BY JOSE FAUS
The World Cup has ended the teams have moved on. Memories, left in their wake, will last a long time. For those fortunate to ride the waves of the four teams that docked here and near, those memories will resonate for years, moments recounted to anyone who will listen, even those who will roll their eyes heavenward and groan “not again.”
I will carry special memories, lucky to see and experience such a great tournament. I marvel how this compact city, home far longer than I expected, managed to bring the national team of my homeland for a thrilling game at old Arrowhead. Go Colombia. There will be another time, travel involved, to get another chance.
When the schedule was released, It was possible that Colombia would play here in a quarterfinal match should they advance top of their group. I knew they would. I had no inside information that said so. It was wishful thinking of the highest degree. They would have to beat Portugal in their group to have a chance. Portugal with the iconic Cristiano Ronaldo was one of the favorites to lift the trophy. It didn’t matter. I just knew Colombia would play here. Watching them play here was one of the most emotional moments of my life and I feel great saying so.
When I was a young boy playing in the alleys and yards of Bucaramanga and Bogota, I dreamed of playing for the national team. How bitter my disappointment when we immigrated here and found out no one played the futbol I knew. We played kickball at recess, a strange game that was my introduction to baseball.
I maintained my interest. I followed the old USA Soccer league that brought Pele to play for the New York Cosmos. I had seen Pele play live on a barnstorming tour of the Brazilian national team. I got to watch him play on USA television. There weren’t many other outlets. Sometimes there would be games in the parks with foreign students at university. Or pick-up games by other immigrants or enthusiasts. I played in indoor leagues for years till I blew out my ACL.
Watched indoor soccer, watched outdoor soccer. When cable came, I had more options, I could watch the games from other countries. I followed La Liga. I have deep Iberian roots along with woven indigenous Andean threads. Real Madrid became my Oakland Raiders. To this day I cannot abide Real Madrid. It has a lot to do with something that happened in the 30’s and we are revisiting all over again, I remember being captivated by the diminutive Lionel Messi and his story. The first goal he scored as a Barça player. It was a beautiful feed from the great Ronaldinho followed by a lob into the net. It was the first of over 900 goals he would go on to record. What I love of Messi’s game is his relentless drive on the ball. I don’t know how many tackles I have seen him take, roll on the pitch and bounce back to his knees and look for the ball.
He is not a swimmer ergo not a diver. He plays a game low to the ground, with vision that is diabolical in its breath. The man can see all possible angles when a kick from that wondrous left foot sets the ball arcing towards the net, or when juking world-class players twisting them in his draft. He has been a joy to watch for 20 years, to see the personal story of perseverance, sportsmanship, and leadership.
The saddest thing despite his wonderful story, is the annoying as hell vagaries of fans. I have engaged too many arguments about the uniqueness of Messi’s game, what sets him apart from all others, that I’m trying not to engage too often. So, forgive me if leave this World Cup with one more defense of one of the most joyous players I have ever seen.
For me the pantheon is small, there is Pele, Maradona, Ronaldinho, Zinadine, Ronaldo the Brazilian, Cristiano Ronaldo, and Messi on a tier all his own. If you had never watched him play and this was the first time, how lucky you are to have seen him in his descent. But how lofty of a perch that was to come down from At 39 years old he willed the Argentinian side to the final becoming the second player to play in three World Cup finals alongside Cafu, and the first player to start three.
I will forever recall the wonderful first game Argentina played against Algeria. The excitement was palpable in-your-throat kind of way from the Argentinian fans. To say he did not disappoint is an understatement. A hat trick, three goals, told you he was still at the top of his game at 39 years old.
I could point out all his trophies and all the records he has set, and I could wax at length and tell you of all the testimonials from players, great players who unhesitant call him the greatest to ever play the game. I could also tell you to tune out all the haters that deride him for his greatness by insisting that the refs are in his pocket. You can take that as testament of his brilliance that some can’t accept it without a grand conspiracy. Haters gonna hate.
He does not need me to defend him. I have seen so many of his peers award the accolades. I will only say that there was one great miss in this World Cup, and that was the awarding of the most valuable player to Rodri. It belonged to Messi, and I don’t see how that Is not obvious. This tournament sealed it for me. He is the GOAT and don’t even bother arguing with me. I won’t engage. Talk to the hand. My heart and head are certain and steadfast in their choice.
Kansas City’s FIFA World Cup fans truly enjoyed the game of soccer in the Show Me State.
