Two Soccer-Obsessed Novelists Discuss the World Cup
The novelists Gabriel Bump and João Pedro Vala reflect on nationalism, parenthood, art, and the sport they both love.
Copies of Golden Goal are here! They’re beautiful—and you can buy them on our website, which we’ll be updating with great new writing throughout the tournament. Today’s newsletter is a conversation about the 2026 World Cup between the writers Gabriel Bump and João Pedro Vala.
About a year ago, in Lisbon, during the Disquiet International Literary Festival, I saw João Pedro Vala read from his debut novel, Grande Turismo. I felt an immediate kinship with his work. Like me, he writes about family, belonging, society, romance, and friendship through the lens of adrift young men, although my novels take place in Rust Belt cities while João writes about Lisbon. Joāo is an award-winning translator. This year, he became the first Portuguese author to win an O.Henry Prize for "Inês", a self-translated short story. I am the author of three novels, Don't Stop Snowing, The New Naturals, and Everywhere You Don't Belong. As two soccer-obsessives, we decided, for the World Cup, to start a conversation around nationalism, parenthood, art, and the sport we both love. The first part of that conversation, which covers the group stages, is included below. Future installments will published in this newsletter and on Golden Goal’s website after each round. —Gabriel Bump
Hey man,
Let’s get started. First, what is your first memory of the World Cup? And, second, what is your favorite memory, if they are different? Answers involving Portugal might make the most sense, although there are no rules.
Also, do your formative memories of football have any relationship to your formative memories with making art? As in, does football influence your art?
Make your answer as long, or short, as you’d like.
More soon,
Gabriel Bump, June 14
Hey Gabriel,
1) I have vague memories of the semifinals in 1998 between France and Davor Šuker’s Croatia, but the main one that comes to mind is that final between France and Brazil. I was eight years old, my family and I were on holidays and I was intending to support Brazil, mainly due to my childhood love for bright colors and relentless joy. I remember telling that to my father early in that morning, only to find he would support France instead, which is, I guess, what adults tend to do. Divided between my passion for Ronaldo and the obedience I felt I owed to my father, I changed my mind and decided to be on my father’s side, so I tried, as best as I could, to support France. But even Zidane, who, despite being a genius, was, nevertheless, a bald grown-up, couldn’t steal my heart and I don’t remember feeling any kind of happiness while the goals kept piling up behind Taffarel’s helpless back.
2) My favorite memory from World Cups is actually a very recent one. I’ve never rooted as much for a team that wasn’t Benfica or Portugal as I did in that final four years ago. I’ve always liked Cristiano Ronaldo, of course, but Messi is another thing. I think I like him because he is a genius, sure, perhaps only comparable to Ronaldinho Gaúcho in his prime and, maybe, to Maradona and Cruyff, two players I’ve never seen but, maybe because of that, are semi-gods in my imagination. But I also like him because of my tendency to love what is on the other side of the trenches and, during quite a few years, Messi was seen, in Portugal, as the Other. The One Who Shall Not Be Named. To see him finally winning the World Cup and, even better, doing that against France (I still resent them for that 1998 final) was, I don’t know, man, it was truly beautiful.
3) Regarding your third question, my answer is of course. Not only because everything we love and hate plays a part in the art we create, but also because of something way more serious than that. I think that throughout my life being a writer was, at most, my plan B. When I was a kid, I never thought about writing novels, but I sure as hell wanted to be Benfica’s captain. It was only due to my irredeemable inaptitude to be a football player that my life went down this road. And I think these are two antagonistic paths. Being an athlete—and particularly in a collective sport such as football—requires both being absolutely present in the moment and being a winner. I am not that. Not by a long shot. Being a writer, on the other hand, is a eulogistic and solitary kind of life. You lose and lose and lose and it is only because of those losses; it is only because you feel that, as your first novel beautifully puts it, everywhere you don’t belong; it is only because you need a shelter from that storm called life that you forge a new world where you can migrate to. When you’re an athlete, you don’t need any of that rubbish because, well, your world works perfectly fine. And, God, I really admire that. And I think you do too, because in your novels I always find that mesmerized love for your friends who were better than you at sports, as if they had something you crave for. And the thing I love the most in them is that your love for these people is not in any way tainted by resentment. Mine is.
I think I wanted to ask you the same thing, but also I’d like to know why do you love football. When did it start?
