP.  And one can’t forget the natural affinity between totalitarianism and show business.  The scriptwriters for “Twilight IV” are already at work.  Mr. Ceausescu is also rumored to be a possible replacement for Charlie Sheen on “Two and a Half Men”; of course, depending on Ceausescu’s state of preservation, the show may be retitled “One and Two Half Men.”   He and his wife have been offered the leads in the road company production of “The Addams Family” but they didn’t care for that musical.  As Ceausescu explained to Larry King, “‘Carousel’ would be tempting.”

On This Day in 1403

Henry IV was very disappointed in the Percy clan. It was a powerful family in Northern England and very useful to a conniving usurper. After helping him seize the English throne and kill the rightful (if preposterously incompetent) King Richard II in 1399, however, it turned out that the Percys could not be trusted. The rapacious family actually expected every title and estate that Henry had promised them. Didn’t they understand politics? Apparently not. The Percys rose in rebellion, having suddenly realized that Henry was an usurper. The now legitimatist nobles were supporting the royal claims of the Earl of March–who happened to be related to the Percys by marriage.

Of course, Shakespeare covered this topic–in iambic pentameter–in Henry IV, part I. So you know that the rebels were led by the dashing teenage jock, “Hotspur” Percy but he was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury in a climactic duel with that reprobate teenager Prince Hal. Well, not quite….

Hotspur once had been a teenager; it is a prerequisite when you are 38 years old. That was his age at the battle of Shrewsbury. In fact, he was two years older than Henry IV. Prince Hal actually was a teenager–16–but he did not kill Hotspur. That deed was accomplished by an anonymous archer whose arrow determined the outcome of the battle. Up to Hotspur’s unlucky catch, his forces seemed to be winning; not a knockout decision but ahead on corpse totals. However with the death of their leader, the rebels abandoned the field and Henry IV retained the throne.

But that was Percy luck. Even the competent commanders in the family tended to get killed; and you can imagine the actuarial tables for the inept ones. Here is a brief recitation. Hotspur’s father was killed fighting against the Lancastrians. Hotspur’s son was killed fighting for the Lancastrians. (Changing sides did not improve the family luck.) Hotspur’s grandson was killed fighting for the Lancastrians. Hotspur’s great-grandson was killed in a rent riot. (Now that has to be embarrassing, killed by your disgruntled tenants.)

By some fluke, Hotspur’s great-great grandson died of natural causes at the age of 50. (16th century medicine was as deadly as the warfare.) Of the great-great-great grandsons, one may have died of natural causes; but being a Catholic once engaged to Anne Boleyn, he was definitely on Henry VIII’s “To-Do List.” And his brother was decapitated–as was his son! The 8th Earl of Northumberland–the great-great-great-great-great grandson–was mysteriously shot while in the Tower of London. (It must have been a suicide!)

You have to wonder why the British royals did not simply strip the Percys of their titles and properties, reducing them to fishmongers in Newcastle. Perhaps the Percys offered the Renaissance equivalent of a fox hunt: just catch and kill them. You could also wonder why the Percys did not choose a safer social niche. They must have felt a certain glamor to it all. Whether riddled with arrows or in the midst of their decapitation, they would have gasped “What, and give up show business?”

Several years ago the New York Times had an article on the Duchess of Northumberland. Being egalitarian/vulgar Americans, we would call her Mrs. Percy. After six hundred years, that is definitely job security.

Sarah Palin Invents New Word: Refudiate

Refudiate (verb) post-coherent English:  To revive the principles and policies of Elmer Fudd.

Elmer Fudd (1940–) Republican icon.  Speech therapist for George W. Bush.  Spokesman for the National Rifle Association.  Physical prototype and sperm donor of the Neo-Conservative movement.

Revered, along with Yosemite Sam,  as the token humans of Merrie Melodies cartoons, Fudd heroically fought the carrot-stealing socialism of a pushy New York rabbit as well as the uppity behavior of a black duck.  Off screen, he displayed the same patriotic zeal and was a friendly witness at the HUAC hearings.  (Pepe Le Pew had to work in Europe for years.)

