After netting the decisive goal that led Argentina to the World Cup final, Lautaro Martínez was overcome with emotion, breaking down during a touchline interview. He recalled the first pair of trainers his father gifted him and how his mother consistently made his bed when he relocated to a club dormitory as a teenager. For him, those gestures meant more than any trophy or goal.
Head coach Lionel Scaloni expressed concern when England scored but maintained unwavering faith in his squad. “They grew up in environments where they were afraid of nothing, in which they’ve always been the best at what they do,” he explained. “As small children they competed and everyone expected so much of them; responsibility doesn’t weigh them down.”
Scaloni observed that on the field, the players exhibit the mindset of 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 resilient—fighters with honor. With immense expectations on the squad, the coaching staff promotes a love of the game and a childlike relationship with the ball.
The Nobel Prize-winning economist Simon Kuznets famously stated that there are four types of countries: developed, underdeveloped, Japan, and Argentina. This classification reflects Argentina’s unique position, resisting easy categorization, especially in an era where complexity and nuance are often overlooked.
A circulating meme states.
“To kick the Spanish out, first we had kick out the British. History is cyclical and repeats itself.”
This reference to battles of independence from over two centuries ago highlights the resistance faced during two British military incursions. Argentine school children learn about these invasions, yet few Britons seem aware of them.
Many observers from the northern hemisphere seem taken aback by Argentina’s legacy of anti-colonial struggle, often referencing the European heritage of a significant portion of the population. Throughout the 20th century, numerous footballers leveraged this European ancestry to acquire nationalities that enabled them to join prestigious European clubs. Before the Bosman ruling, this was virtually the only means to secure lucrative positions in major leagues.
Since gaining independence from Spanish rule in 1810 and 1825, Argentina has opened its doors to people from all corners of the globe. An Argentine might have a Guaraní mother and an Eastern European father. After World War II, Nazis found refuge here, and one of the largest Jewish communities outside Israel is actively pursuing justice for those affected. Carlos Menem, the son of Syrian immigrants, authorized the construction of Latin America’s largest mosque during his presidency. Evangelical congregations have also established a presence throughout the country.
Indigenous communities are engaged in ongoing battles to reclaim rights and land, while Afro-descendants in Argentina are harnessing social media to amplify their voices. Recent waves of migration have seen Russians and Africans join the mix, with Venezuelans adding to the diverse population. The culinary landscape now features Japanese-Peruvian fusion, vibrant Chinatowns, and Ukrainian restaurants.
Argentina is characterized by its diversity and openness. However, this should not imply that everyone coexists harmoniously; the nation grapples with polarization, classism, prejudice, and inequality, much like other countries.
Football remains a unifying force amid this backdrop of complexity. The sport is cherished as an art form and a means of escape. Argentina excels in football, exporting players and managers comparable to its agricultural exports of grain and meat. The poorest children in urban areas practice their skills using anything available, honing their abilities in confined spaces, while the country’s youth development traditions are of an exceptional standard.
Daniel Passarella, captain of the 1978 World Cup-winning team, once remarked that in most fields, Argentina aspired to be among the great nations but was often viewed as lesser. “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 stated.
During this World Cup, Argentina’s connection to FIFA and figures like Donald Trump complicates the narrative of the underdog seeking vengeance. The phenomenon of Messi mania represents an unprecedented marketing success, even as the financial dealings of the football association are scrutinized by the FBI, and the national team faces criticism from both intellectual circles and right-wing commentators.
Yet Argentinians draw strength from these challenges, channeling their focus toward the game as a legitimate response. They surrender to the allure of Messi’s magic, allowing their emotions to resonate with every touch of the ball, embracing the sacredness of the sport for the duration of the match. Afterward, they return to reality with no illusions that circumstances will change.
The Brazilian poet Sérgio Vaz captured this sentiment.
“One doesn’t watch football, one feels it.”
It embodies the solace football offers, even amid suffering—the tears, the pain, and the fear. The emotions are profoundly real and shared among fans. Together, they feel alive.
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