See you soon, man, and let’s hope Cape Verde pulls out a miracle today. —João Pedro Vala, June 15
João,
My first memory was the 2002 World Cup. I didn’t grow up in a soccer obsessed household. My dad loved football, basketball, and baseball, which is how I ended up loving those things, by spending weekends with him on the couch. My relationship with soccer was very practical. I played in our local youth league, AYSO. It’s a national youth soccer organization. I wonder if there’s a Portuguese equivalent? Their teams aren’t connected to any professional team or high school. So, I started playing youth soccer when I was about five, I think. And, well, I was pretty good and I liked it. As I progressed through the age groups, my coaches kept encouraging me, I kept scoring goals and was still having a lot of fun. Dribbling and kicking a soccer ball came more naturally to me than hitting a baseball or shooting a basketball. My parents didn’t know what to do about it except support me and lean into my passion.
Still, watching soccer with any regularity in America wasn’t easy twenty years ago. We could watch a few Premier League games on the weekend. Early on, I didn’t watch from a point of passion. It wasn’t passed down to me. I watched because I wanted to do what all the best players in the world did. I wanted to get better. So, I remember watching the Brazilian forwards and wanting to attack the goal like them. Ronaldo was fearless and strong and fast and that’s how I wanted to play.
Hilariously, the one moment I’ll always remember from that tournament, because of the time difference between Japan and South Korea and Chicago, was my dad waking me the morning after the semifinal between South Korea and Germany and telling me that Michael Ballack, one of my favorite players, would not play in the final because he got a stupid yellow card. I remember how pissed my dad was at the refs, sitting on my bed before he went to work. My dad, this guy who had no interest in soccer before me, was suddenly angry and passionate about this German midfielder. Our passion for the sport grew together. When I joined a traveling soccer team in middle school, we’d spent all weekend driving around, going to games. I played throughout the year. My dad has since retired from a long career in medicine. He worked long hours. Most weekends. Still, he found time to come to almost all of my games and we would debrief after each one. He was never overly critical. If anything, he let me vent after a bad performance, tried to calm me down if I picked up a stupid yellow, or couldn’t find the goal.
We didn’t support our local team, the Chicago Fire. We didn’t even support a European team. We had favorite players, sure. I love Didier Drogba, again, because I wanted to play with him. Same with Thierry Henry. I thought Michael Essien was a genius. Although, of course, I wasn’t a Chelsea fan. Even I knew, as a child, how that whole Abramovich project was evil. We supported my team, the South Side Fire. We lived in a basketball, baseball, and football fan community. No one care about soccer but us. And, man, it was our entire life.
I wonder, since we’re both parents. Can you see your son picking up the obsession? Does he go with you to games? We got our Cape Verdean Miracle!!! Take that Spain. Which do you hate the most? —Gabriel Bump, June 15
Gabriel,
I mean, my son is only seven months old, so his only sign of passion for football right now is his obsession with round objects. I think it is still a little early to say he will be the new Messi, even though there are absolutely no signs, as far as I can see, that he won’t be precisely that, either. But yes, I would love for him to pick up this obsession. It goes without saying that if he doesn’t, he doesn’t, but still.
I’d want that for three main reasons.
The first one is that football is one of the major sources of irrationality in my life and I really need irrationality to play a role in his life, too. Being obsessed with reason, believing that reason reigns in this world, is not only wrong but also a little sad. I want him to have his lucky socks, I want him to believe he, as a supporter, plays a role in the final result of a match, because, and don’t ask me why, I believe that by doing so he will be closer to Truth than he would if he simply relied on rationality.
The second reason is that I want him to be gregarious. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying solitude, but I don’t want him to fall in love with it. I want him to love others and to feel that he belongs somewhere, that he belongs to something, and I think football played a significant role in that for me. Have you ever heard Fleet Foxes’ “Helplessness Blues?”
I was raised up believing
I was somehow unique
Like a snowflake, distinct among snowflakes
Unique in each way you can see
And now after some thinking
I’d say I’d rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery
Serving something beyond me
That’s it. I want Tomé to feel at all times that he is tremendously loved, but I believe that if he is raised up believing he is somehow unique, I’ve failed him miserably. I want him to serve something beyond him. And football, loving a club, wanting to be just a tiny voice in a chorus that help eleven kids running a little more, well, I think that might help.
