It concluded almost exactly as Gianni Infantino and Donald Trump had envisioned. Earlier on a seemingly interminable day of the World Cup climax, the trophy had emerged from a Louis Vuitton case, a moment entirely in keeping with the tournament’s extravagance. They then walked up to the podium together and handed it to a delighted Rodri, slightly botching the occasion when Trump stayed on for Spain’s team picture. Shrugging off any hint of shame, they departed, with golden confetti twinkling on the uneven turf and the echoes of a football spectacle of unmatched magnitude rippling well beyond this concrete mini-state in New Jersey.
How to comprehend a dizzying, exhilarating, frequently bizarre tournament that felt simultaneously completely open and eerily remote? It ended as a bewildering fever dream under a clear blue American sky, with soccer seeming peripheral for much of the afternoon, even if the match itself did little to help. Those searching for a moral could find satisfaction in Spain’s victory. Ultimately, this was the success of a team ethos in a World Cup designed to celebrate individual stardom.
Throughout, Infantino and Trump sat side by side, watching the show from behind protective glass. What sort of promotion for soccer’s wellbeing was this? The controversies of recent weeks show that the sport’s power brokers, and Trump must be counted among them given the sway he holds, have never been more detached or invulnerable. Across the pitch, Argentina and Spain shuffled, scrapped, and at times labored through one of the poorest finals ever, though occasionally you wondered how much that truly counted.
Those who paid $1 million (£740,000) for pitchside seats from one hospitality vendor, complete with sun hats, may have learned the tough lesson that soccer rarely provides instant gratification. But this was primarily an event to be noticed at rather than to observe. A Fifa document circulated before kickoff proudly listed 235 celebrities and VVIPs present. Tom Cruise attempted to deliver a speech during the strangely bland pre-match show; he was drowned out by Argentine supporters, making it one of the few times a genuine football atmosphere truly broke through.
This competition has pulled, twisted, and ripped at soccer’s very fabric. Perhaps those around Infantino think that any publicity can be refined, amplified, and used to inject the sport’s loud, flashy modern image into the unconverted. The governing body has undoubtedly managed to stamp its brand onto the American public, many of whom seemed to refer to the tournament as some form of “the Fifa” all summer.
Yet the Folarin Balogun controversy has done immense harm to confidence in Fifa’s processes, as well as its claims of political impartiality. It has strained the tolerance of soccer insiders whose loyalty might once have been unquestioned, though not enough to cast doubt on Infantino’s assured landslide re-election in March. Just as concerning, it shows newcomers that any outcome can be arranged if the right connections exist. Trump has openly expressed a desire for the US to be granted sole host status soon. His partnership with Infantino seems unlikely to revert to mere golf companionship. By the next opening in 2038, his nation might be hosting soccer’s version, ethically speaking, of the Enhanced Games.
Past the scandal and disgrace, there were authentic reminders of what a World Cup can inspire. Host cities like Kansas City and Houston relished rolling out the welcome mat for fans, squads, and visitors who used them as hubs. The warmth and openness were real, often surprising. From abroad, it would have been simple to paint the whole US with the tarnished brush of its leadership. Yet people, fundamentally, are decent, generous, and inquisitive. Traveling extensively across the US provided a precious opportunity to recall that.
The United States is large enough, its immigrant groups engaged enough, and its remote corners distant enough, that signs of the tournament were simultaneously omnipresent and invisible. In Canada, a similar situation applied to varying degrees. Mexico supplied the shot of raw, unfiltered soccer fervor. It provided the finest venue of the summer, the incomparable Azteca, and deserved to stage matches beyond the round of 16. The worry is it might not get another opportunity.
Fifa and Infantino will be empowered by the $15bn revenue, which far surpassed forecasts. In reality, there was never much risk of them failing to announce a major success. Infantino’s relentless appetite for expansion means scaling down is highly unlikely. A 64-team competition has now been legitimized as a topic of conversation. Maybe by the time that becomes a reality, international soccer outside Europe will have discovered how to prosper. It is an issue that only Argentina and Morocco carried the flags for other continents after the round of 16.
So farewell, then, to a World Cup that has consumed money, resources, airtime, and focus like never before. As Infantino and Trump left, a tearful Messi faced Argentina’s fans. At last, there was the type of deeply human moment the event had been missing. An era closes for soccer’s greatest player and the supporters who transform his every game into a vivid tribute. This was the month when the whole sport seemed to step into a new realm of its own.
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