Although now semi-retired–he only sits on 47 corporate boards– Fudd remains an idol of the American Right.  There is talk that a well-known Conservative think tank will be renamed the Hoover and Fudd Institute.   And when planning the capture of Osama bin Laden, Donald Rumsfeld always considered “What would Elmer Fudd do?”

July 17, 1453:  The Last Battle of the Hundred Years’ War

Joan of Arc did not win the Hundred Years War.  She simply broke England’s winning streak.  The psychotic, transvestite peasant  (1412-1431) saved Orleans and the Loire Valley; but half of France–including Paris–remained the eastern shires of Britain.  You know that her winning streak didn’t last either, and the war would continue for another 22 years.  Yet Joan left a legacy that would lead her country to victory:  “Don’t be chivalrous; be French!”

For the first 90 years or so of the War–at Crecy, Poitiers and Agincourt–the French army demonstrated all the dramatic valor and magnificent etiquette demanded in chivalry.  If the English dared you to a make full-frontal assault, uphill, how could a true knight refuse?  War was just a very large duel.  However, as the French never seemed to learn, a duel between their armor and English arrows had a very predictable outcome.  The French lost battles and most of their country, but not their sense of propriety.

Of course, Joan couldn’t understand such sensitive refinement.  Her conduct toward the English would be rude and underhanded: in short, instinctively French.  The peasant had no regard for English convenience.  If the English invited a frontal assault, she had neither the honor or courtesy to oblige them.

(In the first half of the Hundred Years War, France’s only successful commander also displayed such an appalling breech of chivalry.  Bertrand du Guesclin (1320-1380)  had the excuse of being Breton rather than real French.  Resorting to ambushes and surprise attacks, du Guesclin was practically a brigand.  He also regained northern France.  Early in his career he had tried the French form of warfare, which explains how he was captured twice by the English.  Since he wasn’t a French noble, he did learn from his mistakes.)

At the battle of Patay, Joan’s culminating triumph in the Loire Valley, the French attacked before the English were ready.  Beyond this shameless breach of etiquette was the further humiliation that a smaller French force had triumphed over a larger English army.  Now it was the English commander, the Earl of Shrewsbury, being held for ransom and of course the French overcharged for him.

While Joan ended up the victim of French gratitude (the English might have exchanged her for the Earl of Shrewsbury), she remained a model for military conduct.  Province by province, the French harassed, cheated and annoyed the English out of France.  Paris was regained in 1435.  Northern France was liberated by 1450, and the Earl of Shrewsbury was captured again.  Normandy was won when an English army was caught while crossing a river; try working a longbow while standing waist-deep in water.  By 1451, the French had conquered Gascony, the southwestern province that the English had held since Eleanor of Aquitaine.  The war seemed to be over, with the English only retaining the token enclave of Calais.

But the English could not believe that they had really lost.  Hadn’t they won all the really prestigious battles?  (All those lost skirmishes hardly counted.)  Furthermore, even if they had no right to the Loire Valley, and only a distant claim to Normandy, the English felt that Gascony was rightfully theirs.  Ironically, the Gascons agreed.  After three centuries of English rule, they felt loyalty to London and the Plantagenets, not to Paris and the Valois.  So, when an English army landed at Bordeaux in 1452, Gascony rose against the French and welcomed their British liberators.

The English commander was–can you believe it–the Earl of Shrewsbury.  He had regained his freedom with another ransom and with the added vow that he would never wear armor to fight France.  The French might have assumed his permanent pacifism; however, the Earl had become as conniving as the French.  He could still fight the French; he just couldn’t wear armor.  Shrewsbury had 6000 men and Gascon sympathy to hold the province against the full force of France.  The French response began with a 10,000 man siege of  the Gascon town of Castillon.  Shrewsbury rushed to the town’s defense.  Believing that he had caught the French by surprise, he attacked even without waiting for all his troops to arrive.  Leading only his advance guard, Shrewsbury was outnumbered six to one, but didn’t he have the element of surprise?    Not really, since the French had assembled their artillery and archers behind a fortified encampment to meet the English charge.  The rest of the English army arrived in time to be overrun by the French cavalry.  More than half of the English force was either killed or captured, and Shrewsbury learned a fatal disadvantage in fighting without armor.