And the third one is that I’m pretty sure at some point in his life his communication with me won’t be that easy. It’s a part of growing up, I guess. I can’t wait to see a lot of things happening in his life, but I would gladly skip that part. Either way, I think that moment will come, and if it does, or when it does, I want football to help us bridge that gap. If we grow slightly apart for a little while, I think I’ll survive but I’ll need then to be able to hold Tomé in my arms sometimes, at least when Benfica scores.
Oh, and answering your second question, I can’t stand Qatar, Saudi Arabia and, just because they’re boring, Czechia.
Which World Cup players are more fascinating to you? Are you doing the Panini stickers collection? Is that a thing in the U.S.? Have your kids changed in anyway your relation with the World Cup? —João Pedro Vala, June 17
Hey João,
With Noah, I think, I had some hopes that he would love sports immediately, straight out of the womb. Like those videos you see online of kids, only just learning how to walk, and already able to dribble a soccer ball. I wasn’t hoping for him to be some sort of prodigy, but I wanted to kick a ball around with him. It’s a crazy and irrational desire. I can’t wait to go out in our yard and pass the ball back and forth. I guess parenthood distills all of happiest memories with our parents, gives us this super-concentrated idea of what having fun with a child looks like.
I have vague memories of going to games with my dad. We went to a few Bulls games when Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen were still playing. They’re weak memories though, foggy. The powerful stuff, that’s still clear, right now, as I’m writing, are the memories of throwing a baseball around, playing basketball in our driveway, or sitting on the couch watching the Premier League on Saturday morning. I can’t wait to do that with Noah and Imogen. Although, whenever I try to watch sports with Noah, he says things like “No, soccerball. No, baseball. No, football.” It’s funny. He does love reading and listening to music. He wants us to tell him stories before bed. He’s starting to make up stories. He tells them to his stuffed animals.
Sports played a foundational role in all my friendships. I met almost all of my close friends from childhood through sports. I still have group chats where we talk almost everyday. Maybe I want that for Noah too? I want him to join a team and make friends. I’m starting to think, already, admittedly too soon, that he’ll most like spending time alone, reading books, maybe writing. My dad didn’t pressure me into liking any sport. I just naturally found the community. And, you’re right, I hope Noah finds it naturally too. I probably won’t take him to a baseball game until he asks. Maybe, in a few years, I’ll sign him up for a soccer team and see how he likes it. Same with my daughter. I hope they love it, but, if they don’t, I still have my community. I think that’s a big difference when you love a sport but don’t necessarily have a local team with a long history to support.
I watch Benfica whenever I can. I like when they score. I love when they win. Still, my heart isn’t set on fire. My Chicago teams do that for me. The Bears. The Sox. The Bulls. The Holy Trinity. Even during the World Cup, I watch and cheer. I don’t go too crazy. It’s hard to get passionate about my country right now, or really ever. And, I can’t even watch the American commentary. Alexi Lalas truly disgusts me and represents this horrible close-minded, arrogant, stiff, and joyless strain of American sports. It’s like he watches the games and gets upset if people are having too much fun. Maybe having kids has made me less tolerant for this bullshit hypermasculinity. I look at Alexi Lalas and see someone I would never want my son or daughter to become. And there are plenty men like him walking around America, influencing children.
I haven’t heard that Fleet Foxes song before. When Noah was a baby, I’d sing “Sunshine on Leith” to him. The Proclaimers song. The Hibs anthem. I just saw a video of the fans singing it one day and decided I’d follow the team and sing the song to my son. Have you heard it? Here’s a really good rendition. I either play with Hibs or Benfica on Football Manager. I love Benfica because I love Lisbon and literature in Lisbon. I love Hibs because of a damn song. Sports are strange and contain everything.
I listen to this Irish podcast almost every day, the Second Captains, and they’ve been talking about Pico Lopes on Cape Verde for a long time. I’m mostly rooting for him. A few American players, like Balogun and McKennie. I think your Golden Boy Midfielders, Neves and Vitinha, are perfect. I love watching them together. It’s such a shame they’re playing for PSG. Messi, obviously, to see if he can keep amazing us. As a rule, I tend to root for every African team, especially DR Congo and Cote d’Ivoire.
Panini Stickers aren’t really a thing in America. I wish they were. It’s probably a little too late for me to get interested, right? Maybe a fun thing to do with my kids? Are you into them? Okay. Now that’s you’ve had a day to process it: thoughts on the Portugal game? Dare I ask about Ronaldo? —Gabriel Bump, June 18
Gabriel,
I’ve never heard that Proclaimers song, but now I like Hibernians a little more, and I remember vaguely Alexi Lalas, but I didn’t know that stuff about him.
