The elephant in the room is so large, it fills the stadium. Yes, one of those eight state-of-the-art stadia that were built with guilt. The Leonardo Di Caprio blockbuster codified the term ‘blood diamonds’ for diamonds mined in a war zone. Perhaps, there is a rendition in the offing — ‘blood bricks’, as an estimated 6,500 workers allegedly lost their lives in the process of building these gargantuan coliseums.
The ‘beautiful game’ has an ugly side. A well-evinced investigation has undermined that football’s governing body FIFA accepted bribes to award the Gulf nation the keys to football’s biggest extravaganza. Like a Shakespearean tragedy, the pangs exacerbate with human rights violations, LGBTQI discrimination, and freedom of speech being stifled.
But yet, it isn’t our apathy or our callousness when we enjoy the quadrennial fiesta; it’s because, the simple truth is that nothing captures the global imagination like the football World Cup.
FIFA may have appropriated the tournament, but the beauty lies beyond the branding, the sponsorship, the theme song, the expensive airfare, match tickets, and brand ambassadors. At a kernel level, take away Messi’s Adidas boots, and block out Ronaldo’s Nike studs, and what you see is soccer sorcery; for as a sports journalist once described to this author, that same ball at my feet is useless. But that inanimate object at Mbappe’s foot is magic from the skies above at ground level.
The World Cup is the epitome of globalisation, where 32 unique teams meet — in this case, representing a heterogeneous world divided by continents, beliefs, customs, climes, and cuisines; whose languages and cultures are unintelligible to the other, yet the juxtaposition of homogeneity — in one language and only religion — football, even if it’s an ephemeral feeling.
It’s the meeting of countries in a match, who may geographically reside on different sides of the globe, whose citizens may know precious little of their opponent nation, let alone visited, and yet for 90 minutes, they partake in the similar feelings of euphoria and anguish.
Where else, do Iran and the United States, who do not share any formal diplomatic ties, share the same pitch for 90 minutes (99 with extra time), and their players act as envoys, except like their diplomats in an exchange with the other, there is no camaraderie, just competitiveness. Where else, if not for the World Cup, can we find a funny sense of egalitarianism, where a tiny Arab nation of the Northwest corridor of Africa, can hold its own against the mighty powerhouses.
Morocco has defeated 2018 World Cup semi-finalist Belgium, drawn to 2018 finalists Croatia, beaten Spain, and Portugal, with whom it shares maritime borders, and contested history, and should it trounce France, it’ll be a sense of David slaying colonial Goliath.
On paper, these contests shouldn’t go this way, but the sport is never played on paper. Despite FIFA’s flaws, the World Cup, rather football, brings parity where geopolitical clout and economic GDP wouldn’t permit. In no way, is a contest between US-Iran evenly matched in military or economic might, but for 90 minutes, it’s 11 on 11, passion vs passion, skill and tenacity with grit and determination, and past history be damned; history is meant to be written anew.
Despite being reviled, FIFA President Gianni Infantino did say something profound when asked about Iran’s inclusion, with reference to backlash over women’s rights in the Islamic Republic; his riposte to reporters: 'it is not two regimes playing against each other, it's not two ideologies playing against each other, it's two football teams.' He added that the world needs more 'excuses to bring people together'. Say what you will about FIFA, but Infantino is right with this one.
That is the truth; the World Cup is truly a cosmopolitan carnival, a celebration of globalisation, at a time of caustic and flagrant nationalism. George Orwell wasn’t entirely wrong when he said, “sport was war minus the shooting”. Diego Maradona’s Hand of God in 1986 versus England was devilish, and his second goal, heavenly divine, after the animosity of the Falkland War that aggravated Anglo-Argentine relations. Or when Honduras and El Salvador literally went to war over a football match. What about the scars of war, when in 2018, and incidentally in 2022, when Swiss nationals in, Granit Xhaka and Xherdan Shaqiri faced Serbia? Both of Albanian heritage with roots linked to Kosovo, celebrated their goals in 2018 against Serbia with a two-handed eagle gesture marking a nationalistic sign for many ethnic Albanians.
It’s profound to watch a French side, once seen as the epitome of a white European powerhouse, now draw its strength from immigrant communities, whose ancestors hailed from former French colonies in Africa.
Messi Magic
Argentina, a country riddled in economic morass and political quagmire, now sees itself back at the top of footballing echelons. With one pope and two gods (Maradona and Messi), the latter has the chance, that chance that has long eluded him. He looks like the boy next door, but he is far from that, with extra-terrestrial-like speed and prowess. Like an astronaut, only he can traverse that space and find the metaphoric space through opposition defences.
He is as short as David and a Goliath, as a giant among men.
Argentina has two world cups; Diego Maradona has one, Messi has none. The Argentine sun on the flag and Maradona in the sky, will watch the ‘star’ on the ground, on December 18.
It’s the only time a sentence in the English language that reads, ‘Football is Messi’ means it’s beautiful.
The ball is at Messi’s feet, like a magician, only he knows the secrets, the tricks are visible to all, perhaps not to those who are marking him, they’ve already lost the ball. There is pandemonium and there is silence. The cantankerous cheers, the rowdy roars, and the crooning, all add to the pandemonium. The anguish, the hopes, the despair, and prayers fill the silence.
Messi now has a date with destiny. One last chance, one final dance.