Emotions and conflicts/ A final like Italy-Germany
A month ago, I wasn’t even seeing this World Cup in Qatar. Trampled rights, silenced protests, forgotten (dead) workers and – first of all, let’s be honest – the absence of our national team, engaged on the opening day of the world tournament in a very sad friendly (obviously lost) in Vienna with Austria. A month later, (almost) ready to celebrate another Christmas in times of crisis, weakened in body and spirit no longer by Covid but by the worst flu ever, with the not very exciting prospect of diving back into the transfer market and our beloved Serie A, we have the lucciconi because the World Cup is over and we can’t enjoy it anymore. Raise your hand who yesterday would not have paid out of their own pocket so that that marvelous concentration of emotions, athletic gestures, class shots, pure adrenaline rushes that was Argentina-France, from kick-off to Montiel’s penalty, did not continue throughout in the evening, at night, the following day. It didn’t go on forever. Like a video game, which can be repeated indefinitely, but with the feelings of human life inside. Let’s face it frankly: this World Cup in Qatar has been a balm on the gloom of our precarious and tired lives, on the lacerating wounds that the premature farewells to Sinisa Mihajlovic and Mario Sconcerti have caused in these hours in the hearts of us sportsmen.
For heaven’s sake, the contradictions of a tournament organized in the desert (but who complained about the temperatures?), at Christmas (we gave gifts anyway, who can afford it), in a country that has a very questionable concept of democracy , at the hands of an organization – the now famous Fifa – which has done a bit of everything to gag dissent, they all remain. And – for future reference, because Saudi Arabia is lurking – they shouldn’t be forgotten. But – here too – those who yesterday afternoon raise their hand, while Messi and Mbappé delighted us like two dancing boxers, very noble interpreters of an art, football, which at the highest levels knows how to be as noble as boxing that was, has thought for a just a moment to even just one of the reasons why, a month ago, we said to each other (without believing it too much already then): who knows if we’ll turn on the TV (or open the ipad). Let’s tell ourselves another truth, without being ashamed of it: this last astonishing act of the tournament has reconciled us with life, while all that had come before – let’s remember: the courage of the Iranians, the effrontery of the Japanese, the futbol bailado (as long as it lasted ) of Brazil, the resilience of Modric and the Croatians, the epic of the Moroccans – had reconciled us with football.
And yesterday’s final, well… it’s an understatement (although very true) to define it as the most beautiful world final ever. For many, certainly for the younger ones, it was the most legendary world match ever. For Italians approaching sixty, and of course for those who have passed them, it brought to mind that concentration of emotions, goals and turnarounds that were the extra time of Italy-Germany 4-3, semi-final at the Azteca in Mexico City ( there is still the plaque that commemorates it), held in 1970, unforgettable and – we thought – unique. Until yesterday. And in fact to equalize the amount of emotions of that other epic challenge, yesterday only the goal of 4-3 was missing, which would have avoided the contenders, especially the losers, the cruelty of the penalty kicks. For the rest, yesterday football gave us all the samples, indeed more, including the vast range of feelings that usually fill the epic, both football and Homeric. At some point, someone must have felt like the replicant of Blade Runner (“I’ve seen things that you humans…”), or like the poor employees of the tragic Second Fantozzi, forced to see yet another replica of the Battleship “Kotiomkin ” while Italy challenges England (and wins 20-0, “Zoff had also scored, with a header, from a corner…”). In short, things never seen, or almost. Before Mbappé, only England’s Hurst had managed the feat of scoring a hat-trick in a world final. The year was 1966. Since then England has been pursuing another success, football, fortunately, continues to pursue and celebrate new myths. For the enjoyment, that’s right, of millions of people. Argentina-France was also, indeed above all, a clash between those two titans, the final battle between the two Homeric heroes of our times. Final, because unfortunately there won’t be another World Cup with Lionel Messi, the flea that became a lion without losing his (immense) grace. But there will be others, at least a couple, with that robot by Kylian Mbappé, which transforms into a rocket missile with circuits of a thousand valves like in that cartoon. And then, we can always see yesterday’s game again. How did Jovanotti sing? The greatest show since the big bang. Diego must have liked it up there too. And to Pele, in his little room in San Paolo. W football.
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