Anyway, regarding Ronaldo, I think it is truly a shame because we have a good team, but I don’t believe we’ll have a chance of winning the World Cup due to everything that’s going on around Cristiano for the last seven years or so. There are also talks about Roberto Martinez, our coach, going to Al-Nassr after the World Cup, so I’m pretty sure Ronaldo will play every second as Martinez doesn’t want to have a problem with him next year. I guess he was only invited to Al-Nassr so that Ronaldo would play this World Cup from the beginning to the end (which now I believe will come very soon). I could get by with that side of sports.
I think Ronaldo is a little like King Lear, you know? He surrounds himself with people that keep telling him he’s still the king and disinherits everyone that remind him that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Ashes to ashes, dear CR7, ashes to ashes. I think that what once made him great — this unnegotiable belief that he is the greatest of all times, this absolute confidence in his amazing skills — is what now is pulling him down, and, sadly, I don’t think he will ever get up from there.
In the first episode of that amazing show, Boston Legal, Danny Crane, another Lear, is sitting on the balcony with Paul Levinston, who plays the part of Cordelia throughout the show. Denny is upset because Paul seems to have lost his faith in him. And Paul says:
You remember Muhammad Ali’s last fight? We had ringside seats. He lost pathetically to Larry Holmes. We were so crushed. The tragedy that night, Danny, wasn’t that he couldn’t still box. He could. The tragedy was that he still thought he was Ali. You’re a good lawyer, my friend. You’re just not Denny Crane.
That’s it, I guess. You’re a good player, my friend. You’re just not Cristiano Ronaldo.
I would also have things to say regarding our mutual inability to go truly crazy with our national squad, but I’ll leave that to another letter. What do you think of Ronaldo? And what is your favorite World Cup match ever? —João Pedro Vala, June 19
João,
Since the World Cup happens once every four years, I imagine it makes Ronaldo’s hubris all the more annoying. This Portuguese team looks so special without him. I guess it’s easy to imagine them looking special four years from now. I wonder if winning the Euros in 2016 gave him more credit with fans, even if he missed the championship match and Eder was the hero. Is that true? Maybe, too, unlike Ali, Ronaldo still physically looks like a prime athlete. He still looks like a statue. I guess he moves like one too. When Ali fought Larry Holmes in 1980, he was two years younger than Ronaldo is now. Plastic surgery and modern medicine has allowed Ronaldo to forever remain, outwardly, twenty-eight.
When Ronaldo first arrived in Real Madrid, I was in awe. I still loved Messi more. I can see Messi’s goal against Getafe, that Maradona-like one, in my mind. I can’t really see any of Ronaldo’s. Maybe that freekick against Spain in the 2018 World Cup, the hattrick. The famous bicycle kick when he was at Real, but, I can’t remember the details. Gareth Bale’s bicycle kick, in my mind, is better. Is there genuine hatred between Benfica and Real? How do rivalries in European football feel across leagues?
I wonder, now, if Ronaldo presents as more American to me, and, therefore, less interesting than Messi, especially Ronaldo after his prime. Ronaldo looks like a wide receiver. He was fast and could jump high, do spectacular things in the air. Maybe I’m overthinking this, trying to figure out why I stopped admiring Ronaldo and when it exactly happened. In reality, it probably happened somewhere between his sexual assault case, his move to Saudi Arabia, and holding the Portuguese National Team hostage. Maybe holding the team hostage isn’t his fault.
Without a doubt, my favorite match was the 2006 World Cup Final. The Zizou headbutt. It was disgraceful and unprofessional, but I loved it. I didn’t love the violence. I could very much relate to losing your cool against an asshole. I’d often flip out on the pitch, get blinded by emotion, and do something stupid.
