This World Cup—a sport requiring only two things: a ball and friends—has been quite interesting.
FIFA—that organization representing a blend of public-private corruption typical of a Europe in decline—has departed very satisfied, carrying off a fortune to fund future acts of corruption.
A vast number of teams were invited to the tournament—forty-eight in total—generating countless hours of television coverage, advertising, and revenue; yet, the majority of these teams played third-tier unwatchable soccer. Nevertheless, fans from civilized nations had the opportunity to show the world the true nature of Western civilization—take, for instance, the Norwegians rowing to the quarter finals, the Scots finishing all beer inventory in Boston, and the millions of Spaniards who celebrated the championship victory without burning a single trash bin.
We witnessed some curious sights: Egypt, a country that discriminates against Christians and selects no Coptic players (that is, indigenous Egyptian Christians) for its squad, all without a word of protest from anyone—FIFA included. There it is … Saudi Arabia, which forbids the construction of even a single Christian church on its soil and bars non-Muslims from entering the city of Mecca, deeming anyone who is not a Muslim to be impure. Then there is South Africa—a nation excluded from these tournaments during my childhood due to apartheid—now enjoying its place in the sun, despite the fact that white people face discrimination there and thousands have been murdered. Yet, this inconvenient reality troubles a “global” sport that fails to treat everyone as truly “equal.”
Civilized Europeans—a shrinking demographic, given the rapid pace of their population replacement—have discovered that they live under a drab “Pravda” ( propaganda in the end) masquerading as free press. They have met a magnificent country in the USA where, unlike in Europe, the guiding principle is abundance. This concept of abundance is not merely material; it is a confidence in a better future—a belief that human beings are capable of deeper thought, greater action, superior innovation, and, at times, genuine goodness. The spiritual abundance of the United States lies in this primal faith in humanity: the understanding that while people are imperfect, they are capable of goodness. From this emerges a society that Europeans discover to be welcoming, with excellent customer service and food portions that are not merely generous but superlative; a place with the ingenuity to sell fuel at giant service stations alongside “Texas brisket” that melts in your mouth. They have discovered air conditioning—something found in Europe only on Von der Leyen’s seventh-floor office in Brussels. They have marveled at the fact that if your booked a rental car which is not available but they have a vehicle two sizes larger , that is the one you get. They have discovered that there are enclosed, air-conditioned stadiums seating 80,000 people where you can watch a match as comfortably as in your own living room, ordering beer, Cabernet Sauvignon, or a hot dog. They have found that all of this was already here—fully established—and that not a single new brick was laid for this World Cup. They have seen a country that welcomes you with open arms if you are civilized and straightforward. They have discovered that Americans are not illiterates , and that without ever leaving the USA, you can find snow, glaciers, forests, deserts, wetlands, and a Caribbean atmosphere in Key Largo. You have lobster, deer, wild boar, pork, sea bass, and chops that are simply out of this world. They have discovered that you can also get sashimi, Peking duck, pasta, Spanish potato omelet, and even haggis. All these people have realized just how good life in Europe will be once they regain their freedom.
We have witnessed a FIFA that gambled on creating a myth that didn’t exist: Messi—at best a tremendous player, a terrible sportsman and a despicable leader.
Breaking with a tradition of individualistic and quixotic tendencies—where we usually take center stage in history only to meet our doom—Spain has demonstrated composure and a hunger for victory. A team of hard-working players, prioritizing system and discipline over individual star power. When you look back at the stories of these lads, you see a mix: some were precocious academy talents who made great sacrifices during that pivotal transition between childhood and adolescence, while others achieved success later in life—grinders who toiled in minor leagues and lower-tier clubs, climbing the ladder one rung at a time. They embody the kind of heroes Joseph Campbell described—figures who leave home to venture into the unknown, knowing that only then will they find their place in the sun. Now, having won that primal battle every man faces in life, they have returned. There is the one who headed to La Masía or Valencia’s training complex six days a week; the one who traveled from Extremadura to join Rayo’s youth ranks with his grandfather at the wheel. There is the player deemed not good enough by his club who started over from scratch, and the one who moved to a second-division side before heading to another country to play for struggling teams.
For Spain, this World Cup has been a story of arrivals—from that “nobody” of a coach who climbed every rung of the ladder through hard work and patience, to those veterans who reached the summit at the age of thirty. Along with them, the fans back home sang Nino Bravo’s “Un beso y una flor”—that song that sends us off to battle, whether we return in glory or not. That image offers a glimpse of truth from which we might learn. Guided by Coleridge, we suspend our disbelief and take refuge in a moment of poetic faith; and with Verlaine, we whisper: “How blue is this sky, how vast the hope!”