The World Cup: So Good I want It Less.
Allow me, if you will, to create a reconstruction of a true story, à la Crimewatch. This particular happening concerns two influential sporting figures, who we'll refer to as Monsieur W. and il Signor I. to preserve the anonymity of Arsène Wenger and Gianni Infantino, the two men I'm actually talking about.
Il Signor I: Let's have a 'harebrained ideas' amnesty. Let's share our daftest, least-considered, most unpopular schemes without fear of judgement or retribution.
Monsieur W: You first.
I: Okay, well…I can't take credit for this one. It was actually my predecessor's idea, but it sure is harebrained!
W: Let's hear it.
I: The crux of this ill-advised shenanigan is to host the football World Cup in places that do not play football. Like Qatar.
W: Or Goodison Park!
I: Exactly!
W: Wow, I honestly love that! That's so mad! That's like eating a roast dinner with a cricket bat or becoming pen pals with a heron or something. So kooky!
I: Come on then, you share one of your asinine ventures.
W: Well, I did have one zany project that I wouldn't mind a second opinion on.
I: Do tell...
W (really hamming it up for dramatic effect): The biennial World Cup…or something along those lines. Either way, we now have yet another news story to pour vast amounts of scorn onto. The proposal to host the Men's FIFA World Cup every two years puts it on the same tier as other fun things because you get to have them every two years, like eye tests and parliamentary expenses scandals.
If you're unfamiliar with the world of football, then get out while you still can! Don't let this inane bit of sports writing drag you into a lifetime of pointless misery! But if you are a glutton for punishment, then the current state of affairs is as follows. The Men's FIFA World Cup is hosted once every four years and has been since its inaugural year in 1930. It operates in a cycle wherein continental tournaments such as the European Championship and Copa América are hosted in the intervening years.
As the old adage goes: if it ain't broke, don't fix it. So here we are trying to fix the World Cup, the most-watched sporting event on Earth. After all, only 3.5 billion people watched the 2018 tournament, so it's probably about time we rejuvenate this ailing formula, right?
Or at least Arsène Wenger, former Arsenal FC manager and current head of Global Football Development at FIFA, seems to think so. A cursory glance through our respective CVs suggests that he should know more about football than I. Indeed, I have not won the Premier League (yet!), nor have I played in the midfield for RC Strasbourg in Ligue 1 (again, yet. I do not speak French, and a lack of 5-a-side opportunities during the pandemic has actively hampered my chances in this respect). But it's with propositions such as this that I'm led, however misguidedly, to wonder if it is I who knows more about football. After all, 'the World Cup takes place every four years' is one of the foremost rules of football, it's on page 1 of the rules just underneath 'do not hand-ball it' and 'squeeze those Lucozade bottles that are strewn along the touchline so that their rejuvenating fluids may squirt in a jet of electrolyte-ferrying magnificence into your gob like a geyser, and then spit everywhere'.
I'm not the only cynic to baulk at Mr Wenger's plan. There's been largely widespread condemnation of the idea from a number of different sources, from UEFA & CONMEBOL, right down to us lowly fans who are never consulted on such matters. It shouldn't need repeating, but part of what makes the World Cup so special is the extended gap between tournaments. Four whole years in which the world of football is in shape-shifting flux. The storylines to be played out on the national stage are sowed and nurtured during these periods, ready to be performed when the all-important four-year gap has been observed. They're reading weeks, extended hiatuses, in which we get all excited and ready to consume the spectacle when it finally rolls around again. The scarcity lends its importance and significance. It's like a leap year. Suppose we had the 29th of February every year. In that case, it'd be as mundane as the 28th of February, which is objectively the worst day of the year. We all love the 29th of February more than any other day in the Gregorian calendar because it's the World Cup of days.
Most of us remember our first World Cup. That crucial four-year cushion between iterations means that we first experience the excitement of La Coupe du monde de football in perfect isolation.
You were too young to have enjoyed the previous tournament, and the next will find you four years older, wiser. Here is a fleeting moment of temporal fertility with which to devour your first World Cup. This one belongs to you. In three to four World Cups' time, you'll be an adult. You might be watching the football in the pub, you might be watching it with your own children. I can remember where I was in life during each World Cup since 2002. Typically, that 'where' is always sat on my arse in the living room eating crisps, but the rarity of those past tournaments demarcate the distinct stages of my life. The first World Cup match I remember was England drawing 1-1 with Sweden in 2002. We watched it at a friend's house before school. The commencement of primary school learning pushed back to accommodate the 10:30am BST (6:30pm JST) kick-off. The three of us bouncing raucously over the bed in celebration of Sol Campbell's goal, only to dejectedly throw our Power Rangers toys in disgust at the Swedish equaliser coming shortly before the hour mark. Sixteen years later, the last World Cup match I watched was England's tragic semi-final knockout at the hands of Croatia and Mario Mandžukić in 2018. I'd not long completed my degree and was less than a fortnight away from my graduation. I watched it in the pub with my best mate, pledging to adorn my noggin with an exact replica of Keiran Trippier's haircut if we won. Only the complete and utter devastation of the nation could save my follicle mortification.