Okay. The USA-Australia match just finished. They’re making me happier than expected. I fear the nationalistic propaganda is working on me. Sportswashing really works. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen any Alexi Lalas today. Only Henry and Zlatan. Brazil-Haiti is about to start. Today is Juneteenth. A Black player scored the decisive goal for America. I feel a kinship with both Brazil and Haiti because of our shared history of plantation slavery. They’re playing in Philadelphia, where the Declaration of Independence was signed. I wonder if we should spend some time talking about nationalistic pride. When, for example, do you feel most proud to be Portuguese? When your team is playing, when your team is winning or losing, when you’re writing, when you’re reading one of your national heroes? —Gabriel Bump, June 19
Gabriel,
I don’t think there is a big rivalry between Benfica and Real Madrid, in the sense that Real Madrid supporters (at least until this season) are mostly unaware of what goes on with Benfica (or, in general, with Portugal). Our biggest rivalries, here in Europe, happen mostly within our borders. I don’t like Chelsea, PSG and Atlético de Madrid at all, but only a small part of that rejection comes from my passion for Benfica. I can imagine a lot of other football fans (like you, at least in Chelsea and PSG’s cases) sharing my dislike for those clubs. That being said, my mother’s side of the family comes from Monção, a small village on the border with Spain. In Monção, there’s a small bridge separating both countries and every time we beat them in any sport, our kids blow fireworks over the river. And I love them for that.
Anyway, no, I don’t feel very passionate about the Portuguese national team. I watch all our matches in big competitions, of course, and it goes without saying that I want us to win, but I think it works exactly as a novel. If you are truly engaged with the story, you read it every night and you start to root for its heroes and to hate the villains. I think you just can’t get that effect when there’s one new episode every two years, particularly when you don’t have any inclination for nationalistic or patriotic feelings. They can sing all the national anthems they like, I still feel way more connected with the successes and failures of Benfica. It also helps that the lyrics of our national anthem are so insipid, while Benfica’s anthem is truly, truly beautiful. It is about ripping off the sun in order to make it bless us and help us win. It’s amazing.
Regarding Ronaldo, our mutual friend Jacinto Lucas Pires wrote a beautiful text on his Substack about him, saying that CR7 and Mourinho are the absolute antithesis of what we, Portuguese, are as a people. They are confident, egomaniac and bigger than life, whereas we are excessively modest and prone to having a fatalistic and defeatist mindset. When they both came by, most of us fell deeply in love for that power duo, and they became our whole identity. Everyone in the world knew we existed only because of them. So, we idolized them and now we allow them to do anything they want with us. We even thank them for that. I truly fear how vulnerable that makes us. Politically, I mean.
Having said that and even though I tend to not feel proud of things that do not involve any choice, I feel proud of us when I’m reading or writing in Portuguese. I fall in love with our language almost daily. And I fall in love with Portugal every April, 25th, the anniversary of our revolution. I don’t know of any revolution that is more beautiful than ours, to be honest. That day, 52 years ago, what I’d give to have been there. And it is astonishing to be in Largo do Carmo or to go down Avenida da Liberdade on that day, every year, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, all singing our very different versions of People Have the Power, with a carnation on your shirt pocket. You have to see it one day. It leaves me in awe every time.
What about you? Is there any patriotic pride left in you? If so, how does it manifest? What was the best World Cup match you’ve ever seen? Cape Verde did it again. Amazing! —João Pedro Vala, June 22
João,
I loved Jacinto’s piece. I was in Lisbon when Portugal won the Euros in 2016. I interviewed Jacinto a few days after, about how the win felt, and Portuguese soccer in general. It struck me then, and strikes me now, speaking with you, how Mourinho and Ronaldo are the most recognizable Portuguese people in the world and, simultaneously, not very representative of Portugal. The 2016 team didn’t seem to play a Portuguese style either. Very cynical, very defensive. Is that fair? I wonder: do younger generations want to be more like Ronaldo and Mourinho? Is Portugal morphing into their image? Is that giving them too much power? Which current players do you think most clearly represent Portugal?
Last year, inspired, I think, by America’s looming 250th Anniversary, I read a lot about our Founding Fathers. I also did some digging about my father’s side of the family. I’m biracial. My mother is black, descended from slaves. My father is white, descended from the first settlers. We can trace his bloodline back to the Plymouth Colony in Massachusetts. Truly, the first colonizers. I like to say I come from a long line of farmers, except one half of my family worked for free. My personal history exemplifies America’s complicated and bipolar history, this blend of resilience and exploitation, individualism and community. We are an incredibly unequal society, especially considering how great we think we are and how rich we actually are. Take, for example, the murder of Kohen Wiley in Mississippi. We’re the richest country in the world and a baby was killed by police because, allegedly, his mother and her friend stole a box of diapers from a store. I mean, come on. There are few civilizations in human history where the penalty for shoplifting is having your child murdered. I’m not sure if I ever had much patriotic pride, but I do think America has produced a lot of cool stuff. Jazz, baseball, hip-hop, The Declaration of Independence, The Gettysburg Address, lots of great books. While I don’t think my books are great, I do think they try to artfully capture America and all of our complexities. I guess that’s how I show pride and respect for my personal history.