Castillon was the last battle of the Hundred Years War, and Gascony learned to become French.

July 18

On this day in A.D. 64, Rome would have made a great music video for “Light My Fire.” This is not to compare Nero with James Morrison, although I am not sure who would suffer more by the comparison. If you believe “Quo Vadis”, then Nero started the fire if only to give himself a topic for an epic poem. But then you would also have to believe that Deborah Kerr would really prefer a frigid corpse like Robert Taylor to the adorable Peter Ustinov.

Historians believe that the Great Fire was just a natural calamity, the unfortunate flammable nature of Rome’s crowded wooden tenements. Yet, the Imperial government found a scapegoat for the conflagration: a small cult of Jewish schismatics. The cult’s numbers would not have totalled enough for an interesting persecution, and the group was so obscure that it should have escaped notice. Only the other Jews were somewhat familiar with it, and they didn’t like it much. However, the Romans barely tolerated any Jews. Nero took a particular pleasure in baiting them, sending increasingly more rapacious and cruel governors to ravage Judea. (The province finally revolted in 66.) So, given their general unpopularity in the Hellenized world, Jews would have made a much easier scapegoat for the Great Fire.

Why did the Imperial government overlook the easier target, and sift through all the Jewish sects to persecute one particular group? As we know from this cult’s earliest writings, the group was apocalyptic and awaiting the imminent end of the world. Its Rome congregation, witnessing the imperial city in flames, must have seen this as proof of the end times. With that impression, they would have celebrated the conflagration as their theological fulfillment. So, although they had not started the Great Fire, they were probably cheering it on; and their pagan neighbors would have resented that. The subsequent complaints led to the cult’s arrest and prosecution. The Roman government really thought that these pyrophiles were guilty, in thought if not deed.

As it turned out, the world did not end. Neither did that cult; it simply rescheduled its promised Apocalypse to an unspecified time.

Showtime, the television network that presented a scrawny, brunet Henry VIII, is planning a series on “The Borgias”. If you are not familiar with the notorious Renaissance family, imagine the Brady Bunch in the 15th century except that Dad is a syphilitic Pope and the children are sociopaths.  (In this case, both Mrs. Brady and Alice are the mothers of the brood.)  It is the kind of heartwarming family story that has such appeal on cable television. 

Of course, the historical sex and violence won’t be ample enough for Showtime, so expect a little–actually an avalanche–of additions.  No doubt the cable Pope Alexander VI will have a passionate affair with Joan of Arc.  (It is possible since he was 4 months old when she died, and he might have been very precocious.)    Queen Isabella of Castille probably will have nude scenes, too–with Lucretia!  You are also likely to see that Gutenberg was a pornographer.  (Leonardo must have invented the video camera 500 years sooner than we realized.) And yes, Leonardo will be in the series; he really was the Borgia’s handyman.  I predict that he will be hitting on Martin Luther.  Have I left anyone out of this menage a thousand?  Don’t worry.  Anyone in Europe within 100 years of the 15th century can be part of the orgy! 

At least the casting is not a scandal.  I am relieved to say that the Pope and his boy Cesare will not be played by Jerry and Ben Stiller.  His most dubious Holiness will be portrayed by Jeremy Irons.  Irons has a sly, chilly persona and sepulchral voice that makes him one of the best villains on the screen today.  I can see him ensnared in plots and relishing his betrayals of less clever men.  Just for his performance, I will start to watch the series.  Perhaps the gratuitous nudity won’t be too much of a bore.

