Bots must have read my previous entry and decided that I would approve of
this Substack post: it has come up a few times in my feed (in Spanish, more often than not). The post is by one Éamann Mac Donnchada, “an Irishman resident in Barcelona, deeply marked by his years in Argentina.”
Indeed, I found it moving.
(See also
this post of Mac Donnchada’s, written before the final.)
Mac Donnchada offers a nice counterpoint to what I have been reading and viewing elsewhere. For example, the
Guardian – don’t think
it doesn’t have an axe to grind! – would have us believe that Argentinians are morally undeserving, as indicated by the fact that
some U.S. Blacks and
some non-Argentinian Latin Americans prefer not to cheer for Argentina.
(The piece on Latin America begins, amusingly, with a
Brazilian – a citizen of Argentina’s chief sporting rival – saying,
I *would* cheer for Argentina, *but* … )
Of course, I can’t speak for – or to – everyone belonging to these groups. But the obvious rejoinder to the argument is: Look closely at Spain. Look closely at Europe. Look at their histories
and their present attitudes (which are cosmeticized, as Mac Donnchada notes). Are the Argentinians really so much worse?
As Mac Donnchada remarks:
Football has acted as a socially acceptable pretext for saying things that would have been unacceptable in any other context. National sporting rivalry has licensed people to express prejudices that normally remain hidden behind progressive language.
To wit, prejudices against Argentinians.
Which isn’t to say that Argentinians aren’t themselves prejudiced. But it does shed light on the team’s conduct. When the Argentinian players turned their backs on Spain’s post-game celebration, it may not have been entirely a matter of bad sportsmanship. It may also have been a refusal to applaud a country where Argentinians suffer prejudice.
(Argentinians often
are bad losers; I’ve seen Ecuador beat them enough times to know that. 😆 Even so, I’ve noticed that Argentinians tend, after the obligatory period of fisticuffs and grousing, to bestow grudging respect.)
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Politics aside, the more I think about the final, the less convinced I am that Spain dominated Argentina as thoroughly as it seemed. Yes, the stats – possession, passing, shooting, etc. – favor Spain; but how were those figures achieved?
As Hannah Frye explains, in tennis, the scoring system allows the side that returns service just a little better to tally many more games and sets than the opposition. Soccer is thought to exhibit the opposite tendency – goals are
not predictable amplifications of modest superiority – but, as every devoted viewer understands, the focus on goals is misleading. It’s other metrics that predictably get amplified. The Spanish were able to record better numbers, and to look vastly superior, by repeatedly exploiting a single weakness that the Argentinians were aware of but almost powerless to correct. The Spanish understood that the Argentinians were too old and tired to effectively press Spain’s back line. (This was evident as early as Argentina’s match against Cape Verde.) This allowed the Spanish to constantly advance their teenaged central defender, Cubarsí, into the midfield; and the resulting numerical advantage in that sector allowed them to control possession. Yes, the Spanish are good at passing and recovering; but are they
so much better than these same Argentinians who, four years earlier, overran the French? The answer is: Yes,
with more youthfulness and rest and an extra player in the middle. That’s all we really can tell. The Argentinians, of course, knew that they were being made to look inept. And they knew
how. Their response was logical. Fernández occasionally would leave his place in the middle and join the front press – not to generate turnovers but to “persuade” Cubarsí to retreat. It was desperate but necessary, and it resulted in Fernández’s expulsion. It was an altogether more proactive gambit than, e.g., England’s total retreat into the box.
Hannah Frye: “The resilience to losing that you have to have [in tennis] is, I think, unlike any other.”
But much the same could be said about Argentina in this final. The team showed more resilience than any other I can think of, despite the humiliating amplification, all over the field, of the failure of the press. The Argentinians were so resilient, they almost
won. The Spanish, for all their “dominance,” almost didn’t. This was no 2009 Champions League final, no low-scoring affair with an outcome nonetheless settled early; this was a live contest until the end. The Spanish never did pass all the way through Argentina: they hoofed a ball into the box, where a couple of fresh substitutes got to it first. (And yes, the earlier goal’s disallowal was correct.)
There was, then, a certain reactiveness to Spain’s game, a certain fundamental preoccupation with the opponent rather than with proactive excellence (e.g., the Spanish were in no hurry to obtain a lead). And, I daresay, a certain smugness. I’m reminded of a story of my Uncle John’s. The classical guitarist, Andrés Segovia, once listened to an earnest amateur’s performance. He then took the guitar and played it back, cruelly replicating each mistake. What is an opponent to do in the face of a virtuoso’s calculated meanness? I don’t say that Spain played as cruelly as Segovia. But it was a virtuoso
one-trick performance. Spain could have tried different things but didn’t – until the end. Then the ball simply was hoofed into the box. Argentina tried
more things. (It’s a mistake to claim the opposite.) None worked. That’s all.
Let me end with
a quotation from a different Spanish youngster: Gavi, who took a few knocks after the final whistle.
No, to be honest, I don’t think [the Argentinians] should be suspended. I realize it doesn’t set a good example for the children, but there’s also that side to football that’s a bit more violent.
He’s magnanimous because he’s young, the pundits say. Perhaps. Or perhaps Gavi is wise enough to put himself in the other’s place. Or perhaps he’s not especially proud of how Spain approached the game. That’s not to say he should be
ashamed. You play the way you know; you try to win the way you can.
