After netting the goal that propelled Argentina into the World Cup final, Lautaro Martínez was overcome with emotion during a touchline interview. He recounted his father’s gift of his first pair of trainers and how his mother consistently made his bed when he moved to a club boarding house as a teenager. To Martínez, those gestures meant more than any trophy or goal.
Argentina’s head coach, Lionel Scaloni, expressed some concern following England’s goal, yet he maintained unwavering faith in his team. “They grew up in environments where they were afraid of nothing, in which they’ve always been the best at what they do,” he remarked. “As small children they competed and everyone expected so much of them; responsibility doesn’t weigh them down.”
Scaloni highlighted that on the field, the players exhibit a youthful spirit, akin to eight- or nine-year-olds. “They’re not thinking: ‘We’re about to lose a semi-final.’ They’re thinking about playing football, which is what they’ve done all their lives.” He describes the players as wild, spontaneous, and courageous—men of honor. With enormous expectations resting on the squad, the coaching staff champions a love for the game and the childlike joy of engaging with the ball.
The Nobel laureate economist Simon Kuznets once categorized nations into four types: developed, underdeveloped, Japan, and Argentina. This classification reflects Argentina’s complex identity, particularly in a time when nuance is often lost in binary thinking.
A meme circulating social media states.
“To kick the Spanish out, first we had kick out the British. History is cyclical and repeats itself.”
This references the battles for independence over two centuries ago, highlighting resistance against British military incursions. While Argentine students learn about these invasions, many Britons remain unaware.
Argentina’s legacy as a site of anticolonial struggle often surprises Northern Hemisphere observers, who note the European ancestry prevalent among many citizens. Throughout the 20th century, numerous footballers leveraged this European heritage to acquire nationalities that enabled them to play for major European clubs. Before the Bosman ruling, this was largely the only route to lucrative contracts in top leagues.
Since severing ties with the Spanish crown in the early 19th century, Argentina has embraced a multicultural ethos. An Argentine might have a Guaraní mother and an Eastern European father. After World War II, many Nazis sought refuge here, and one of the largest Jewish communities outside Israel actively pursues justice for the victims. Carlos Menem, a son of Syrian immigrants, authorized the construction of Latin America’s largest mosque during his presidency. Evangelical groups have also established a presence throughout the country.
Indigenous communities continue their fight for rights and land, while Afro-descendants in Argentina use social media assertively to amplify their voices. Recent waves of migration have seen Russians and Africans welcomed, alongside Venezuelans who join the influx from neighboring South American countries. The nation boasts a vibrant culinary landscape, featuring Japanese-Peruvian fusion restaurants, a bustling Chinatown, and Ukrainian eateries.
Argentina stands as a diverse and welcoming society, though it is important to note that not all citizens coexist harmoniously. The country grapples with polarization, classism, prejudice, and inequality, similar to many others.
Football remains a unifying force, providing a collective sense of national identity. This passion for the sport transcends mere competition; it is celebrated as an art form and a form of escape. Argentina excels in football, exporting players and coaches alongside its agricultural products. Children from underserved backgrounds practice their skills in vacant lots, honing their abilities in constrained spaces, while the tradition of developing young talent rivals that of any nation.
Daniel Passarella, who captained Argentina’s 1978 World Cup-winning team, once noted that while Argentina aspired to be among the world’s leading nations, it was often viewed as lesser in various fields. “Football is the one thing we can shake hands with any opponent, look them in the eye, and know they see you as an equal,” he remarked.
This World Cup has positioned Argentina in close proximity to FIFA and Donald Trump, complicating the narrative of being avenging underdogs. The phenomenon of Messi mania represents an unparalleled marketing success, though the financial dealings of the football association are currently under scrutiny by the FBI. Outside of Argentina, the team faces significant criticism from both elite literary circles and right-wing sensationalist media.
Yet, Argentinians find strength in this adversity, turning to the unfolding events on the pitch as a form of resistance. They embrace the magic of Messi, allowing their emotions to surge with each movement of the ball, becoming believers in the sacred nature of the game for the duration of the match. Once the final whistle blows, they return to the realities of life, without the expectation that anything will fundamentally change.
The Brazilian poet Sérgio Vaz encapsulated this sentiment.
“One doesn’t watch football, one feels it.”
It reflects the joy football brings, even amid suffering—the pain, the tears, and the fear. These emotions are palpable, shared visibly among fans. They signify our humanity and remind us that we are not alone.
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