It’s fair to say every country goes through embarrassing periods. America is going through such a period right now. I have a bad feeling that we might end up with a technocratic dictator like Salazar, or Xi Jinping, for the next few decades. I think a majority of Americans would welcome it. The country seems broken right now and lots of people want someone to fix it. I’m probably wrong, but I’m feeling pessimistic. Hopefully, when this embarrassing period is over, we’ll have our own carnation revolution.
I’m currently reading Richard Zenith’s Pessoa biography. He does a beautiful job portraying Pessoa’s life alongside Portugal’s fading empire. We’ve been talking about sports a lot, as we should. Still, I’m curious, What do you love most about Portuguese literature? What are you reading right now? —Gabriel Bump, June 24
Gabriel,
Regarding your question about our team that won the Euro in 2016, I actually think they were very representative of what Portugal is and always has been, apart perhaps from the fact that, well, they won. They were representative in the sense that many of them were born abroad (some of them were born in France and Germany, where their parents went probably to escape dictatorship and/or poverty, and some of them were born in Brazil, in Guinea-Bissau and in Angola) and that just made us stronger.
That’s not all, though. As a people, we try as much as we can not to make waves. That was why we didn’t participate in the II World War and that was why we allowed the U.S. troops to use our military bases during the invasion of Iran, no questions asked. And that is also why we decided to settle for a draw in every match of the group stage. We just didn’t want to upset anyone, man. And then, we won the round of 16 and the final in extra time, and we won the quarter finals through a penalty shootout, so that no one would pay attention to us until it was too late. That sneakiness is a big part of who we are. But mainly we are a neutral and friendly people, or maybe we just have some trouble in standing up for what’s right.
Regarding Ronaldo, there’s one last thing I wanted to say and I think that might help to formulate a possible answer to your question. I’ve always heard people praising Ronaldo because he was the outcome of hard work, whereas Messi was just born that way. People say that in order to praise Ronaldo. I think that is precisely why I love Messi. When people say stuff like that, they want to believe they could be like Ronaldo, and I get that. But they are also putting forward a meritocratic utopia, in which if you work hard enough, if you believe enough in yourself, then things will turn out ok. I don’t think it works that way and I fear that when we allow ourselves to think like that, yes, we might become a better version of ourselves, but we also become too self-centered in our own story. We measure ourselves through the lenses of what we achieved, you know? We are what we win. That just doesn’t appeal to me. With Messi, on the other hand (or at least with that interpretation of what Messi is), we are taught that some people are just more apt than us. There’s nothing we can do. They were born like that and that’s it. They are gods that roam through the garden in the cool of the day. And that is perfect by me. I don’t want them to make me believe I could be like them. I just want them to amaze me. I don’t want them to make me feel bad for skipping leg day. I want them to dribble the opponents defense and then dribble some more, pass the goalkeeper and run against the net. I want them to make me believe in magic, I guess.
Regarding Portuguese literature, I really love that, most of the times, in the best writers, at least, the main goal is never to teach the reader anything, or to tell them a good story. It is just to turn language into a thing of beauty. I have been reading a lot of Batman, to be honest, and I’ve recently finished James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, but right now I’m reading a Portuguese poet called Rui Lage. I haven’t read much of him yet but he seems quite good. How about you? What are you reading? And, going back to football, who do you think will win the World Cup? And what was the most exciting game for you so far? —João Pedro Vala, June 25
João,
I love imagining Messi as a God roaming around a garden. He even looks like that on the field. Now that he’s a little slower, at least, and spends most of the time strolling and observing before appearing at the right moment to do something unbelievable. And, how you’re describing Ronaldo, well, that fetishization of individualistic striving is extremely American. This myth that, if you try hard enough, if you work out for five hours a day, if you don’t sleep, if you remove all negative thoughts from your brain, there is nothing you can’t achieve. When, in reality, most professional athletes were born with traits unavailable to normal people, like us. Messi is a God and Ronaldo is Achilles. Everyone can’t be Achilles either.
