THE REST OF us tend to recognise our endings only after they end.
A last day in the office is just a routine Wednesday until the announcement of a company takeover, or before a respiratory virus sweeps the globe.
A promise will be made to revisit a holiday destination and reclaim the precise sense of contentment for which it will be remembered — and maybe even try to capture it indefinitely — but whether there are mouths to feed or simply other seas upon which to gaze, a return never materialises.
A goodnight phonecall to a loved one will feel unremarkable until it proves the last.
To affect such endings is beyond most of us. We are left only to lament the fact that we didn’t try hard enough at work, or that we lacked the courage to leap abroad when we were younger, or that we didn’t hug Dad tight enough when he was here.
How cathartic, then, to watch in real time another human being so consciously experience an ending of their own, and not merely endure it but flatly reject it, instead willing a different ending into existence before our disbelieving eyes and flailing arms.
Trailing Egypt 2-0, his career 23 minutes and change from becoming a fond memory, Lionel Messi cast aside the stereoscope into which fate had forced him to stare. Wide-eyed with an instant and conspicuous awareness of his own mortality, he conjured the qualities that will immortalise him to the rest of us. Suddenly possessed by the preternatural force that is himself, he laughed in the face of fate. And then he cried.
An Argentinian friend in Barcelona was due to finish work at 8pm but her boss gave her an early reprieve to catch some of her country’s last-16 game. Her own tears were explained to her taxi driver simply with a 2-0 scoreline: Argentina were dead and buried. She was ostensibly taking a cab to a funeral, duly outfitted in a black work uniform.
The atmosphere inside the bar upon this friend’s arrival on 75 minutes wasn’t quite morbid, mind. A sizeable Egyptian contingent was cheering every block, tackle and snot-shot by those in red, their moment of global sporting renown ticking into view. The dozens of Argentinians wedged inside also remained boisterous in their belief that the two-goal deficit remained retrievable; whatever about having God on your side, having God in your side is handy.
Advertisement
Granted, Messi had in this game begun to more closely resemble a relic to a long-forgotten religion, his speed of thought routinely betrayed by 39-year-old legs as the likes of Marwan Attia and Mohonad Lasheen doubled up to repel his advances in central areas.
His 1,161st game of professional football likely ranked among his worst two or three, his first-half penalty miss the spectre lingering over Argentina’s imminent demise. Messi had earned his cinematic finish in Qatar four years ago with the most gratifying of all third acts. This lazy sequel was heading straight for TV.
But whereas the great actors are afforded creative licence, few possess the talent to rewrite the plot. Argentina manager Lionel Scaloni acknowledged post-match that Messi’s decision to reprise his role as an inverted right winger — occupying an area of the field he has seldom visited since departing Paris Saint-Germain for Inter Miami in 2023 — was Messi’s alone.
With Lautaro Martinez introduced up top alongside Julian Alvarez, Egypt were suddenly forced to forfeit the raw acreage from which Messi forged his legendary two-decade career. It was like handing Popeye a can of spinach.
Having teed up Sergio Romero to halve the deficit on 79 minutes, Messi became demonic to the familiar extent that an Argentinian equaliser felt inevitable.
That he produced it only four minutes later with the kind of split-second, technically astounding, f**k-it finish of which he was the only man in the stadium capable made it truly seminal.
Who else could do this? Not merely score that goal, but cause an Irishman with no particular horse in the race to spring from his perch in a Barcelona bar and bolt for the street outside, making insane noises, with a crying Argentinian tobacco saleswoman clinging to his back like a baby monkey? Who next will provoke such guttural, involuntary reactions from the neutral sports fan the way Messi has for the past 20 years?
Kylian Mbappé is capable of majesty, certainly, but at 27, playing for a France team brimful of near-equal attacking talents, his path forward is unlikely to engender such romance. Norway’s Erling Haaland, who will become a walking billboard after a World Cup in which his personality and athleticism have gripped North America, is a unique player but his capacity to amaze is confined to the 18-yard box, give or take a couple of yards. Spain’s teenage sensation, Yamine Yamal, clearly not yet match-sharp having carried an injury into the tournament, will go on to produce high art but he doesn’t quite possess the raw dynamism of his Barcelona predecessor during his prime 12- or 13-year stretch.
Still more appealing is to watch a 39-year-old Messi on sport’s grandest stage, connecting with our younger selves as he’s forced to do the same, all of us cognisant that this particular goodbye is coming.
The farewell may even materialise in tonight’s quarter-final against Switzerland, who are well capable of finishing the job that Egypt started. But the greatest footballer of all time is still equally capable of saying ‘not yet.’
To embed this post, copy the code below on your site
Close
Comments
This is YOUR comments community. Stay civil, stay constructive, stay on topic.
