Qatar World Cup Reflections: Day 15 The FInal

I was eight years old when Argentina won their first World Cup on their home soil. It was a final in the Monumental in Buenos Aires against Holland. Watching it with my family in war-torn Beirut, what I remember most was all the paper flying all over the stadium. I didn't really know much about the teams and didn't really support either in the final. The dramatic game, which would end in a 3-2 victory for Argentina, however, did start a love affair with a game that has lasted to this day ...

Since then, I have been playing almost weekly and often watch leagues or international tournaments and been quite fortunate to attend several World Cups and finals. None like this one. The setting, the backdrop. The story of the players. The fans. The ups. The downs. And then the brilliant performance by both teams. What drama! What passion! What pride and respect for their respective nations! And what love for a game that every now and then delivers an inevitable, albeit sometimes delayed, destiny.

Football is a game played by humans but every now and then produces the stuff of legends, transcending mere mortals. What is it that makes the likes of Pele, Maradona, Mbappe, and of course Messi transcend such occasions? Is it their skill? Is it sheer luck? Or is it destiny? Before coming to Qatar, I had had lunch with a friend to whom I tried to explain how destiny works in football, and how sometimes when it is unsure, the likes of Maradona literally rise to grab it with their very hands (and feet). Argentina and Messi would rise and claim their own destiny today but not after a rollercoaster ride that was quite inappropriate for the faint of heart.

On this day, we were determined not to clutter our day with any other plans. The final was scheduled to begin at 6 pm, and its prior ceremony a couple of hours earlier. So, we got started from the hotel around 2 pm. Everywhere we turned there were Argentinian fans. In the hotel. On the street. In the metro. There were some French but at most a proportion of one in ten compared to the Argentinians. In the metro, as had become usual, the Argentinians began to throttle their chants. A couple of classic ones to test their vocal cords. Once we reached Lusail, the "sound test" turned to a chorus, which would soon turn to a crescendo on the escalators. Once at the stadium, many Argentinians were waiting impatiently to get in to lay out their flags. We would hang the Lebanese one as well in the corner behind the French contingent, where we were situated. A very helpful young volunteer helped us hang it up, and told us how she had volunteered all the way from St. Petersburg and had been fortunate to see all of the Lusail matches.

Why hang the Lebanese flag if they're not playing someone asked me the other day? Just a small token to my homeland and its people who are struggling and need as much moral support as they can get, showing some still care ...

The stadium soon started filling up with anticipation and anxiety building up. I would estimate that at least 3/4 were Argentinean supporters, both from Argentina and local. We had heard that the French, who it must be said had been much less vocal opponents to this World Cup than other European countries, flew in some plane loads in the last couple of days to fill our side of the stadium. Macron flew in as well to support his team.

Why was most of the support Argentinean? The chap sitting on one side next to me, as one example, was from Mendoza, Argentina, a stunning 15,000 kilometers away. He had flown into Qatar at the beginning of the tournament from Argentina for the first round's games, for which he had tickets. Then he had to fly all the way back to Mendoza again, then decided to come BACK to Doha to see the semi and the final once Argentina had made it- a full 60,000 kilometers or a trip and a half around earth. "I have no idea how I am going to pay for all this with all the economic crisis we are in," he confessed, "but I was not going to miss it for the world." Another lady I met while entering the stadium said that she was with a group of 125 Argentinian ladies who follow their national team everywhere they go. They had been in Qatar since the beginning and had not missed a game. I was praying for both of them and all those who had gone through such great lengths not to go back to their home empty handed. As for the fans of the other teams who appeared in much more meager quantities in the stadium, I guess the question should be posed to them of why they being so much closer to Doha decided not to follow their own teams en masse like Argentina, Morocco, and even Croatia?

The opening ceremony was very colorful but shorter than expected with Maluma conspicuously missing. Everyone had thought he would replace Shakira who had become somewhat of a World Cup fixture, but had decided not to come for some reason, notwithstanding her Arab roots. The performance by Osuna and his Hayya hit song with all the colorful balloons flying around more than compensated ... Now it was time for the game.

