Observations about the World Cup

BY CONRAD BASCOM
LAKE MILLS GRAPHIC
A few of my thoughts from before and after the World Cup final—a tense and mold-breaking football match that took place Sunday between Croatia and France’s national teams in Luzhniki Stadium in Russia. Here are some reasons why this iteration has been particularly enthralling while simultaneously, classically disappointing.
Dispatches from a Not-So-Neutral Observer Before the 2018 World Cup Final
For neutral observers, there isn’t an easy pick; both France and Croatia have their share of baggage and excellence. As Kanishk Tharoor puts it in The Atlantic, “There are sporting, aesthetic, and even moral distinctions to untangle.”
Just like Kanishk, the doggedness of this Croatian team, the unlikeliness of their run to the finals, and their inspired play have swayed me—turned me into a supporter of the checkered Blazers.
I’ll be rooting for the second smallest nation to have ever made it to a final to accomplish the impossible tomorrow—a nation of four million people that has only existed in its modern iteration for a little over 25 years, winning one of the world’s most revered sporting competitions.
Croatia as World Cup champions may not smooth over the absence of any African or Asian teams beyond the Round of 16 (Japan was the only team to make it to the Knockout Stages, and they were tragically defeated in a come-from-behind victory for Belgium after the Samurai Blue had unexpectedly gone up by two goals), but if the tiny coastal nation clasped about the edge of the Adriatic wins the World’s greatest sporting event, it will be a minor miracle.
Although I’m all about the diversity on display in France’s national team, Western Europe has won more than enough World Cups. And then there’s the imperial history of France—a prime example of why it can be so perplexing to pick a team to root for in these international sporting events. The teams themselves are often held up as microcosms of the countries they represent—an impulse I understand, but also feel is a bit misguided. At the same time, these teams always become vehicles for the dreams of their countrymen and even the international community at large, a reality which brings its own set of complications.
In the case of Croatia, it’s difficult to tease out the implications of the nationalistic Croatian chants that hooligans have sung at games or their defender Vida’s ultra-right pro-Ukrainian proclamation that he posted online after their PK victory over Russia. And then there’s the ugliness of whatever is going on with their pro league, youth academies, Dinamo Zagreb, the former coach that is avoiding extradition in Bosnia-Hergezovina, and star player Luka Modric’s potential perjury charge.
At the same time, all of those realities are inextricably tied up with the bloody history of former Yugoslavia and the ethnically-charged Balkan Wars. I also believe/hope that the nastiness is a byproduct of a vocal minority and that the average Croatian supporters and players aren’t ultra-right fascists; if I’m wrong, I’ll be sorely sorry for becoming so infatuated with their World Cup run.
It seems near-impossible to me—as someone who doesn’t speak Croatian and has never been to Croatia—to be educated enough to make an informed disavowal of their team based on the stuff going on behind-the-scenes. And as previously mentioned, France has been involved in its share of ugliness over the years.
But as someone that has always felt aligned with the underdog, it’s also impossible for me not to root for Modric, Rakitic, Perisic, Mandzukic, and Co.—a ragtag group of elder statesmen of international football that have spent their whole careers just outside the limelight—as they defy the odds, willing their broken and bruised bodies to victory, time and again, against teams younger, fresher, and deeper than them.
Their victory would be a representative one—representative of a little nation of four million a nation that has experienced ample economic hardship, and a people that have been the targets of ethnic genocide, punching above their weight and defeating an international power in the greatest game of all.
It could be victory for all the underdogs of the world.
P.S. If France wins, I’m still going to be happy for Pogba, Kante, Matuidi, and Umtiti. Griezmann seems like a nice boy. Giroud’s like a grating overly-assured hipster barista and Mbappe’s already too big for his britches . . . but I’ll still wish them well.
The French national team is emblematic of a changing world—the globalization of countries like France (whose face has gradually transmuted into a much more colorful one). To celebrate France is to celebrate all of the immigrants of the world—there’s a little bit of the whole world in France, and that too is a wonderful thing.
So if you are an impartial spectator, there are plenty of reasons to root for either team; and either way the game goes, I assure you you’ll be screaming in support of somebody at the end.
Even if France recaptures the glory of ’98, this World Cup should still be remembered for what it was . . . a helluva time, full of excitement, surprises, sporting poetry, heroism, villainy, and disappointment. During this World Cup, the impossible became almost plausible and, for a little while, the underdog won.
Thoughts from the Realm of Disappointment (Post-World Cup Final, 2018)
Well, I want to retract a lot of what I said earlier.
2018’s World Cup certainly ended in memorable fashion; in fact, it’s fair to say it lived up to its billing. We haven’t had as high scoring and dramatic a final in recent memory, if not the entirety of the modern era.
If you aren’t an avid football/soccer fan and weren’t one of the approximately one billion people that were watching the event, there’s a good chance you aren’t in the know about just how wild and unpredictable of a game and event this was. I mean, truly remarkable . . . and, as I will argue later, an absolute travesty.