Please familiarise yourself with our comments policy
here
before taking part.
Can Lionel Messi laugh in the face of fate once more?
THE REST OF us tend to recognise our endings only after they end.
A last day in the office is just a routine Wednesday until the announcement of a company takeover, or before a respiratory virus sweeps the globe.
A promise will be made to revisit a holiday destination and reclaim the precise sense of contentment for which it will be remembered — and maybe even try to capture it indefinitely — but whether there are mouths to feed or simply other seas upon which to gaze, a return never materialises.
A goodnight phonecall to a loved one will feel unremarkable until it proves the last.
To affect such endings is beyond most of us. We are left only to lament the fact that we didn’t try hard enough at work, or that we lacked the courage to leap abroad when we were younger, or that we didn’t hug Dad tight enough when he was here.
How cathartic, then, to watch in real time another human being so consciously experience an ending of their own, and not merely endure it but flatly reject it, instead willing a different ending into existence before our disbelieving eyes and flailing arms.
Trailing Egypt 2-0, his career 23 minutes and change from becoming a fond memory, Lionel Messi cast aside the stereoscope into which fate had forced him to stare. Wide-eyed with an instant and conspicuous awareness of his own mortality, he conjured the qualities that will immortalise him to the rest of us. Suddenly possessed by the preternatural force that is himself, he laughed in the face of fate. And then he cried.
An Argentinian friend in Barcelona was due to finish work at 8pm but her boss gave her an early reprieve to catch some of her country’s last-16 game. Her own tears were explained to her taxi driver simply with a 2-0 scoreline: Argentina were dead and buried. She was ostensibly taking a cab to a funeral, duly outfitted in a black work uniform.
The atmosphere inside the bar upon this friend’s arrival on 75 minutes wasn’t quite morbid, mind. A sizeable Egyptian contingent was cheering every block, tackle and snot-shot by those in red, their moment of global sporting renown ticking into view. The dozens of Argentinians wedged inside also remained boisterous in their belief that the two-goal deficit remained retrievable; whatever about having God on your side, having God in your side is handy.
Granted, Messi had in this game begun to more closely resemble a relic to a long-forgotten religion, his speed of thought routinely betrayed by 39-year-old legs as the likes of Marwan Attia and Mohonad Lasheen doubled up to repel his advances in central areas.
His 1,161st game of professional football likely ranked among his worst two or three, his first-half penalty miss the spectre lingering over Argentina’s imminent demise. Messi had earned his cinematic finish in Qatar four years ago with the most gratifying of all third acts. This lazy sequel was heading straight for TV.
But whereas the great actors are afforded creative licence, few possess the talent to rewrite the plot. Argentina manager Lionel Scaloni acknowledged post-match that Messi’s decision to reprise his role as an inverted right winger — occupying an area of the field he has seldom visited since departing Paris Saint-Germain for Inter Miami in 2023 — was Messi’s alone.
With Lautaro Martinez introduced up top alongside Julian Alvarez, Egypt were suddenly forced to forfeit the raw acreage from which Messi forged his legendary two-decade career. It was like handing Popeye a can of spinach.
Having teed up Sergio Romero to halve the deficit on 79 minutes, Messi became demonic to the familiar extent that an Argentinian equaliser felt inevitable.
That he produced it only four minutes later with the kind of split-second, technically astounding, f**k-it finish of which he was the only man in the stadium capable made it truly seminal.
Who else could do this? Not merely score that goal, but cause an Irishman with no particular horse in the race to spring from his perch in a Barcelona bar and bolt for the street outside, making insane noises, with a crying Argentinian tobacco saleswoman clinging to his back like a baby monkey? Who next will provoke such guttural, involuntary reactions from the neutral sports fan the way Messi has for the past 20 years?
Kylian Mbappé is capable of majesty, certainly, but at 27, playing for a France team brimful of near-equal attacking talents, his path forward is unlikely to engender such romance. Norway’s Erling Haaland, who will become a walking billboard after a World Cup in which his personality and athleticism have gripped North America, is a unique player but his capacity to amaze is confined to the 18-yard box, give or take a couple of yards. Spain’s teenage sensation, Yamine Yamal, clearly not yet match-sharp having carried an injury into the tournament, will go on to produce high art but he doesn’t quite possess the raw dynamism of his Barcelona predecessor during his prime 12- or 13-year stretch.
Still more appealing is to watch a 39-year-old Messi on sport’s grandest stage, connecting with our younger selves as he’s forced to do the same, all of us cognisant that this particular goodbye is coming.
The farewell may even materialise in tonight’s quarter-final against Switzerland, who are well capable of finishing the job that Egypt started. But the greatest footballer of all time is still equally capable of saying ‘not yet.’
To embed this post, copy the code below on your site
2026 world cup possessed Soccer