The national anthems are usually the signal for the Argentinian fans, who by now would have had their cords properly warmed up, to go into full chanting mode humming their anthem instead of singing it, and then to delve into all their classics. They did not disappoint and would get louder and louder, and with good reason, as Argentina utterly and somewhat surprisingly took a hold of the first half by dominating the midfield, breaking quickly upfront on either wing, with Angel Di Maria rising to the occasion. The deadlock was finally broken after a penalty on Di Maria was called right in front of our end. In the stadium things happen very quickly and we often can't see them again on the big screen. My footballing watch party group on WhatsApp watching from all over the world confirmed the penalty seemed a bit soft. So was the kick that Messi eased past Lloris 1-0. A few minutes later, a great Argentinean team move ended with a great diagonal pass to Di Maria who elegantly finished passed the diving French keeper. Argentina was now cruising at 2-0, and the French utterly dumbfounded. They simply could not cope. Didier Deschamp suddenly and quite shockingly pulled out his star strikers Giroud and Dembelle, before half time, a move rarely seen in such a big match, as it would affirm that the original lineup by the manager had been inadequately conceived. The Argentines could care less. Their fans all around the stadium had become borderline delirious chanting over and over again their tunes.

The second half started pretty much the same way as the first until Didier Deschamp, again surprisingly, decided to pull out one of his best tournament players, Antoine Griezman, and replace him with Kingsley Coman. Deschamp was basically following the Dutch tactics in the quarter finals, of facing Argentina with size and speed (but without the Dutch roughness). Interestingly, a Peruvian siting close to me shouted out that the French team now looked like an African team. He wasn't wrong of course, but such is the beauty of globalization. The world has become a melting pot and so has France. Mbappe's father is from Cameroon, his mother is from Algeria. He's quite French. The change of French tactics worked as the Argentinean players began to show signs of fatigue and seem winded. Still, their numerous fans egged them on from the stands on and on; but France soon found itself back in the game with an Mbappe penalty. He had been quiet for most of the game, awaiting his own moment of glory. He converted with precision. And a mere two minutes later, with less than eight minutes left on the clock, he struck again with a one-two move followed by a volley past the diving Argentinean keeper and for his second. This reminded me of former basketball star Charles Barkley's funny comment a few days a earlier, "That boy Mubape (sic), over there in France, he ain't no joke!", which my son and I had heartily laughed about. American commentators and pronunciations are hilarious sometimes, especially by those without a footballing background like Barkley. But why not? The World Cup appeal is infectious and if it appeals to everyone, everyone is welcome to join in celebrating the beautiful game.

As the French contingent to our left celebrated with a singing of their famous Marseilles national anthem, the energy in the rest of the stadium hit rock bottom. The Argentinean fans' euphoria of the first half, which saw Argentina in full control, evaporated to be replaced with despair towards the end of the second as France pounced time and again. Fans looked around looking for answers. They were desperate to lift up the tired-looking Argentinians, as they were being beaten battered and bruised by a resurgent French side. Would this be the final heart breaker for all the fans who had made it this far to watch their hero Messi finally lift what had eluded him his entire career? They chanted on and the Argentinean side held on to a normal time 2-2 draw notwithstanding the French barrage of attacks.

During extra time break, one could see many Argentineans praying, this time their chants calling upon Diego Maradona from the heavens- the very man who single-handedly claimed his destiny in the country's last victory back in 1986. As the chants grew louder, the Argentinean team's performance on the field began to improve.

Extra time rushed by, and then out of nowhere Messi scored on a rebound putting Argentina once more in the drivers seat at 3-2. Surely, with 12 minutes left this had to be it, we all thought. But France are World Champions and were intent on fighting for the tournament that their compatriot Jules Rimet y had conceived almost a century earlier.