I wonder if this Messi/Ronaldo comparison works with literature too. Some writers are geniuses, can make sentences and language move in truly unique ways. Gods on the page. Although, as I think about it, I don’t think there is a truly great writer like Ronaldo. Maybe these popular thriller writers who seem to have cracked a formula for writing bestsellers and making millions of dollars with books. They are competent writers, sure, but the sentences don’t do anything for me. I also don’t want to learn anything while reading a novel. And I don’t really care about plot as much as I should. I want to see interesting people experiencing life’s complexity and, through that experience, coming to some greater understanding of their place in the universe. Maybe achieving that “greater understanding” is the same as learning something. I guess I want the characters to learn something. Teach the characters, not the reader, if that makes sense?
Which Batman are you reading? I’ll check out James Hilton and Rui Lage. I spent the last week or so rereading some Ulysses criticism, class prep from a seminar next Spring. And, still working through Proust in Portuguese. Bouncing between Pessoa, Dante, and Homer. I mean, fuck, all very pretentious, all in the service of Ulysses. I need a break. Batman sounds amazing. I keep telling myself to finish One Piece, maybe that’s what I need. I’m working on my next novel, trying to finish a draft before school starts again in the Fall. How is your writing going?
Back to football, I think France looks really good. I’m going to watch them play Norway with some friends tonight. That should be a telling match for both teams. I have a weird feeling about Brazil? Ancelotti might work his same Real Madrid magic. He seems to be the only manager that can make Vini Jr. look effective most of the time instead of some of the time. I love watching Japan play. The Uruguay-Cape Verde match was my favorite so far. What about you? Where have you been watching the games? Have you found any good Cape Verdean bars? — Gabriel Bump, June 26
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Published on Golden Goal:
“Ten years after his debut, his particular role in this team, and in American soccer more broadly, has grown complicated, just as America’s relationship to the rest of the world has.” Read Adam Elder on the USA’s talismanic winger Christian Pulisic here.
“His glow-up—there is no other word for it—has been one of the most entertaining, feel-good stories of world football, all sunglasses, designer suits, and vitamin D. At a time when despots dream of closed borders, here is a man delighting in the taste of fresh tomatoes.” Read Hua Hsu on Scotland’s Scott McTominay here.
“With him on the field, this Mexican national team has a potent blend of a toughened warhorse generation with a new, auspicious one.” Read Francisco Goldman on Mexico’s Gilberto Mora here.
“‘I just thought of something,’ one son says. ‘Does nomen est omen work, if it’s coming out of a different language? Like he’s sunny in English, and he’s the model ‘son’: I get it. But doesn’t ‘son’ mean ‘hand’ in Korean?’” Read Ed Park talking with his sons about Son Heung-min here.
“Mexico’s promising start at the World Cup has obscured the web of internal interests that threatens the future of football in the country.” Read Ivan Pech on what’s wrong with Mexican football here.
“As football reflects the world, the teams of the Netherlands and Indonesia reflect a truly global story, but it’s one that FIFA will never tell.” Read Chris Karnadi on Tijjani Reijnders, who represents an era of uneasy integration for Moluccans in the Netherlands.
“That same sense of uncertainty extends beyond the pitch. This is an election year in Brazil, and Ancelotti’s test is not so different from the one facing politicians selling their future plans for the nation.” Read Andre Pagliarini on Brazil’s crisis of confidence here.
“At the center of this story is, ostensibly, Argentine President Javier Milei.” Read the journalist and sociologist Sergio Levinsky on the fight of Argentina’s football association that is raging in the background as the national team defends its title here.
“I’ve always been fascinated by players who are idols at their clubs but struggle to find their place on the national team.” The novelist Emilio Fraia writes on the Brazilian star Raí at the 1994 World Cup here.
“He is humble, he is selfless, he will sacrifice again and again, but he will not be disrespected. He is, at thirty-four, an aging lion, in the twilight of his career.” Read poet Nam Le on Sadio Mané here.
“It’s difficult to define something as amorphous as a national playing style or culture, but to me, the handwringing about US soccer has to do with a broader struggle to reconcile our country’s twin impulses toward isolation and globalization.” Read Francisco Cantú on finding the heart of American soccer here.
“This is why Salah at the 2026 World Cup is worth watching—it may be his final chance to align genius, meaning, and memory on the same stage.” Read Sean Jacobs on Mohammed Salah here.