And now for the lecture….Alexander VI certainly is the most notorious Pope, but he was far from the worst.  In the tenth and eleventh centuries, many of the Popes were just Roman gangsters.  During the Dark Ages, it was difficult to distinguish nobles from criminals (We have the same problem with today’s MBAs), and bandit bands would vie for the Papacy.  Get your man on the throne and you’ve got control of Rome property and the relics racket.  One family/gang–the counts of Tusculum–held the Papacy for nearly a century.  A member of the dynasty murdered his predecessor.  Another attempted to sell the Papacy.  John XII–who became Pope at the age of 18–was killed by a justifiably enraged husband.  (Some forms of communion are unacceptable.)

So, why aren’t they the “stars” of a Showtime series?  They were unintentionally discreet, the advantage of obscurity.  However vile they were, who knew other than their Roman neighbors?  In the tenth and early eleventh centuries, the Pope just wasn’t that important.  By the time of Alexander VI, however, the Papacy was far significant than just Tiber property and the relics racket.  And thanks to Gutenberg, there now was a mass media that fed the public appetite for news and gossip.  Even if only one person in your village was literate, everyone else wanted to hear what he was reading.  Alexander VI was never less than interesting.

Furthermore, however scandalous he was, Alexander VI was not incompetent.  Unlike his Medici acquaintance and eventual successor Leo X, the Borgia Pope would not have ignored Professor Luther.  On the contrary, any dispute would have been quickly–if sadly–resolved.  “Young professor dies of food poisoning while falling out of a bell tower–twice.”  Of course, with a Borgia as Pope, Luther’s idea of Reformation might have been to limited to conducting Church bingo night in German rather than Latin.

And there is one more thing to be said in Alexander VI’s favor.  If he didn’t take religion seriously, he also wasn’t a bigot.  When Ferdinand and Isabella demonstrated their idea of Christian virtue by expelling Jews from Spain, Alexander offered the refugees sanctuary in Rome.  He wasn’t providing charity but if they could afford Italy they were welcome and protected.  Compare that to Pius XII, and remind me which of the two is a candidate for sainthood.

p.s.  Let’s not forget the historic significance of this day:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/07/16/divorce-italian-style/

Henry VIII and I share a wedding anniversary. Of course, everyone could say that. In my case, the date of Henry’s marrage to Katherine Parr coincides with my marriage to Karen.

We should also consider my other remarkable similarities to Mr. Tudor. Both Henry and I are equally plausible as the head of the Church of England. Henry had syphillis; I certainly tried to–but during the Sexual Revolution I must have been classified as 4-F. Henry had a brother-in-law beheaded; that is on my to-do list.

But how can we compare Katherine Parr and Karen Finerman? They are equally entitled to your pity.

Happy Anniversary to my noble martyr and lovely wife.

and now more about the other bride…

 Katherine Parr Borough Neville Tudor Seymour

In choosing Katherine Parr as his sixth wife, Henry VIII made a very sensible choice. By 1543 Henry’s libido was a subject of nostalgia. Her family was established but staid English gentry: no social-climbing Boleyns or power-mad Howards. And her resume was impeccable: she was a virtuous, affable woman who made of a career of being a wife.

Henry was her third husband. In her first marriage, she was a bride at 15 and a childless widow at 19. Apparently infertile and definitely unlucky, the widow was not considered a great catch, But her family found someone. At 21, she was married off to a man twice her age; he basically needed a nurse. (She was his third wife, and his first two marriages had produced an adequate number of children.) At 31, she was a widow again, but with a comfortable income. (Her stepchildren didn’t quibble over her allowance; she really was a nice person.)

Now the wealthy widow was being pursued by a handsome adventurer, Thomas Seymour. Seymour was the brother of the late Queen Jane Seymour and had stayed in the favor of his mercurial royal brother-in-law. However, that same brother-in-law also wanted a wife. Having the soul of a pimp, Thomas encouraged Henry’s interest in Katherine Parr; after all, she would be an even richer widow as Mrs. Tudor. So Katherine once again was a married nurse, dealing with the obese, gout-strickened Henry. However she wasn’t that good a nurse; Henry died four years later in 1547.

Now Katherine could finally have a handsome virile husband. And Mrs. Thomas Seymour died as the result of it in 1548: childbirth.

