The identity of the worst performers at the men’s World Cup has come as no surprise. In the lead-up to the tournament, the world had seen more than enough of Donald Trump and Gianni Infantino in action to fear the worst once the games actually began. Mr Trump’s lobbying of Fifa to lift a one-match ban on the United States’ star striker confirmed that his bullying will-to-power extends to spheres that he neither cares about nor understands. Mr Infantino’s craven willingness to accommodate it has been an affront to sporting integrity.
From prohibitive ticket prices to the introduction of advertiser-friendly hydration breaks – conveniently replicating the lucrative four-quarter format common in US sports – there have been plenty of other reasons to question Fifa’s overly commercialised stewardship of the beautiful game. But the World Cup still delivers a unique spectacle, as anyone who marvelled at the heroic exploits of Cape Verde, or witnessed Scottish fans’ good‑humoured invasion of Boston, can testify.
England’s tournament has so far been defined by Monday’s high-altitude, high-drama encounter with co-hosts Mexico in the intimidating Azteca stadium. A temporarily nocturnal nation bonded in the small hours, as Jude Bellingham and co withstood ferocious pressure to record a victory that ranks among the greatest England performances. Harry Kane’s exhausted falsetto in a post‑match interview instantly went viral. But it hit precisely the right note, after a match that was in every sense a vertiginous experience.
After triumphing 2,240 metres above sea level, England must now tackle the talented man-mountain that is Erling Haaland in a quarter-final against Norway. The confidence instilled by a famous win will help. But win or lose on Saturday, that epic night in Mexico City – and the shared memories it created over 5,000 miles away – delivered a timely reminder of what an inclusive sense of nationhood can look like.
It is five years since Gareth Southgate wrote his Dear England letter in response to a backlash against his players’ decision to “take the knee” before games. But the opening words – “It has been an extremely difficult year” – could have been written yesterday. From the rise of the Unite the Kingdom movement and the insidious Raise the Colours campaign, the xenophobic far right has sought new ways to promote an angry, nativist version of Englishness.
Some of the personnel may have changed, but England’s football players are again offering a compelling counter-narrative. Ezri Konsa, a giant in defence in the Azteca, was born in Newham to parents from Angola and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Nico O’Reilly has a Jamaican father and attended the same Manchester primary school as the World Cup winner Nobby Stiles. Bukayo Saka attends one of the many Black Christian churches that have been a feature of British life since the Windrush generation.
The team’s German manager, Thomas Tuchel, has hailed this squad’s sense of togetherness. Konsa describes it as a brotherhood, and a similar sense of unity and patriotic pride was experienced across England at 4am on Monday morning. A football team can hardly take on forces of social division that political leaders have signally failed to deal with. But it can, as Mr Southgate wrote in 2021, create a different kind of experience that “lasts in the collective consciousness of our country”. Hopefully this one will be enjoyed all the way to the final on 19 July.
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