Every fourth summer, June’s warmth and elongated days brings with it a rapturous World Cup fever, that for many of us around the world has provided a shorthand punctuation and periodization to our lives.
Mexico ’70: I was there, in the Azteca, for the most iconic of all World Cups, with Pele. And… I have zero memories of it. I know, I know…
Germany ’74: My first summer in Chihuahua, I turned 8 the day the tournament kicked off. Watched the final in my parents’ bed on an early Sunday morning after learning during tournament that the good Germans were the “Federal” (as opposed to the “Democratic”) ones.
Argentina ’78: Humbling for Mexico. Tunisia, Germany, Poland: three and out. The creepiness of the military junta comes across loud and clear on TV; Argentinians love their confetti. We’d rush out to play in the yard between games, recreating all the heroics.
Spain ’82: Germans and French unleash World War III in that astonishing semi-final in Sevilla, met Margarita at her school’s graduation dance that same night.
Mexico ’86: This one is not about me; it’s about Maradona.
Italy ’90: I live this World Cup in Buenos Aires, while on a law school fellowship. Who knew it can be cold while watching a World Cup? (hold that thought…). A part of me is still jumping by the obelisco.
USA ’94: Mark invites me to the opener at Soldier’s Field, and I also get to watch Mexico-Italy in DC with mom and friends. First World Cup that co-exists uneasily with my having a job. FIFA really needs to do something about that.
France ’98: Don’t make me tell you about watching some of this one with my beloved padrino, Gastone, at his home, or I might cry. Also develop a serious Bergkamp crush that will lead me ultimately to my present Arsenal affliction.
Japan/Korea ’02: FIFA kindly schedules World Cup matches at 3 and 5 in the morning New York time, so I can both watch them and still show up for my day job at the Times(Please do not read anything I wrote that month). Eternally grateful to my buddy Kyle who was crazy enough to watch these games live with me. US knocked Mexico out, which I am still digesting.
Germany ’06: Difficult year on the personal front, and Italy won, which didn’t help matters. Zidane lost it, too.
South Africa ’10: Sebastian, aged six, was excited because dad was excited. Plus, what six-year-old doesn’t like a vuvuzela? Or the term tiki-taka?
Brazil ’14: Oh my, 7-1! Sebastian and I experience this one in parks and fan zones across Holland, Belgium, and Germany, and it was magical. When I told friends I was taking my son to watch the World Cup in Europe, they’d get this worried expression before asking: “You know it’s in Brazil?” In my old age, maybe Sebastian can take me to watch a European World Cup in Brazil.
Russia ’18: So many mysteries to ponder. The depth of that French squad. The indefatigability of Modric. How to manage taking Sebastian to his life’s appointments while trying to impose a news blackout so we can enjoy taped matches later? I might have embarrassed him at one doctor’s appointment when I stormed into the waiting room and pleaded with everyone that they turn off their devices and avoid any conversation (In my defense, Mexico was playing Brazil at that very moment).
And so here we are, day 5 of this year’s World Cup, featuring such tasty matchups as the United States vs. England and the Netherlands vs. Ecuador.
Just kidding, of course. Those games will be played on the day after Thanksgiving, the fifth day of the World Cup absurdly awarded to Qatar. For the first time in my life, the fourth summer will not bring us a World Cup. It’s actually the first time the cycle is broken since 1946. It took a World War then; greed and corruption now.
As for today, I am left with my memories and reflections about the shared experiences that punctuate our lives, situate ourselves in the past, and provide a connective thread to our present. I wish I could hear yours as well; do share them with someone.
As for the travesty that will be this year’s winter World Cup in Qatar (the first time the tournament was awarded to a FIFA member that had never qualified to participate in a World Cup and is essentially a city-state lacking the infrastructure to host such an event, and which falsely maintained for five years it would do so in summer), I will be watching, grudgingly at first. I will doubtless make some new special, if confused, memories: “Wait, it was the holiday season, but Mexico was getting knocked out of a World Cup in the second round.”
But what I am most excited for is the next fourth summer, when the World Cup returns to June, and to North America, hosted jointly by the United States, Mexico, and Canada. Allí nos vemos.
