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Postmortem

The World Cup has ended. I congratulate the Spanish. They are deserving champions. If I don’t see another World Cup, I won’t mind having seen them win last.

I also hugely admire the Argentinians. Outclassed, they came close to winning through sheer determination. They were the tournament’s most antagonistic team and, from the competitiveness-prizing point of view, its finest.

After the final, Western European pundits tarred the Argentinians – and, alas, all South Americans – as violent and uncouth. The good guys won, the bad guys lost, was the pundits’ gloat. Football was saved. Even supposing it were true, the self-righteousness astounds. Europeans also misbehave. Harald Schumacher, Zinedine Zidane, and Sergio Ramos all played more despicably, in crucial moments, than any Argentinian did in this tournament. Italian squads have been as defensive as Argentina, and as petulant. The Dutch of the 2010 final, and the Dutch and Portuguese in their notorious match of 2006, were shockingly, comically violent. (The English – poor people – have mostly just harmed themselves.)

I also recall that many pundits – not French ones, of course – worshipped these same “uncouth” Argentinian players when they won in 2022. I suppose that like most people, pundits are knee-jerk home supporters first, rival-haters second, victory-worshippers third, and objective judges fourth; and, all the while, hypocrites.

A more respectful and realistic European is Tim Vickery; he points out that Argentina’s initial strategy was not just to defend and foul. (Ignore the other pundit.)

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Organization-wise, the tournament is broken. There are too many games. Temperatures are miserable. Players look tired. Distances between host cities are too great. Tickets are too costly. Price-gouging for amenities is unrestrained. Refereeing isn’t credible. Political interference by the hosts, once deemed unacceptable, is becoming the norm.

Only four years ago, this still was the most watchable event in sports. Say what you will about how Qatar prepared, the spectacle was lovely.

This time, I just wanted it all to end.

The 2030 World Cup will be held in six countries, including Spain and Argentina, and on three continents. The number of teams may be raised.

It is rumored that the USA will bid for the World Cup of 2038.

The best players, managers, referee, goal, and games of this World Cup

Bear in mind, the final has not been played.

(I’ve italicized the Best XI.)

Front-line players: Mbappé (France), Haaland (Norway), Kane (England), Messi (Argentina).

Midfielders: Ødegaard (Norway), Bellingham (England), Fernández (Argentina), Rodri (Spain), Xhaka (Switzerland), Ruiz (Spain), Tielemans (Belgium), Olmo (Spain).

Defenders: Cucurella (Spain), Mazraoui (Morocco), Laporte (Spain), Lisandro Martínez (Argentina), Akanji (Switzerland), Lucumí (Colombia), Muñoz (Colombia), Porro (Spain).

Goalkeepers: Bounou (Morocco), Nyland (Norway), Emiliano Martínez (Argentina), Pickford (England).

(English journalists have been savaging Pickford for letting in two goals that weren’t his fault. All the more reason to choose him.)

Most valuable player: Messi.

Best-all-around player: Bellingham.

Outstanding old player: Messi (39).

Outstanding young player: Bouaddi (Morocco) (18).

Outstanding substitutes: Lukaku (Belgium), Lautaro Martínez (Argentina), Quintero (Colombia).

Best managers: De la Fuente (Spain), Scaloni (Argentina).

Best referee: Barton (El Salvador), especially for Türkiye vs. Paraguay …


… and for France vs. Spain.

(The final will be refereed by Vinčić, the Slovenian. I thought him too generous toward Mexico; Argentina will eat him alive.)

Best goal: Kane’s second versus the Democratic Republic of the Congo.


Best games: Türkiye vs. Paraguay; Ecuador vs. Germany; Netherlands vs. Morocco; USA vs. Belgium; Norway vs. Brazil; Mexico vs. England; France vs. Spain; and every knockout contest involving Argentina (may the final be the same).

Semifinals: France 0, Spain 2; England 1, Argentina 2

Which manager was worse?

(I) Thomas Tuchel, for:

(a) ceasing to attack …

and

(b) permitting Messi & Co. to hammer away at the English goal …

for forty minutes;

OR:

(II) Didier Deschamps, for:

having no response for anything that Spain did.

I vote: Deschamps. This is the second time he has “crashed the Ferrari” in the World Cup. (I’m not considering France’s Euro defeats.)

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Deschamps almost “crashed the Ferrari” in the 2018 World Cup final. The Croatians were passing through the French at will, and had scored once. But then the referee gave France a second goal.