You had two teams with conflicting modus operandi grappling together in a physical contest of wills; you had a Croatian team that had succeeded in knocking a pragmatic French squad back on their heels in the opening half through gorgeous open play, astounding passes, and breathtaking tenacity (theirs and ours); you had a lopsided score line, as France went up over Croatia 2-1 in the first half, despite the Croatians essentially controlling the game in all phases; you had refereeing interference when call after call went France’s way time and again; first, a free kick awarded just outside Croatia’s box after Antoine Griezmann dove to the ground before the defender had even connected with his leg (which, in the world of football, is a serious faux pas, and quite disappointing); you had the free kick awarded to the France team because, incomprehensibly, this certain kind of play doesn’t qualify for video review (a process which FIFA calls VAR—one that has shared in controversy this tournament); you had the ensuing French goal, delivered by Antoine Griezmann on the free kick, which tragically glanced off the top of Croatian striker Mario Madzukic’s head and into the back of the net (to emphasize this moment’s import, know that it was the first Own Goal in a World Cup Final ever); you had the fact that, in the span of the first 18 minutes, France hadn’t gotten off a single shot and had hardly possessed the ball; you then had the inexplicable absence of VAR (video review, essentially) yet again, when it became apparent that one of the players targeted by Griezmann’s cross from the free kick was offside during the play (a reviewable play—the player was French center midfielder Paul Pogba, who was directly behind Mandzukic and pushing into him, which partially caused the deflection); despite an unfair string of consecutive bad luck moments, you had the Croatian players picking themselves back up, dusting themselves off, and promptly attacking on the French side again; you had the most beautiful goal of the game only 10 minutes later when, off of a corner, Croatia exhibited a beautiful bit of teamwork, heady-ing the ball three times in the box, until it finally came to Ivan Perisic’s foot, who faked out the French mid Ngolo Kante and scored with a blazer of a volley; you had a game that had been equalized, but despite the even score, momentum was still firmly with the Croatians; then, after another 10 minutes of inspired play by the Croatians, fate or partiality or a curse intervened yet again; you had a French corner kick and a moment of irony when, Ivan Perisic, the winger that had scored the equalizer, was back to defend and the player in between him and the oncoming ball missed his header, which resulted in the ball striking Perisic’s hand; you had Argentine referee Nestor Pitana first call a goal kick for the ensuing play—but then, of course, VAR reared its ugly head, as the Video Assistant Referee spoke into the Argentine’s ear piece and told him to go watch the previous play on the video review monitor; after a long deliberation, you had the Argentine referee come back onto the field and reverse his call, as it became obvious that he and the rest of FIFA were firmly in France’s corner; and so you had a penalty kick awarded to France, a kick which ice-cold Antoine Griezmann would take, the only thing between him and the wide-open net a 33-year-old keeper with a ham string injury that was preventing him from diving to one side—so of course you had a goal for the French.
You had a demoralized Croatian team, now down a goal yet again despite having outplayed the French in every stage of the first half. You had halftime. But by halftime, it was already apparent the game had been won.
Though Croatia started the second half with belief in their hearts, everything continued to break for the French, as they would rack up two more goals before the Croats would score again (these were essentially their first two real opportunities to score in open play, so it is admittedly a testament to their quality that they capitalized on both). Despite going down 4-1, the Croatians kept fighting, ultimately securing their second goal off of French goalkeeper Hugo Lloris’s error in the second half.
But I ask you to consider what would have happened if the French hadn’t been gifted two goal scoring opportunities in the opening half . . . Or even if merely one of the two goals had been taken away by a VAR ruling. Had neither of those goals been granted, the psychological climate of the game would have been completely different—Croatia would have invariably gone up one or two goals and the French would have panicked. I know they’re what-ifs, but I have no problem in saying it, even if others won’t: the wrong team won on Sunday.
Instead, you had a lopsided game with a score line that was totally unrepresentative of what was happening on the field and the masterful teamwork the Croatians were exhibiting; you had dictators, oligarchs, and the director of FIFA kowtowing in the VIP box; you had a Russian punk band interrupt the proceedings by running onto the field in what was apparently a show of protest (right in the middle of a Croatian counter-attack, of course—that was the kind of luck Croatia had that day); you had France triumphant, who had only possessed the ball 39 percent of the time (Croatia 61 percent) and had half the amount of goal scoring opportunities that Croatia did; you had robbery, pure and simple.
I ask you to memorialize what could have been—what would have been a fitting finale to a World Cup that has been characterized by upsets, underdogs, and surprises. We could have had a team like Croatia—who hail from a miniscule, less-developed country—playing joyous football that is truly a joy to watch, win the greatest game of all, defying all the odds.
Instead, this World Cup will ultimately be remembered as one of destiny for the French national team—but that story will be built on lies.