Brit Finds $5M in Roman Coins With Metal Detector

July 8)   A British treasure hunter has stumbled upon the country’s biggest-ever find of Roman coins buried in a field in southwest England.

Using a metal detector, Dave Crisp found a hoard of more than 52,000 coins buried in an enormous pot in county Somerset. The bronze and silver coins date from the third century and include some minted by self-proclaimed Emperor Carausius.

The stash has been valued at around $5 million and weighs more than 350 pounds, The Associated Press reported.

“I have made many finds over the years, but this is my first major coin hoard,” Crisp told the BBC.

Crisp was first alerted to the stash when he found a tiny coin buried about a foot deep. The more he dug, the more coins he unearthed. After pulling up a dozen of them, he called in the experts.

It took staff at the British Museum a full month to wash the coins and three more months to catalog them, according to The Guardian.

It isn’t clear how the huge quantity of coins got into the field. A Roman road runs near the site, but there is no evidence of any Roman villa or settlement there. Archaeologists believe they may represent the life savings of an entire community and may have been buried as part of a religious ceremony.

The find may change the way the British view their Roman heritage, putting greater emphasis on the story of Carausius. Carausius was a Roman naval officer who was declared an outlaw when Emperor Maximian suspected he was making deals with pirates.

Carausius fled to Britain in 286 and declared himself emperor, ruling over Britain and part of France for seven years before being killed by his finance minister.

“”This find presents us with an opportunity to put Carausius on the map,” Roger Bland, a coins expert from the British Museum, told AP. “Schoolchildren across the country have been studying Roman Britain for decades, but are never taught about Carausius our lost British emperor.”

Actually, Carausius could have had a revived popularity after the 1988 premiere of “The Lair of the White Worm.”  The Roman usurper was mentioned, if not depicted, as being the lover of a snake goddess–played by Amanda Donahoe–who was still devouring men, in so many ways, some 1700 years later.  The story was based on a novel by Bram Stoker, who evidently was trying to avoid being a one-hit wonder.  (He failed.)  British director Ken Russell adapted the story–which is to say that he made it unrecognizable, inexplicable and way beyond kinky.  Stoker never imagined a crucified Jesus being attacked by a large white snake; that was one of Mr. Russell’s more sedate images.

Unfortunately, aside from that casual name-dropping, Carausius has never been depicted in film or television.  So, you can’t envision him within six degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Well, you are wrong.  Carausius was defying the Emperor Maximian, who at least appeared in the sword & sandal B-grade feature “Constantine and the Cross”.  Maximian was portrayed by Tino Carraro.  No, you’ve never seen him in a Sergio Leone western; Carraro wasn’t that good.  Maximian was the father-in-law of Constantine who was played by Cornel Wilde.  (So, the first Christian Emperor looked like a Hungarian Jew.)  Wilde took the Lira and the income from other awful films to finance an excellent movie called “The Naked Prey”.  He was its producer, director and star.  In the film, Wilde is a scout of a hunting party that is massacred by African tribesman.  Wilde’s character avoids summary execution but is turned loose to be hunted by a group of warriors; their leader was played by a Ken Gampu.  Mr. Gampu, a South African actor, would subsequently avoid the temptation to massacre Kevin Bacon in “The Air Up There.”

So, that is Carausius, Maximian, Tino Carraro, Cornel Wilde, Ken Gampu and Kevin Bacon:  five degrees and 1700 years.

p.s.  Here is the story of an even more interesting treasure hoard:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2010/04/17/the-rakes-progress-or-the-road-to-rune/

p.p.s.  Dour, dismal but spiritually-correct birthday, John Calvin:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/07/10/the-joys-of-misery-and-the-embarrassment-of-evolution/

Spain-Netherlands: World Cup Finalists

JOHANNESBURG — The first World Cup in Africa appropriately presents something new: Spain or the Netherlands as a first-time champion.

This could be a revenge match for the Treaty of Westphalia.  The last time the teams played, the match lasted 80 years and the Dutch won.

