It seems somehow right and proper that the final game of the World Cup was such a screeching drag, if only to remind us that the chief byproduct of a global anything is for most of the participants and supporters to grouse about how it ended. I mean, Spain had a great time, to be sure, as it got to not only write but prove all its best narratives, but every tournament has one winner and a thousand envious and angry losers. When you frame it that way, the vision of the Turnip-in-Chief and his throw pillow Gianni Infantino handing out the medals Sunday night is both galling and instructive, for reasons that will come clear shortly.
And it is right and just for you to rise in moderate dudgeon and exclaim, "But I enjoyed the tournament," if you did. Good on you. Fun is not easy to come by, so you should enjoy every bit of what you can. A lot of this past month was indisputably enjoyable. There were a fair number of quality matches that exceeded what you would expect from a hastily bloated tournament, specifically those involving Vozinha and Cape Verde. There was also the next generation of international stars who will replace the ones to whom we bade farewell, teams that didn't fire their coaches the day after their exit, and the bars that survived the Scottish fans. There was plenty to cozy up to over the past month.
But joy is how you choose to find it, and sometimes in soccer it is in focusing on the miscreants that enraged you by making you care so much that you still have the rage and disappointment smeared across your chest. Hey, it's how we do stuff in our pre-apocalyptic world—when in doubt, recriminate. For example:
Soccer vs. Argentina
The Argentines played such a dour, feeble, and monstrously ineffective game Sunday that most folks came away from it feeling not just cheated out of promising entertainment, but robbed of the glee that would have come had the final score been more representative—say, 5-0. By possessing so little of the ball and restricting its resistance to cynical fouls and competitive inertia, Argentina was awful for the first 115 minutes and only effectively desperate for the final 10. The Albiceleste not only could not trigger Lionel Messi's last stand, having to rely instead on goalkeeper Emi Martinez to save them from the beating they deserved, they failed even at Plan B, which was to induce the Spanish to stoop to their traditional levels of shithousery (the one soccer word that deserves to be midwifed into your everyday usage). The shot of Messi crying after the match inspired a global reaction, and that was: We totally get it. You needed better teammates and a better plan.
English Fans vs. Thomas Tuchel
Taking a powder an hour into their semifinal against Argentina enraged the British fan base and punditocracy enough to use words like "capitulation" and "cowardice" in their assessment of the 2-1 defeat. It was made worse by their 6-4 win in the third-place company picnic Saturday, when the Brits fumed with revised venom at their disgraced manager, Where was all this boldness the other day? How did Bukayo Saka magically heal for the game we didn't care about? Why aren't you fired yet? And finally, Argentina's performance in the final reminded them yet again that they should have been the ones getting schooled by the Spanish instead. The English may have Jude Bellingham, but it will be a lusty hate-watch as long as Tuchel is the manager, and that is well in keeping with the way the English have viewed their national side for the last five decades and change.
The U.S. Soccer Establishment vs. Christian Pulisic
Pulisic's injuries and subsequent ineffectiveness, especially in the debacle against Belgium, allowed Landon Donovan, Carli Lloyd, and all the other famous old hands to unsheath their daggers over past slights about not only his no-shows but his general haughtiness and perceived unlikeability. Heavy rests the crown on an undeserving head, and Pulisic as the alleged leader of the best U.S. team in decades was merely one of the things that reminded us that this wasn't the best U.S. team in decades after all, but the same one with new names. With all the advantages available to them plus political intervention (Folarin Balogun's wholly undeserved burden going forward), they got it all stuck back up their noses by an aging but angered Belgian side, reminding American sports fans that this president is the one you want to see working for your side when you're betting on the other guys. As for Pulisic as the face of American soccer, bet the under, hard.
Time vs. Cristiano Ronaldo
As Messi moved seamlessly and permanently into the "best athlete ever" debate with [fill in your favorite here], Ronaldo came and went as most 41-year-olds do when tasked with pretending they are 26. He left little trace, save yelling into a camera lens, "I'M BAAAAAACCCKKKK," which came off more annoying than threatening and in either event as a desperate grasp at bygone glory. In the difficult game of knowing when to leave, he stayed far too long as most great athletes do, and in a world in which it isn't the first impression that kills you but the last one ... well, we rest our case.
The Audience vs. Alexi Lalas
Even with a strident defense from the people who hired him, Lalas leaves this tournament more as punchline than pundit, shown up repeatedly by Thierry Henry and Zlatan Ibrahimovic as a platitude-blurting gasbag who explains little and inspires nothing. It wasn't so much that Henry and Ibrahimovic were shining examples of the communicative arts—English is, after all, neither's first language—but that Lalas was what he has always been: a incessantly crashing bore whose only real saving grace over the last month was the way he made us all sympathetic to Rebecca Lowe's daily plight.
The Planet vs. FIFA
As the first Google item in the queue when you search for "turbo-corruption," FIFA is the absolute titanium standard. It is therefore perfect casting that Infantino and Trump are viewed as conjoined swine in the trough, since they understand their shared roles in this tournament. It is an added bonus that Trump is at least notionally responsible for the U.S. loss to Belgium, thereby failing at the one thing he was ostensibly trying to instigate. If nothing else, we can have a spirited debate over the next four years about whether Trump damaged FIFA more than the other way around. And if we are all well-behaved, kind, generous, and good to our family, friends and neighbors, maybe it won't take all four years to get them into the rearview mirror of history where they belong.
