World Cup Recap No. 5
spain really said "trust the process"
I know I said the last World Cup recap might be the last one, but one thing about me is I’m gonna change my mind. I’m gonna lie.
Spain beat Argentina 1-0 in extra time yesterday and won the World Cup for the first time since 2010, earning its second star. Luis de la Fuente’s squad stayed consistent to its defense-heavy style of play that favors patient possession over flashy offense and, once again, it paid off.
Spanish football is so risk-averse, so controlled, so measured, that it usually results in rather few goals—for both sides. To watch Spain play can be frustrating. Sometimes even boring.
In fact, in last week’s recap I wrote that:
If watching France play is poetry, then to see Spain and England on the pitch is a study in prose.
It’s work, and the effort is visible. I can appreciate it, even if the style of play rarely really excites or inspires me. In other words: I never assume Spain or England will win a match, necessarily, but I’ve seen enough to know that they will eventually put their playbook to work and whether by set piece, penalty, or break, pull out a goal and defend stubbornly enough to maintain a lead. It’s hard to tell if this will be enough to beat France or Argentina, respectively.
There’s something to be learned from this, maybe, beyond my in the future, be less wrong note to self. Watching Spain dominate the game yesterday, staying so faithful to their strategy that in 120 minutes of play they only allowed Argentina two (2) shots, neither of them actually on goal, was, yes, a study in prose, but it was also a lesson in discipline. In not being afraid of letting the work actually look like work. Because beauty and poetry are lovely, but without the necessary element of victory by their side, they pale in comparison to their humble cousin, effort. Which is a bummer, because we’d like to believe that talent and flashes of brilliance are all we need to capture a win, but isn’t this almost better? A means to level the field?
Who knows. Maybe I’m just trying to find a way to justify my more or less erroneous takes from last week. I’ve talked so much shit in the last five weeks, it was bound to happen eventually.
Because last Sunday, I also said that:
Maybe I’ll have to eat my words when France plays Spain on Tuesday, but this World Cup, it’s hard to imagine Deschamps’ men scrounging for a win.
God forbid a girl take a risk and put herself out there. Personally, I hate that in order to be recognized for being right, you have to be willing to be loudly wrong. Do not love that. It’s bad enough being wrong on the Internet, but to be wrong because I was defending the French? God, I almost deserve this. It’s just penance and I accept it.
In my defense, the France that showed up to the semi-finals (and while we’re at it, to the third place match) was not the same France that had played up to then. And sure, that was in large part due to Spain’s destabilizing defense, but there also seemed to be something of unpreparedness. As if France—like I and so many others—had bought into its own hype so much that they considered the semis a small hurdle on the way to the final. A fait accompli, a mere 90 minutes away. Except that it wasn’t, was it. Not at all. It’s like they did it on purpose, to make me specifically look bad.
I was happy with the result, though. For a second there at the end it looked like Argentina might score (another) last-minute goal, and while it’s not that that would’ve been unfair, because I don’t think such a thing exists in football, I do think it would’ve meant the better team lost. And that’s no fun.
For the last time, here are a few moments from the final that sent me into outer space:
1. That half-time show.
It’s not that I’m opposed to the concept of a half-time show, even if it is a bit unorthodox for a football game. I understand that it’s an Americanization/bastardization1 of the sport, and like, okay, sure, but there are worse things than a half-time show. It’s just that it was a No Good Very Bad half-time show, with maybe the exception of Shakira, who has become a World Cup fixture in a way I’m very amused by.
Because why, pray tell, was Jason Sudeikis as Ted Lasso there? Why were the Muppets there? It is embarrassing to be like ah yes the epitome of American ingenuity and culture: the Muppets. I know a lot of people out there love the Muppets. But can we be serious for one second. Like, there comes a point when going back to the drawing board is the only option.
2. Oh, Ferrán.
Do you understand how satisfying this was? All tournament, my Spanish friend and I have been anguishing over the fact that Ferrán Torres’ main claim to fame this World Cup has been a very pretty face and a historically excellent haircut. Like, books will be written about the life-changing power of a good barber. The looks could not be denied, but given that he is technically a football player and a forward, we—alongside every Spanish person I spoke with—were wondering if, perhaps, he couldn’t also score a goal.
He tried so hard, after all. Some time between the 60th and 70th minutes, Ferrán would be subbed in, hair inexplicably already wet, and, match after match, try his absolute very best, running all over that damn pitch for a chance to get a good shot. The goal kept eluding him.
Until yesterday. In the 105th minute, in a game that looked for all intents and purposes as if it would go to penalties. But starting with a beautiful pass from Pedro Porro a few feet from the box, a header from Nico Williams left the ball at Ferrán’s feet, and there he went, scoring for the first time since June 4.2
It’s just nice. Proving yourself.
3. We have to discuss Trump’s refusal to let Spain have their moment.
I was embarrassed. If you watched the trophy ceremony, you know what happened: after every Spanish player received their medal, Trump handed the captain Rodri the Cup. Wish that were the worst of it. But no. Because when Rodri went to stand at the front of his squad to lift the trophy and celebrate with the team, it turned out that Trump had turned himself into a fixture, just on the outer edge of the group, close enough to be pictured in the photographs, as if he, someone who in the last few months has called Spain a “loser” and threatened to cut off trade with the Iberian country, deserved to feature in any sort of Spanish celebration.
Gianni Infantino, a man for whom dignity is a mere memory, jogged across the platform in the way only bootlickers can, sporting a humiliatingly nervous grin as he pulled at Trump’s sleeve in an effort to move him away from the celebration, much like a substitute teacher in charge of a riotous middle school classroom. To no avail. Trump remained, and although most outlets have done their best to crop him out of the photos, you can still see his monstrous little outline. Ruining things.
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I could also talk about Nico Williams’ disallowed goal from a foul that wasn’t a foul, or how VAR was mysteriously out of commission yesterday, but you know what … I won’t, because all’s well that ends well.
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Now that the tournament is over, I look forward to recovering the dredges of my sleeping routine. To feeding myself something a touch more nutritious than beer and fries. To working on my small talk, which for five weeks now has ridden the coattails of “did you see the match last night?” and “are you seeing the match tonight?” and “what specific devil do you think Infantino has sold his soul to?”
There’s been a lot to criticize about this World Cup, much of which we’ve discussed over the previous four recaps. And yet I know I’ll find a way to miss it. How couldn’t I, when over the last month and change I’ve watched so many games with friends and strangers alike, suffered and rejoiced, produced more sweat than I ever thought possible, witnessed my best friend becoming a football fan in front of my very eyes, and gotten to use this space to chat with so many of you about the sport I’ve been watching since birth?
So thanks for sticking around. I promise to stop writing about sports for a while. And indeed, if you’ve made it this far, you deserve to know that today would’ve been my grandma’s 81st birthday. She didn’t particularly care a single iota about football, but probably watched more of it than all of us combined thanks to the collective influences3 at work. Feliz cumple, abuela.
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A lot of people will say that’s the same thing, but it’s not! Not always!
In a friendly against Iraq ahead of the World Cup.
Patriotism and people-pleasing, babes.
Clara - I've absolutely loved your recaps.
Appreciatively,
Newly anointed soccer fanatic
I forgot how much I enjoy your posts! I'll be back to read more for sure. Trump is just trumping. He always wants to be in on any photo opp. It's pretty embarrassing.