The source of the conflict was existential.  The Spanish asserted their right to burn the Dutch alive, and the Dutch disagreed.  Now, from a purely legal perspective, the Spanish were correct.  Thanks to a skein of marriages, the King of Spain was named Hapsburg and he was the sovereign ruler of the Low Countries.  And thanks to a Spanish upbringing, Philip II was a religious fanatic.  When he inherited the crown in 1558, Philips did not regard the Netherlands as a prosperous, happy land that filled the royal coffers.  No, he viewed it as a haven of heresy.  You can’t quibble with Philip’s knowledge of demographics.  Calvinism, with its tenets that money is God’s expression of congratulations, had appealed to the Dutch love of commerce.  The Protestants now made up a majority of Philip’s Dutch subjects.  And as their sovereign, Philip had the right to persecute them.

His most Catholic Majesty had hoped that an Inquisition would suffice.  It had proved a success in Spain.  In 1560, he appointed an archbishop as Prime Minister of the Netherlands and you can guess his primary purpose.   However, the Inquisition–with its legal procedures, etiquette of torture, and theatrical executions–really was time-consuming and laborious.  It worked well dealing with a minority with a suspicious reluctance toward pork; but the Inquisition simply couldn’t process all the Dutch Protestants who required trial and incineration.  Nor were the Calvinists affable  enough to baste themselves with oil and proceed to the nearest bonfire.

The cinders from the uncooperative victims were only inflaming the unrest in the Netherlands.  Even the Dutch nobility, many of whom were Catholic, objected to the Inquisition and signed petitions in protest.  The King only noted the names, not their grievances.  He did agree, however, the Inquisition had failed to crush the heresy.  In 1567 Philip named the Duke of Alva to be the governor of the Netherlands, and the Duke brought with him 12,000 soldiers.  Upon the Duke’s arrival in Brussels, he was met by a delegation of the leading nobles of the Netherlands.  They were all Catholic but many of them were moderates who had pled for an end to the Inquisition.  The Duke demonstrated his idea of tolerance by having the moderates beheaded.  That gave the Protestants a clear impression of the Duke’s attitude toward them.

The Duke of Alva knew how to start a war but, even with an army of 12,000, he didn’t know how to end it.  His troops might sack and massacre Dutch towns, but only the dead were pacified.  The Netherlands were in revolt.  The Spanish were so unpopular that they could not even count on Catholic support, and the Calvinists were fighting for their survival.  Alva needed more men, but Philip was preoccupied with fighting the Ottomans.  The Dutch, however, did have allies.  The Protestant princes of Northern Germany provided assistance, subsidizing armies of mercenaries for the Dutch leader William of Orange.  And despite Queen Elizabeth’s charming and straight-faced assertions of neutrality, England was providing haven for Dutch privateers.

In 1573, Philip dismissed Alva, hoping to find a better general.  Three governors and five years later, Philip found him:  his own nephew, the Duke of Parma.  Through Parma’s efforts, the Spanish regained control of the Southern provinces of the Netherlands; it was to become the country we know as Belgium.  But the northern provinces successfully resisted the Spanish.  By 1586, the English had abandoned all pretence at neutrality.  An English army was fighting in the Netherlands; even if it only lost battles, it still was a drain on Parma’s resources.  The exasperated Philip II concluded that conquering England would also break the Dutch resistance.  He assembled an Armada…but you know that story.  Let’s just say that the Duke of Parma never got to London or Amsterdam.

Having successfully defended themselves, the Northern Provinces simply declared themselves a Republic in 1588.  So what if the Spanish wouldn’t recognize it?  The Dutch state existed and was in business.  The war tapered down to token skirmishes and by 1609 the Spanish agreed to a 12 year truce.  In 1621 the war officially resumed, and there was a major battle in 1624–which the Spanish won!  The Spanish gained a suitable subject for a Velazquez painting, and that was about it.  Finally, in 1648, as part of the Treaty of Westphalia the Spanish conceded the independence of the Dutch.

And the outcome of the World Cup match probably won’t change that.