Sports are sources of nostalgia, especially football. Those who have played the game, loved it, and felt its thrills remember their first ball, match, emotions, and their first World Cup.
It is then, in those earliest moments, that we surrender our objectivity forever. Whatever comes later, nothing will ever feel quite as beautiful, as powerful, as overwhelming, as joyful — or as devastating.
The matches, the players, the commentators, the shirts, the heroes, the goals, the victories and the passions of the past will always hold a special place above those unfolding before our eyes.
That is the nature of nostalgia. A football fan who grew up idolizing ‘El Pibe de Oro’ will never consider Messi, no matter what he achieves, to be Maradona’s equal. The same is true of Platini and Zidane, and of Zidane and Mbappé.
Most football lovers will tell you that the sport was better before, that the greatest World Cup was the one they remember most fondly — 1970, 1986, 1998 or 2006, depending on the generation you ask. They will tell you that international football has gone backwards, that the game has become overly formulaic, that it has lost its imperfections and individuality, and that physical power and money have taken precedence over everything else.
In Lebanon, this sense of loss is even more pronounced. In a country trapped in the past, where World Cup memories are often closely bound with those of the war, and where many viewers still see Brazil and Germany as the favorites at every tournament, as they were when they ruled the game with an almost effortless dominance, the evolution of football has deepened the feeling that something precious has slipped away.
I went into this 2026 edition expecting nothing. Played largely in the United States, in sweltering heat, before crowds that understand little “beyond rock and twist,” what could it possibly bring us?
Everything seemed to be conspiring against a memorable tournament: a 48-team format for the first time, raising fears of a drop in overall quality and a glut of meaningless games; new rules and timeouts that reflected “the Americanization of our sport,” as a friend said; the conspicuous closeness between U.S. President Donald Trump and FIFA President Gianni Infantino; and, above all, an absent Italy, a fading Germany and a Brazil stripped of its former grandeur.
Yet, this World Cup — which is not over yet — has been full of pleasant surprises. One can, of course, choose to focus on Germany’s early elimination and Brazil’s exit, the refereeing controversies, Trump’s interventionism, which would make even the most unapologetic dictators blush, or the large number of underwhelming matches.
It could be also argued that the narrowing gap between the major footballing nations and the smaller ones is as much the result of the latter’s progress as it is of the former’s decline.
But it would be unfair to focus only on that. To overlook France’s attacking showcase — a brand of spectacular football rarely seen in this competition for decades — Norway’s impressive journey, or the drama of encounters such as England-Mexico and Argentina-Egypt.
More than anything, what makes this World Cup so captivating — and what sets it apart so far — is the sheer number of stars who have delivered on the biggest stage: Haaland, Mbappé, Olise, Dembélé, Bellingham, Kane and, of course, the inimitable Messi, the best, if not the greatest, player of all time.
It is extremely rare, especially now that seasons have become so relentless and players arrive at this tournament physically exhausted, to see so many great players rise to the occasion — and sometimes even transcend the event.
Yes, football has lost some of its magic and mystery. Its sheer abundance is undoubtedly part of the reason. Everything has become less rare, less precious. The moves are increasingly similar, moments of pure invention have become harder to find, and the generational decline affecting several of the game’s greatest national teams has created a sense that a golden era has come to an end.
But that view overlooks one of the sport’s biggest transformations: Everything is played at a far higher speed. First touches, passes, shots, bursts of acceleration, the distances covered by players… Today’s footballers are no less gifted technically or creatively, but the pace of execution demanded at the highest level has become so intense that there is little room left for improvisation.
Football has gradually become more robotic. It has gained in precision, sometimes at the expense of spontaneity, madness and humanity. The game has changed, but it would be unfair to say it has become inferior.
This World Cup has once again reminded us that, regardless of the numbers, data and algorithms, sports remains sports: a story of men and women, of emotions, uncertainties and defining moments that no calculation can predict.
This editorial was translated from L'Orient-Le Jour.
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