Tag: Lionel Messi

The Match That Refused to Become a Classic


Or perhaps, more truthfully…   The Night Football Taught Me One Last Lesson

For days, the build-up had been impossible to escape. Argentina versus Spain, the reigning World Champions against the reigning European Champions. Kolkata itself seemed to be preparing for battle. Giant screens were being erected across the city, clubs announced that their bars would remain open well past midnight, and even the Chief Minister joined the excitement by supporting public screenings across the districts.

My wife and I prepared with equal seriousness. Dinner was served early. Television was politely ignored. We even resisted the temptation of “just one episode” of our favourite series. Sleep was carefully scheduled like a military operation. For once, my biological clock decided to cooperate. I woke up five minutes before the alarm, feeling rather pleased with myself. If only Argentina had been equally punctual…….

From the opening whistle, Spain looked every inch the team we had admired throughout the tournament. Their passing was crisp, their movement effortless and their control of the midfield almost hypnotic. Watching Rodri and company was like watching expert chess players move pieces three moves ahead.

Argentina, on the other hand, looked strangely burdened. The flowing football that had carried them to the final had vanished. Passes went astray. Clearances seemed to arrive at Spanish feet with remarkable generosity. Creativity had apparently decided to sleep in, unlike me. The longer the match went on, the stranger it became. This was supposed to be a feast, instead, it felt like waiting for fireworks that stubbornly refused to ignite. Only one man seemed determined to keep Argentina alive, Emiliano Martínez, the Goal Keeper. Save after magnificent save, he single-handedly prevented the scoreline from becoming embarrassing. Had the trophy been awarded to goalkeepers alone, the ceremony could have ended much earlier.

Half-time came. Then full-time. Still no goals. Argentina was eventually reduced to ten men after a red card, and one could almost sense the inevitable drawing closer. In the second half of extra time, Ferran Torres finally found the breakthrough that Spain had threatened all night. It proved enough. Argentina launched one desperate final assault. Messi searched for one last moment of magic. Instead, his final effort struck a Spanish defender before the whistle brought an end not just to the match, but almost certainly to one of the greatest World Cup careers football has ever witnessed.

The image that stayed with me was Messi sitting quietly on the turf. Sometimes silence speaks louder than celebration. As I finally went back to bed at nearly four in the morning, I realised that football had once again wandered into philosophy. Every once in a while, we meet someone—or some team—that is simply better on that particular day. There is no shame in acknowledging excellence. In fact, there is wisdom in it. Spain didn’t win because Argentina failed. Spain won because they played almost the perfect tournament. And perhaps that is the hardest lesson of all. Not every disappointment is the result of our shortcomings. Sometimes, someone else simply deserves the applause……

Even if, somewhere in Kolkata, two sleep-deprived football fans quietly wished the ending had been different.

In musing….                                                             Shakti Ghosal

When the Clock Betrays You… Never Write Off Argentina


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