Ball game, my escape.

I ramble, a verbal romp. Too many commas...

You are put in this hell hole to do something in addition to mere survival. Some prove themselves to be useful to society, the people. They go on to become the heroes, the role models, the Page 3 folks, the ones who fill the back pages, people who run the state, you get the gist. Some end up being useful just for their own folks. If picking up paychecks and paying bills was an art, they'll call themselves the artists of this century. I fall into the 2nd category of population with no special skills, performing the set of same predefined tasks from the break of dawn to nightfall, designed by an AI model which itself was designed with the advent of the swanky new corporate tomfoolery just around the start of the millenium.

If the reader is someone who falls in the 2nd category, I empathize with you. Life for us is a constant grind to survive. One break in function or an error in line 436 of the code base, the whole production goes down. To make our miserable-as-fuck lives seem somewhat meaningful to the world or to our own selves, we obsess over inanimate trumpery that have no bearings on our survival. You don't need anime, sports, music, TV shows, stargazing, birdwatching, hoarding books (apparently that's a new kink, who's got time to read anyway) to survive. Yet, you do.

I do too. I cling on to sports to survive. A stay at home, work from home 31 yr old South Asian male with ADHD which is yet to be diagnosed, ball games have been successful to keep me rooted to a place. I had realized this quiet early in my life that it’ll stay on with me until my last breath. Organized team sports, 22 men running after a scientifically designed synthetic sphere, a freaking ball. Or in some cases 10 men dribbling an object of a similar kind, some 7.7k miles away. That's the distance between Mumbai and Boston, I looked it up. Social plans are made not by looking at the wall calendar, but by looking at the fixture list.

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Writing this almost a month after the conclusion of Qatar 2022. Hold up! Let's set some guardrails before you start judging me for appreciating and glorifying a blood-stained event. I've tried my best to be apolitical all my life and nothing could change that, but there are things which one could never ignore. The stories of worker exploitation leading up to the World Cup did make me think twice, but what could an ordinary low-life like me do? Someone once infamously remarked to Lebron to stop commenting on social issues and "Shut up and dribble!". The most we could do was post anti-FIFA tweets or repost The Athletic's incredible work on reporting labour exploitation in Qatar. There are ways and means to support multiple movements which my broke ass could never afford to contribute towards. Maybe divert a month's Netflix subscription to one such movement, oh yes, maybe I will. This whole para seems rather insensitive and I have thought about chucking it but decided against it. This is me.

I digress.

Back to that night at Lusail.

That starry December night, 3.5 billion including me and YOU, witnessed a man and a nation reach the promised land. Peter Drury's words made it a cinematic experience. Lionel Andrés Messi and Kylian Mbappé Lottin, wrote the script and tore it apart, time and again. There's a Martin Scorsese meme which is shoved in almost everything these days, but is apt for what we experienced.

"And so the time is nigh. Mbappe. Messi. And so much more. Lionel Messi stares up at his final peak, Kylian Mbappe prowls in the foothills of greatness, from the Andes to the Alps, from Riverplate to the banks of the Séné, our planet unites around its ultimate game.
Well the script was seemingly written, the tie was seemingly cast. It was going to be Messi's final but Mbappe ripped up that script and contends it can be his.
And the nation will tangle all night long. 36 Years since Maradona and Mexico. Here finally is a nation's new throng of immortals! Scaloni will be fated. Messi will be sainted. France this time denied, defied."

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If you have survived up until this point, let me let you in on something quite close to home. I decided to write this for one very peculiar reason - my father, with whom I shared a love-hate relationship almost all my life.

I often come across people who have great and the most normal relationships with their father, showing their love off on the internet and whatnot. I never had that with my father but that's for some other day. He was a former football nut who had the joy of cheering for sports teams taken away from him by the pressures of keeping the family afloat. But each and every Football World Cup, he'd be following it better than I followed any sport till date. Even during his working life he never missed any WC final. I exactly remember what we were doing and where we were in each of the World Cups since 1998.

It's quite known in my little, almost non-existent circle of how I remember dates. The secret to me remembering dates is I relate it to corresponding sporting events. Football World Cups, Champions League knockout stages, NBA Finals, Federer-Nadal clashes, big names, big games (not too big games, too).

98 and 02 were special. 14 inch TV during France 98 and another 14 incher at one of my father's friends' flat -  paying for cable seemed like a luxury. Still in primary school and had no fear of the world.

06 Final, a rented flat, watching it from the floor and him sitting on a chair next to me. Late at night. Grade 9.

10 Final, same rented flat, on a used couch. Going crazy after Iniesta's winner. This was the beginning of the downfall which does not warrant any mention in this space.

14 Final, our first with our dog. Another all nighter. Struggling. Rock bottom.

18 Final, the sweetest of all. Getting back up.

22 Final, the greatest of all. We watched a grand total of 7 WC Finals together and unbelievable amounts of club football games but none quite like this one. I witnessed a never seen before wave of emotions taking over him during the closing stages of the game. He is now on the wrong end of the 70s, getting disinterested with life and with everyone around him. Having him next to me for N. America 2026 would be cool, you know.

Maybe there'll be another WC final hattrick and I'll see him go through those emotions.