Through the day, there was only one topic of conversation. Argentina or England? By the time my wife and I had finished watching the latest episode of The House of Dragons, there were only a few hours left before the World Cup semi-final. We confidently announced that we’d catch a quick nap and wake up well before kick-off.
The alarm, unfortunately, had other plans. When the bedroom television finally came alive, nearly thirty minutes had already slipped away. My first reaction wasn’t about the score. It was guilt. Had we actually overslept for an Argentina-England World Cup semi-final? Thankfully, the scoreboard still read 0-0, and I immediately forgave both the alarm and myself.
What followed was football at its very best. The game flowed from one end to the other like a pendulum that simply refused to stop. Messi was being shadowed wherever he went. Harry Kane was equally well marshalled. Every pass seemed contested. Every tackle carried purpose. By half-time, neither side had blinked. Then England struck. A beautifully crafted move. A superb finish. The silence that followed in our bedroom was broken only by my wife’s heartfelt groan. As an Argentina supporter, she looked as though someone had just cancelled the World Cup. I was slightly more optimistic. Not because I possessed superior football wisdom. Simply because this Argentinian team had developed an irritating habit of refusing to read the script.
Still, the clock became increasingly unfriendly. Substitutions came and went. England defended bravely. Argentina attacked relentlessly. Even Lady Luck seemed to have swapped jerseys. Two glorious Argentine efforts crashed against the woodwork and bounced away, as though the goalposts themselves had decided to support England for the evening. Even Messi glanced skywards in disbelief.
Then, almost out of nowhere, came a moment of genius. One exquisite pass from Messi. One emphatic finish from Enzo Fernández. One nation breathed again. The equaliser transformed the match. England suddenly looked like a team trying to survive a storm rather than play football. Wave after wave of Argentine attacks followed, until, deep into stoppage time, Lautaro Martínez rose above everyone to head home the winner from another sublime Messi delivery. From despair to delirium in barely seven minutes.
As the celebrations began, my thoughts wandered to Harry Kane and the English players. They had played with courage, discipline and enormous heart. Sometimes football can be wonderfully unfair. It rewards ninety-five minutes of resilience with ninety seconds of heartbreak. Perhaps that is why we keep watching. Football reminds me that life is rarely decided when we think it is. We often mistake a difficult chapter for the final page. Champions don’t possess a magical immunity against adversity. They simply refuse to believe that the story has ended until the very last whistle.
And there was one final lesson from the night. Never trust an alarm clock before a World Cup semi-final. It may let you sleep.
In Musing…… Shakti Ghosal
A New Beginning 