Published 18.06
MEXICO CITY. Actually, I don’t require very much.
All I ask is a ball, a pitch, a pot for an arena and a sport left alone.
The WC tournament is here now. Say it’s recognisable.
My church, my cathedral.
Admittedly, I think the whole parallel between football and religion is worn out and overused, but here I can’t find any other comparisons that work.
As I write this, it is just before eight in the morning – Mexican time – and I am sitting high up in an Azteca stadium that is still silent and empty.
The thin high-altitude air is cool and slightly moist. The sun hasn’t burned through the smog clouds, and if I could only go down and feel the pitch, I’m sure there would have been dew on the grass.
Outside, of course, it’s chaos. The driveways were jammed before seven o’clock, the bars were open, the mariachi bands started.
The World Cup is here now, and the World Cup drags everything in its path.
In a few hours the grass will burn here at the bottom of the pot.
But the gates have not yet opened to the public – so here I sit now, practically alone in the huge temple.
Even empty football stadiums can speak. Somehow it’s almost easier to hear the echoes of yesteryear when they’re not drowned out by the roar of the stands, and nowhere else in the world is the resonance as strong as here at the Azteca Stadium.
The very center of WC history, perhaps the holiest place in all of football.
A healing place
On the way in I passed the two plaques that refer to “Partido del Siglo” and “Gol del Siglo”. The match of the century is played here, the World Cup semi-final between Italy and West Germany, 1970. The goal of the century was scored here, Diego Maradona in the 1986 quarter against England (the second goal, thanks for asking).
I’m not a spiritual person – much less a believer – but a deserted Azteca stadium works for me much like I imagine church rooms help others.
Sitting here is healing, healing.
The glow from the lawn grows stronger, all the damn nonsense outside fades away. The images of Pelé and Diego grow like living holograms, while Infantino and his hijabs fade and disappear.
A soccer field. A football arena. A football championship.
Deep down here, I want to believe that the core itself remains the same, and that it will withstand the pressure from the outside this time as well.
And well, there’s nothing contradictory about being mad at Fifa and giggling at the World Cup at the same time.
Don’t ever let them make you believe that, because then they’ve won.
Football will not be saved by fires that go out and commitment that fades away.
Those who want to boycott should of course boycott, but those who let themselves be swept along should feel neither guilt nor shame for it.
We are not the ones to take care of their dirty laundry. Starting from individual solutions to institutional problems is to start at the wrong end.
As I write this, the silence inside Azteca is broken by a deafening sound check.
Apparently, Fifa’s “redesigned fan-centric 360-degree pre-match ceremony” is to be practiced, which means that the teams’ entire match squads must gather around the center circle – inside huge flags – before each kick-off.
And I would have liked to have done without it, just as I would have preferred to escape the disguised commercial breaks, the half-time shows, the new set of rules and everything that Fifa has come up with in its new attempts to tinker with our match experiences.
Expect decibel warnings
But now the doors have been opened, green-clad supporters are pouring in and the Azteca stadium is changing shape.
The temple will become a witch’s cauldron. The Mexican team will line up in their Bandera salute during the national anthem, and the World Cup month will be kicked off with an abysmal roar.
I myself have been here for a match once before, when Sven-Göran Eriksson made his debut as national team captain in front of 105,000 spectators.
That many can’t fit anymore, but I expect decibel warnings to be issued anyway.
WC 2026 will continue to arouse both anger and resentment in us, it will force us to fight against cynicism and even apathy.
At the same time, I also know that it will contain anticipation, community, euphoria and all those feelings that make it worth continuing to be human.
I don’t know exactly what we’re left with for football after Trump and Infantino continue to abuse it – but now it’s a few hours until the premiere, and now it’s time to choose the joy.
They haven’t managed to take this away from us yet.
Azteca Stadium, Mexico City.
World Cup.
I don’t know how this will all end, but I wouldn’t have wanted to start anywhere else but here.
