“I knew that God was going to give it to me. I had a feeling that this was mine,” said Lionel Messi after the most incredible football match of his life. Perhaps of anybody’s life. Seconds after the sudden death of penalties had brought instant immortality for him, Messi sank to his knees, swarmed by teammates. The promised land had come. At long last. On a night of dreams, desires and despair, destiny had trumped them all. In a match that felt like an interminable tug of war between Messi’s hope and Kylian Mbappe’s heroism, the former had prevailed. Sometimes perversely, sometimes phenomenally, but eventually profoundly. All said and done, the arc of destiny had bent towards justice, romance and fulfillment. Towards Messi.
The final Argentina had to win thrice
Before the showdown between defending champions France and two-time winners Argentina, experts, fans and even occasional football watchers had taken their shots at predicting how the most important game in the world’s most followed sport would unfold. Tactics were scrutinised, formations were dissected and personalities were compared. But nobody could have expected what followed. Not least of all the players themselves.
For Argentina’s warriors in blue and white, a squad fighting as much for one man as for a nation of close to 50 million, the final was the greatest litmus test of character. Although it hardly felt like that during the first 79 minutes. Until then, only one team had turned up. Whether crippled by a virus or by the burden of holding onto their crown, France had looked lethargic, even disinterested. Almost as if the big occasion had somehow sucked out all their energy. Lionel Scaloni’s bold approach of starting with Angel Di Maria had paid off, as Argentina dominated every challenge, won every second ball and passed with precision and purpose. Messi’s ice-cool penalty and Di Maria’s equally composed finish had given them a comfortable lead. The champagne was on ice, the World Cup trophy almost there to be touched.
Kylian Mbappe became only the second man to score a World Cup final hat-trick and the first to lose the final after doing so FIFA
Until it was not. At least not for the next hour or so. A silly foul by Nicolas Otamendi had allowed Mbappe to give France a lifeline, a minute before Mbappe, again, had all of France jumping with joy. His unerring volley had wiped out Argentina’s lead. Messi and Co. had to do it all over again. And they somehow did, as Messi bundled the ball over the line in the 109th minute of extra time. Surely, this was it. Surely, Messi had had the final say. Surely not. Step up, Mbappe, once more. From the spot for his hat-trick. A treble that sent the game into the cruellest lottery designed by humankind.
Something happens to Emiliano “Dibu” Martinez during penalty shootouts. Yes, he is magnificent in open play, and his spread-out-all-you-have stop right at the end of extra time had kept his nation in contention. But when it comes to 12-yard-kicks as mini-theatre, Martinez transforms into a cartoon. A devilishly good one at that. He sashays, he sledges, he showboats. Most importantly, he saves. As he did during the biggest shootout of his life. As France capitulated in front of Martinez, Argentina held on to their nerves. Ultimately, it was Gonzalo Montiel, the man whose right arm had inadvertently brought us all there, whose right foot took us all to another place. To deliverance for Argentina and Messi. To delight for the millions supporting the greatest sporting story of this generation. To devastation for the French, who, having done precious little for most of the evening, could not have done any more thereafter. Argentina had won the final once again, this time forever.
Some things are meant to be
The World Cup was Messi’s third senior trophy with Argentina, and the 42nd of his career FIFA
There are images we all conjure in our heads. Posing outside the company that changed our lives. Posing in the car that had always felt like a piece of wonder. Posing alongside the partner who made us what we are. For more than a decade, the world has collectively conjured an image, virtually willing it into being. The image of Messi holding the World Cup aloft. An image that became a reality on Sunday night. Messi had already kissed the World Cup at the first time of asking. At the second, draped curiously in a bisht (an Arab cloak reserved for special moments) as half-priest and half-wizard but full-winner, Messi grabbed the most elusive object of his life and lifted it to the skies. He then held on to those 36.5 centimetres of 18-karat gold, refusing to let go. Not that anyone wanted him to. He tossed the trophy around and felt its curves and crevices, delicately balancing it in his palms, not unlike a child savouring their favourite toy. The World Cup was subsequently passed around, but it kept finding its way back to Messi. After repeatedly finding its way away from him for an eternity.
Once the dust settles on the most dramatic final of the most dramatic World Cup, Qatar 2022 will be best seen as three competitions rolled into one. First, as a sportswashing project that combined corruption (mostly proven), cash (mostly unnecessary) and constant criticism (mostly deserved) to put Qatar on the map. Second, as a footballing journey that was as brilliant as it was baffling, with the game’s most talented players seeing their fortunes swing like a pendulum between triumph and disaster. Last, as a providential tale of how Lusail, a city that was born long after its greatest protagonist, emerged as destiny’s chosen destination. As the place where the future greatness of Mbappe threatened to taint the past greatness of Messi, only to surrender to the wishes of the present. The present that was meant to be.