My entire education ensconced within two typically English performances. All the stages of my childhood are contained within this story. Each iteration of me, cast against the backdrop of quadrennial international football. From the childish boy collecting Panini stickers, all the way back to the Power Ranger-wielding six-year-old in 2002, were all there, on our separate pages in the life story of my football supporting career. Those two formative tournaments stand out, but I can similarly chart my life from every other tournament. I can remember being scolded by my mum for boisterously singing Ant and Dec's We're On The Ball anthem in 2006 before our 1-0 win over Paraguay in 2006 (my personal favourite World Cup). I can remember arrogantly correcting a peer who mistakenly chided Robson Green for mishandling Clint Dempsey's speculative effort into his own net in 2010. Would I remember these tournaments in such vivid detail if they were more regular? Do I remember every FA Cup I've watched? Do I remember every Champions League I've watched? Do I remember every Jools Holland Annual Hootenanny I've watched? No, no, and yes, but only because I've only really watched it once.
Arsène Wenger was quick to brush off such arguments, which he described as "basically emotional". And he's right. It's entirely emotional. Is there anything worth pursuing in football beyond the raw emotion of it all? Should I be erasing my memories of crying in the garden after Cristiano Ronaldo winked at Wayne Rooney in 2006 with memories of how much money was earned by FIFA that year? Or how much the global TV audience grew over the previous tournament? Without wishing to sound like one of those people, football really is just millionaire's chasing a bag of air, and hosting the foremost competition for such a deranged activity biannually is to make it twice as insignificant as it currently is. So yes, my case is entirely emotional because that's the only worthwhile mode of engaging with football.
The reaction hasn't been wholly critical, though. Two noted proponents of the idea have come in the form of Michael Owen and John Terry, which doesn't exactly endear me to the concept. Michael Owen and John Terry could endorse a scheme called 'we're going to give Ben several million pounds,' and I'd still be predisposed to hate the suggestion. Their support is probably partially motivated by the fact that more regular tournaments would increase each player's chances of winning the trophy during their career. I can see why that would appeal to members of England's so-called golden generation who were tipped for international success, but all it does is devalue the cup. How many Englishmen have been able to hold the Jules Rimet trophy aloft? Well, there's Banks, Charlton, Hurst…you and I could probably name a good portion of the team, despite the trifling matter of the 56 years of hurt in the meantime. Would this significance aid if Three Lions lionisation applied to Wayne Bridge and Stewart Downing too? It's truly special to win the World Cup because each player, no matter their calibre, has an extremely limited window in which to do it, and everything has to go right. Messi and Ronaldo have zero World Cups between them. They've won it as many times as you or I have (I'm assuming for the purposes of this article that the likes of Pelé and Franz Beckenbauer are unlikely to read it). Padding out their respective trophy cabinets with a few more trophies does little to maintain the contest's prestige. Having another attempt to win the World Cup makes it as significant as other things Messi does once every two years, like change the tyres on his bicycle or score a hat-trick against Valencia. I can't remember where I was last time he scored three at the Estadio Mestalla or when he last put some new Continental Ultrasport IIIs on his Brompton. I'd like it if the World Cup could be spared this particular ignominy.
So yes, I am a defender of the four-year interregnum between World Cups. I like the room to breathe and to grow in the interim. I suppose it's not too greedy to see between fifteen and twenty World Cups in your lifetime, all being well. From World Cup No.1 to World Cup No.20, you've got a life to live. Perhaps the people you watch World Cup No.1 with will be long gone by No.20, but in the meantime, you'll have the quadrennial penalty shootout disgrace or underwhelming loss to Sweden to look forward to; to savour with those close to you, as something special, something regular, but irregular. The man who lives to see forty World Cups diminishes each World Cup in doing so. You'll find me sat on my arse in the living room in four years' time. Four years older, four years wiser(ish), Panini sticker album in tow.
Recipes
Written by Ben Cotton
Alongside his normal job, Ben Cotton does his bit for the British twaddle industry by manufacturing inconsequential codswallop masquerading as comedy for Gumf Magazine. He is also doomed to support Stoke City, the Chicago Bears, and the Chicago Cubs in repentance for something REALLY bad he did in a past life.
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