The World Cup is a grand event, one that unites everyone in celebration, or in argument. And for the most part, that lengthy space in between those extremes. This year’s edition was no exception. Walking back to my home away from home this past Sunday in Toronto, I can still hear some cheers and yelling in the distance behind me, the remnants of those celebrating Spain’s extra-time victory in the final match against the defending champion, Argentina.
Fans decked out in the blood red, yellow and blue shirt of Spain’s team clapped loudly at the sports bars I passed, many with the name of the team’s young star, Lamine Yamal, emblazoned on the back. In contrast, the slew of fans in Argentinian superstar Lionel Messi’s jersey or in blue and white striped t-shirts looked truly defeated.
I’ll admit it, I wanted to see Spain get the victory, for a couple reasons. I’ll get into that later.
I wasn’t keen on the World Cup being held in the United States at first. It felt wrong for it to be here while we have someone in office that is out to strip this country bare and sell it for parts,leading a government snatching people off of the streets and shooting down anyone who disagrees. I felt like Canada or Mexico hosting it entirely would’ve been better.
The saving grace, was, and is, the people who traveled to see their teams go for glory and discovered the true nature of this country in the process. Brits indulging in Texas barbecue for the first time, Scots drinking the entire storehouse of Samuel Adams’ brewhouse dry in one session, citizens of Lawrence, Kansas honoring the Algerian team who made the town their home…stories that made you laugh and maybe shed a thug tear or two.
It also was the teams that captured our imagination, like Cape Verde and their formidable goalie, Vozhinha shocking the world. Norway, powered by the sizable Erling Haaland and that “RO!” chant that dominated social media feeds and their opponents on their way to the quarterfinals. The Democratic Republic of Congo, while missing their superfan who is the return of their assassinated hero Patrice Lumumba, holding their own all the way to the Round of 16.
This World Cup had STORYLINES. Africa firmly announcing that they will be reckoned with, with nine of the ten nations that qualified making the knockout stage. Records were toppled - Senegal scoring five goals in a match, and Morocco making consecutive quarterfinals (including eliminating soccer stronghold The Netherlands in a penalty shootout).
The great scorer Cristiano Ronaldo on his sixth and final run for Portugal was another standout narrative. His image was prominent in the Trinity Bellwoods neighborhood I stayed in, home to Toronto’s Portuguese community. It was fitting that his last goal on the World Cup stage would take place in the city as Portugal won over Croatia.
Hours before the third-place match between England and France, I made my way to 401 Richmond, an industrial building that was once home to a tin factory praised for itslithographic work. Today, it’s now a hub for artists and creatives with over 40 visual arts studios and 17 established galleries and museums. My destination was The Museum of Toronto, but I happened to pass by one gallery that caught my immediate attention.
It was an exhibition focusing on soccer, but through the perspective of the struggles of the Palestinian people. The exhibit organized by the Palestinian Youth Movement took up two rooms, but the space and attention its message demanded weighed heavier on you as you walked around. A large sign calling for FIFA to kick Israel out dominated one end of the room, as football kits from the Palestinian Football Authority’s team were on display, along with photographs. Some of those photos showed the Palestinian love of football despite the crushing presence of Israeli military forces. One picture that struck me showed children holding up a red card to soldiers.
One key part of the exhibit was the timeline of the Palestinian Football Authority, lined up to parallel the conception and growth of the World Cup. What stood out was how their team members would be killed over the years, and how they gained solidarity with other teams and players across the world including Haaland and Mo Salah, the star of the Egyptian National Team.
Another part of that timeline showed how Argentina’s rise to football prominence through the decades was marked with controversy, much like their run to the final this World Cup. As the team advanced, at times in miraculous fashion, youalso saw their highly physical play turn savage at times. You saw a sort of arrogance that emanated from some of the players, emboldened by FIFA with some dubious calls throughout the tournament in their fa
Fans noticed. Especially contrasted against Spain, who had players like Yamal, a young phenom making his World Cup debut at 19 after a storied run on Spain’s youth team. The FC Barcelona star’s Afro-Latino background adds to his magnetism along with being a Muslim unafraid to confront racist behavior from fans. (Also, his three-year-old brother, Keyne is an energetic bundle of adorable behavior.) In addition. forward Borja Iglesias became popular for standing up to Spanish Football Federation (RFEF) president Luis Rubiales in defense of women’s national team player Jenni Hermoso. Rubiales kissed Hermoso without her consent as her team won the 2023 Women’s World Cup.
Argentina also has been dogged by the growing revelations about its history of anti-Blackness and the oppression of Afro-Argentines. Just look up a burger joint with the N-word in the name that is apparently popular down there, and the “Kyle Rittenhouse Cultural Center”. That ugliness reared its head after Leandro Paredes grabbed Spain’s Eric Garcia, withe Nahuel Molina throwing punches at other Spanish players after the last whistle. FIFA is currently investigating. Not the way you want to see Messi leave the World Cup stage, tainted by his teammates’ thuggish behavior.
And yes, to me, SOME of the Argentina fans with their overt racism online and offline epitomize the worst of society. And they should get roasted every chance one gets. Spain has its own sordid past as a colonizer, but I’d rather have seen them get their second World Cup because of those reasons.
One last thing - it was rather glorious to see Gianni Infantino, after all the bloviating and kissing up to Donald Trump before and during this World Cup, have to nudge Trump off the winner’s platform as Spain gathered to celebrate in MetLife Stadium. The look on his face was poetic justice, as much as it was for Spain to edit Trump out of their team celebration photo.
The game of soccer is for the people. Always has been. I’ve used “football” and “soccer” interchangably throughout this essay for that reason. People came together during this time,and it was remarkable to see that after my New York Knicks won their first NBA title in 53 years. I got to have that celebratory feeling extended for another month and a half,seeing fans root for their team from Dallas to Guadalajara to Boston.
I got reminded of that, walking in the late summer glow of the evening on Dundas Street as the last of the fans finished their beers, already counting down to 2030.