After the World Cup

In the 1950s there was a joke going around—not very funny—about the newfangled popularity of Chinese food of the canned Chung King variety: It tasted good, but an hour later you were hungry.

Something along those same lines might be said about the World Cup: it’s great fun at the time, but a week later you can hardly remember which teams you rooted for, who won, or whether you cared one way or the other.

I’m well aware that real soccer fans feel differently—those who follow the European leagues and also the billions of fans whose teams were contenders in the knockout rounds. For me, that lengthy tournament provided many hours of entertainment, more than a few moments of aggravation bordering on outrage elicited by the numerous blatant and brutal fouls, and an occasional touch of awe.

More stimulating than a golf tournament, more fluid than a football game, and perhaps more dependent on chance than any other sport, the movement of men and ball back and forth across that enormous green pitch was often both mesmerizing and incomprehensible.

That being said, the final reminded me a lot of the 2010 final, in which Spain beat the Netherlands. I was a little surprised that the phrase “tiki-taka” didn’t surface in the post-game analysis, though maybe I missed it. Spain controlled the ball to an inordinate degree while doing a remarkably good job of keeping it away from Messi. What they didn’t do much of was score.

The consolation round gave us more than enough of that. Mbappe, throttled and flummoxed by Spain in the semifinals, resuscitated some of his best moves against the English, but it wasn’t enough, and Bellingham’s insurance goal in the final minutes was a thing of beauty.

Not so beautiful was the sight of Madonna emerging from the bowels of MetLife Stadium in a jeep driven by Ronaldo and Ronaldiño, two Brazilian stars from an earlier era that I can only dimly recall. I didn’t recognize them, or her.

“Is that Shakira?” I said.

Connoisseurs tell us that in the end, the best team won. Spain’s captain, Rodri, won the Golden Ball as the tournament’s best player. Commentators note that he “recorded the most touches, most attempted passes, most completed passes, most tackles and most completed passes in the final third.” His pass success rate was  93 per cent, a new record.

But mark my words: twenty years from now, Messi and Mbappe will be driving the jeep. And who knows, maybe Shakira will be in the back?