Lionel Messi after the match against Australia Petr David Josek (AP)
Goal hug for Villoro:
I am exhausted, Granjuán, like twenty or thirty million of my countrymen. Those final minutes of the game against Australia killed us: a great deal for kinesiologists, dentists, cardiologists, psychologists; hard muscles, broken teeth, hearts broken from fear.
I don’t know if you were able to watch Argentina’s two games tonight. It was, like most of us, a rarity. We could have played just one, but it wasn’t enough for us: you know our excess. So two, and it was strange that they went with Australia. Around 1900, two great powers loomed in the south of the South: They were similar in their size, their immigrants, their strength, their herds, their prosperous future. Argentina now has a gross product per capita of about $10,000; Australia, 60,000. So we had to play football.
The first game lasted 75 minutes and it was weird. There were three shots on target and three goals: a total of three or four minutes of productive play. In the other 1970s, Argentina played a game that some of the best teams – Brazil, Spain – have played in this cup: useless possession or passismo, a childhood disease of guardiolismo. Argentina were very good in that game: they gave as many back passes as possible without leaving backfield and then tried to get a little bit forward to be able to give another set of back passes. When advancing, they never came in a single movement: they always stopped mid-attack to give a pass – backwards. Therefore, they did not see the opposite arch or in the distance. His own, yes: Passes included our goalkeeper who, to spice it up, was inches from losing inches from his arc. So Argentines have long practiced this biggest deception: they make you think they have it for something, but they have it for free just to have it, so you don’t have it.
Until Messi suddenly decided at 34′ – as a tribute to himself and his age – to be Messi for a while. By then he had lost almost everyone he had played; Suddenly he grabbed her in the area and sent her to a corner to hold her: she was Messi again. In his 1,000th game, his 789th goal: Here in France, the sum of those two numbers means something. Messi has long dethroned all kings.
And ten minutes into the second half, the Australian goalkeeper also wanted to make his guardiolismo, he lost it, Argentina and Julián Álvarez scored their second goal. In an hour of the game, Argentina had twice shot on target and won 2-0. Their midfield with the best Fernández – Argentina is a country full of Fernández – and McAllister’s son – his father played the 1993 play-off game Argentina has Australia outside left in front – it works, there can be good passes. And young Álvarez is a distinguished bulldog, always in the pack with De Paul, who has little to do with distinction. And Leo Messi was determined to always be Messi: it was a joy to watch.
It was an unlikely moment. Suddenly everything became sweet, friendly, even brilliant at times: Argentina controlled, attacked, flourished, believing that it would win comfortably, calmly and so anti-Argentinian. But no: there are essences of a way of being, so that’s when it’s game over.
And the second began: the mess. Or, to use one of the few words we’ve introduced to the language lately, the grand quilombo. A stray Aussie shot deviated to find Dibu’s goal, Messi’s cavalcades ended in Lautaro’s burricie, the Australians came, Argentina suffered, clipped nails, curled. You should have seen it, Granjuán: the spectacle of a frightened nation. It was epic. Until Australia came close to a tie at the last second and Dibu Martínez saved it in extremis. There was a huge sigh – so many millions of sighs – and the game was over and we qualified for the Quarterfinals. There’s a nasty party in Dhaka tonight.
(And next is Friday with the Netherlands. Earlier, in a game without lights, the Netherlands focused on scoring only the goals they needed; the United States on doing everything but the goals they needed At some point they accidentally scored one of the stunners, but they left the World Cup with an example of tolerance and political correctness: they committed four fouls in the entire game.The Netherlands, on the other hand, showed themselves to be a serious contender – for the quarter-finals lose quarterfinals.)
Anyway, the game ended half an hour ago, I’m exhausted and I don’t want to exhaust you with more rounds. Yesterday, Granjuán, you lamented the “post-human condition” that machines are about to bring us. And you celebrated the humanity of two great goalscorers: Cristiano, who didn’t look like it, and Luis Suárez, who always seemed like too much. My image of man today is that of Fideo Di María on the Argentine bench, singing with the fans and following the rhythm with a small bottle on a stand. I suppose that’s the essence of the World Cup for the players: every four years the highest paid mercenaries in the world have the luxury of being fans of the team they play for. And that’s why they enjoy, suffer, marvel and rejoice like never before. That’s why I suppose we’re looking at them – and to see if, despite everything, our countries still exist in their essence.
Hug,
The complete correspondence of Caparrós and Villoro during the World Cup in Qatar
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