It is a Saturday, July 9, 1994. Victoria Falls. The start of the Quarterfinal weekend.
The weird World Cup in the USA that no one except the Brazilians and the Italians who made it to the final really got into it. Not even the Americans, who seemed largely taken aback by all the fandango.
I take position at the apex of a horseshoe bar on the Zim side of town, for once well anticipated. There is a large TV hanging high up directly opposite and a friendly efficient bartender.
Life is good as the clock ticks down to the first of four games: Italy v Spain.
A little later a German arrives and takes a seat on my left. He is friendly and open. We chat about upcoming games: Germany take on one of the tournament’s three shock teams, Bulgaria; Sweden and Romania are the others, meeting in one of the other quarterfinal ties.
The Netherlands versus Brazil completes the quartet.
Shortly before kick-off a Dutchman arrives and takes the still vacant seat to my right. He is also friendly and open. To me, at least. Innocently, I present to you my new German friend. They barely snarl at each other. The mood is clear, but for me somewhat confusing.
And then I remember the story, the source of the animosity. Some say it partly has to do with the war. Others say it’s just the titanic matches that have been played, often with seething animosity.
Regardless of its precise genealogy, this is a football conflict to rival any. The three of us sat together for much of the next two days. I have a friendly chat with the German and sometimes, no less cordially, with the Dutchman. But not a word is shared between them. Not one.
On Friday night, unsurprisingly, similar bad blood and football was on display as Argentina ran out of game-winners against the men in orange. It was a heart-pounding game, albeit low quality.
Aside from the excitement and the sense of impending violence, there was little to like about the encounter. However, that was more than enough; this tournament has been dangerously short of excitement and drama and, yes, the kind of bad behavior most true soccer fans enjoy.
Both teams seemed more eager to reveal their weaknesses than show their strengths. And the outright feud was close to the surface and erupted repeatedly, spurred on by a narcissistic and comically error-ridden performance from referee Antonio Mateu Lahoz, who has now been “sent home”.
Lionel Messi didn’t perform especially well, particularly with his obvious lack of magnanimity in victory. But since none of the other players on either side behaved well, it might be a bit rude to point that out.
However, isn’t that a sign of true greatness on the sports field? The faculty to be, yes, inevitably, deeply competitive with a fierce hatred of losing, but also the ability to rise above the intensity when the final whistle blows.
Look at Federer and Nadal. Their matches have been as intense and insanely competitive as it is reasonable to imagine possible. But afterwards, they show grace and kinship in abundance.
Soccer is a different sauce though, isn’t it? Tribal characteristics are central to its existence and, in many ways, to its appeal.
Earlier, a notable team from Morocco had held on against the favored team from Portugal. They will reach Wednesday’s semi-final against France, having conceded just one goal in the tournament so far and having prevailed against Belgium, Spain and now Christian Ronaldo’s side, as well as drawing 0-0 with Croatia. An enviable career.
A great deal of sentimental and nonsense has been written about how Morocco’s progress is a great victory for “Africa”, as if this represented a great adjustment of historical geopolitical scales.
Support Morocco as the damn underdog if you will, but not for politics. Don’t forget the Moroccan colonization of Western Sahara. The plight of the Palestinians has been warmly acknowledged for once in prime time Qatar, most notably, ironically perhaps, by the Moroccans, who have unfurled the Palestinian flag after each of their heroic victories.
And they don’t play fancy football that can be seen. It feels like Wimbledon in its (in)famous FA Cup run in 1988.
Like Messi, Ronaldo misbehaved in defeat and shed the obligatory tears as the cameras followed him relentlessly and relentlessly down the tunnel. Goodbye CR7.
Whether LM10 will now be able to exploit his absence to confirm himself as the bigger GOAT of the two is far from certain given the hardy, resilient Croatians find themselves between Argentina and the final. They are also not pretty to look at.
So now we’re left with four teams, none of which are pulse-pounding or heart-pounding.
The France-England quarterfinals could be the best in Qatar22. It should have been the final.
For once the English did not deserve their misfortune; They may even have been the nicest team, certainly if you measure it by reserves; they picked up their only yellow card in a 2-1 loss to Les Bleus that will be forever remembered for Harry Kane’s penalty for all three points.
It will take something very special and unexpected in the remaining three games to lift 2022 anywhere near the Pantheon of great or memorable World Cups. How to measure such things? Numerous. But here is one. Pick a team with a player who played a prominent role in each of the last 11 World Cup-winning teams (here’s mine, below). And then find out who will be from Qatar22 who should replace Kempes in the lineup. Messi or Kylian Mbappé would fit very well. But if none of them, then who?
Dino Zoff (Italy, 1982)
Philip Lahm (Germany, 2014)
Fabio Cannavaro (Italy, 2006)
Aldair (Brazil, 1994)
Andreas Brehme (Germany, 1990)
Kante (France, 2018)
Xavi (Spain, 2010)
Zidane (France, 1998)
Diego Maradona (Argentina, 1986)
Mario Kempes (Argentina, 1978)
Ronaldo (Brazil, 2002)