Deschamps’s tactics with France always have been simple.

(1) He fields three or four prodigious scorers – even if they don’t maintain possession, defend, etc. He values their scoring so much that he requires little else of them.

(2) He overpopulates the defense. He prefers central midfielders and fullbacks who are defensive specialists. (That is putting it kindly; at times, he seems to prefer that they have offensive limitations.)

(3) He ignores transitional midfield play. He figures that as long as (a) his attackers seize on mistakes and put in goals and (b) his defensive multitudes keep goals out, the middle of the field doesn’t matter.

In short, he gambles on offensive talent, which of course France has in spades.

Well, these tendencies bit him in 2022, against Argentina, and again in this tournament, against Spain. The vaunted attackers weren’t outplayed, exactly. Rather, the opposing midfielders cut off their supply. I had expected that Mbappé, Dembélé, et al. should have enough chances provided them. Everyone expected this. Instead, they were starved. Rodri, Ruiz, and Olmo – great players – bossed the middle. But they were aided by Deschamps’s abdication of that zone.

Halfway through, it was clear that France sorely missed the few polyfunctional midfielders employed during Deschamps’s tenure:
  • Griezzman, an attacker savvy about dropping back to defend and to build up play. (Retired.)
  • Kanté, ball-winner extraordinaire, known also for jump-starting the attack. (Old; languishing on the bench.)
  • Camavinga. (Left at home.)
(Moussa Sissoko was discarded after featuring in the 2016 Euros; Steven Nzonzi was a bit-player in 2018; Manu Koné, in this World Cup, has been an occasional substitute for the not-fully-fit, defensively-minded Tchouaméni. These are versatile players that, at different times, Deschamps has not preferred to use.)

I said, at the beginning of the tournament, that the French could win any match with just twenty good minutes. Spain granted five. By then, for France, it was too late.

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Spain’s midfield is tactically and technically superb; but so is Argentina’s. And Argentina has grit, grit, grit. Only the Croatians approximate them. This should be a fascinating final. I’ll bet on Argentina; these Spaniards have yet to meet such willful adversaries. But I wouldn’t mind if Spain won. Both these teams are worthy.

I’m afraid that this is just not your day, my friend

CLOUSEAU
I’m afraid that this is just not your day, my friend.

DREYFUS
But it is my day. It is, my friend. After three long, terrible years, it is at last my day. I will not permit, repeat, not permit anything – repeat, anything – to spoil it. Now, I will walk you to the gate, and I will kiss you goodbye –

[He kisses CLOUSEAU’S cheeks]

– and you will drive off in your new car – which should rightfully be mine – and I will have my interview with the Sanity Commission, and they will set me free. And then: I will kill you!

[Chasing]

Kill you!

CLOUSEAU
[Fleeing]

François!

DREYFUS
Kill you!

CLOUSEAU
Start the car!

DREYFUS
Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill you!

[Restrained by sanitorium guards]

I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him! Let me go. … Ha, ha, ha! I want to kill him.


(The Pink Panther Strikes Again)

July’s poem

This poem is for the eliminated World Cup teams. The thing about international soccer is, you can’t just go out and buy the crucial missing pieces. You make do with what you have. (But if you’re France, you’ve already “imported” so many pieces that everybody else is scrambling for your castoffs.)

It’s demoralizing knowing that, however well you use what you have, you or whoever beats you will eventually surrender to France.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
For want of a nail the shoe was lost,
For want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For want of a horse the rider was lost,
For want of a rider the battle was lost,
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost –
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(From The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, edited by Iona & Peter Opie. Recited, in The Clocks, by Hercule Poirot. Previous versions due to: Benjamin Franklin, in Poor Richard’s Almanack; the poet George Herbert; the Germans; and the French.)

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Is the “want of a horseshoe nail” an “INUS” condition? (That is: an insufficient but necessary part of an unnecessary but sufficient condition; in ordinary English: a cause. See: J. L. Mackie.)

Losing the battle might suffice for losing the kingdom, even if the kingdom could be lost in other ways: e.g., due to a meteor strike.

Losing the rider might suffice for losing the battle, even if the battle could be lost in other ways: e.g., due to a meteor strike.

And so on, for each preceding line. (Let’s say the meteorite gets smaller and smaller.)

Or is causation better analyzed in some other way? I’m getting too old for this.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Q: What was the “horseshoe nail” that Ecuador wanted?

A: Goals. And (controversially), according to some journalists, avoiding getting death threats from Mexican cartels.