I wanted to feel good about watching the World Cup, to follow the biggest tournament of the most popular sport in the world, the sport I have always loved and followed in some form or another. But I just couldn’t look past all the corruption, the horrible human rights abuses and the deaths it continues to cause, all the misery, all the… just wrong things about this edition of El Copa Mundial. Qatar was so unsuitable for such a massive competition people had to pay more than US$200 a night to sleep in tents! No privacy, no security, and no air conditioning! And a World Cup in November?!
What the actual fuck, man?!?
But I grit my teeth and made my peace with it, how could I not? Besides, this was Messi’s final shot at winning a WC and finally, once and for all, quiet his (unjust) critics who refused to even mention him in the discussion for the greatest player to ever play the game, the GOAT, to use the current vernacular. Greatest Of All Time. GOAT, get it?
Anyway, I pressed on, but then Argentina lost its first game to Saudi Arabia, and suddenly, I was second guessing everything. After all, if Argentina wasn’t going to go all the way, it they were going to sputter and stumble and count solely on Messi to carry them on his 5’7” shoulders as he had done the last two World Cups… what was the point?
But then the Albicelste got their shit together and started the locomotive. They were still lead by La Pulga Atomica, of course, because that’s a team captain’s job, but they showed they weren’t going to solely rely on his magic to advance through the rounds. The weirdo Martinez showed he is one of the best goal keepers in the world by pulling off save after save, often single-handedly keeping Argentina in the game, and Otamnedi and DiMaria once again proved their worth as reliable players in their positions. Most others were also instrumental in every game and shared the burden of duty, more or less equally.
Meanwhile, Christiano Ronaldo proved to be the whiny useless past-his-prime player he has been for a long time by only contributing one goal (from a penalty resulting from one of his trademark dives) and zero assists, and annoying his coach so badly he benched him! And I took great pleasure in all of it.
Then came the final. Argentina had made it convincingly, but the trouble was, so had the French team; a fast, young, and resilient team with the player everyone knows to be the future of the sport, the great magician, the magnificent, the doggedly focused Kylian Mbappe.
Shit.
And what a game it was. Argentina owned the first half and most of the second, leading 2-0 until around the 80th minute, until Mbappe woke up. Two quick goals and by the 83rd minute, 2-2.
Extra time.
Both teams attack relentlessly, and Messi strikes first. 3-2. but then, so does Mbappe! 3-3!!! Penalties will decide this World Cup.
FUUUUUUUCK!!!
France and Argentina both make their first tries, Messi with his usual cool ballsy confidence. Then, Martinez saves one! YES!!! Argentina, I forget who, makes the next penalty, and France… MISSES! A bit later, Argentina wins the shootout 4-2 and Messi finally, after trying and failing so many times, lifts the golden statue above his head and cements his legacy as the greatest to ever play the game, just edging his idol Maradona, El Pibe De Oro, as far as I’m concerned.
A game for the ages. One of the greatest World Cup finals ever. An instant classic.
So Messi and I got what we wanted. But did it all mean anything, knowing it all came at such great cost? To Messi, of course.
To me… hm.