The last ten minutes saw end-to-end action with both teams going all in for it almost scoring on either end. The crowds in the stands tried to breath it all in, but at times the quick succession of events was too much stress even for the most sturdy and experienced. Looking around, I tried to take it all in, and asked myself if there was any other sport that could generate such drama and such incredible emotion. I could not think of any. Suddenly, with few minutes left, another wicked fast attack would lead to yet another penalty, which Mbappe stepped up again and coolly scored, becoming the only player since English striker Geoff Hurst in 1966 to have scored a hattrick in a World Cup final. It had only taken 56 years, 14 tournaments, and more than 10,000 players for it to be repeated by this 23 year-old prodigy. The Messi-Mbappe face-off, both teammates in Paris St. Germain (which ironically is also owned by Qatar) was living up to all the hype. The stars had all aligned to turn this standoff into hands-down the ultimate World Cup Final showdown.

In the dying minutes, both teams came agonizingly close again with great saves from the respective keepers, driving the spectators crazy. But the Argentine fans never wavered and continued to chant song after another. The French tried to match them but were vastly outnumbered. If Argentina ever needed a miracle, it came in the last second, as a save from their goalkeeper Martinez denied France a last gasp win. Nothing would separate these two teams in the end, as they tied 3-3. It was now time for destiny to cast its last dice upon both nations, both people's, and both sets of fans in the stadium through penalties ...

While we were lucky that five of the six goals were scored right on our end, the penalties would be taken on the other Argentinian end of the field. Mbappe and Messi would step up to take the first two of their teams and at some point passed each other, symbolically showcasing the older king passing the mantle to the younger one. These two winning heroes had both done their utmost for their teams and nations on the day. But the footballing Gods would in the end choose Messi to be the ultimate winner as Argentina edged out France in the penalty spot kicks. Messi and the Argentine players fell to their knees in tears, so did many of the fans elated by the result but emotionally too exhausted by the rollercoaster sporting spectacle they had just bore witness to to withstand their own tears of happiness.

The celebrations that ensued in the stadium and back in Argentina were both a result of the huge sigh of relief for the long and sometimes painful wait to win the World Cup. On the field, it was pandemonium with families of players allowed to join the players as the fans celebrated from the stands, coming to the realization the special historic sporting occasion that they had just witnessed. Two giants of the game had put it all on the line in what was undeniably the best World Cup final ever. Unfortunately, there had to be a single winner and on this day, it would be Argentina. Wasn't it their destiny all along?

Come trophy presentation time, the Emir of Qatar smilingly placed an elegant black Bisht (Transparent Abaya) on Leonel Messi, in what I thought was not only a generous gesture typical of Arabs who want to honor their guests (after all the quantity of Latinos wearing Abayas and agal head gear during the World Cup bordered on the comical, why should Mess miss out?!). Messi seemed happy and proud to don it on. But of course, Western social media would quickly make a big fuss about it. Considering their incessant condescension towards Qatar throughout the tournament, I think the Emir's move was not only a memorable gesture that will become timeless, but also a coup for anyone who ever imagined erasing the amazing effort that Qatar had made to host what proved to be arguably one of if not the best World Cups ever.

Once the Argentinian players received their gold medals, they joined the by now crowded field with all their families, a Latino and Arab touch rarely seen in regulated FIFA environments. Quite characteristic of Argentinians, some volunteers found scissors and started cutting pieces of the goal nets and throwing it to the Argentinian fans as souvenirs, until some official showed up out of nowhere to put a stop to the party. By then the nets on both ends were practically all gone, mostly cut into pieces and distributed to all those fans behind the goals.

As if all this spectacle was not enough, the same day of the final happened to also be Qatar's national day. As we exited the stadium, we were invited to head to Lusail Boulevard for a post-match parade. When we got there, it was jam packed with both sides of the Boulevard lined with people awaiting the parade. The Emir and his family were watching from one of the buildings. What happened next was surreal: A full traditional cavalry company of Qatari horses and camels rode by in front of a marching Qatari bagpipe military band dressed in Arab robes, daggers, and swords, followed by the Argentinean champions' open air team bus celebrating with sprayed beer and champagne. Classic live and let live!

Massive fireworks all around Lusail Marina would summon the fans to the grand finale of a great tournament. What an end to a journey that I had the privilege to be on with my son in a part of the world that, while we live far away from, made us feel very much at home. Thank you Qatar for all the happy memories. Thank you for all the people, places, and things. Thank you for your generous hospitality. Above all, thank you for perpetuating the love that this beautiful game continues to give pure football fans like us ...