World Cup 2023: Drama, Giants, and a 40-Year-Old Hero

The World Cup that bent reality: drama, giants and a 40‑year‑old folk hero

Matches that refused to behave

In a World Cup stuffed with goals, it was a shootout that stole the air out of the stadium. Paraguay 1-1 Germany in the last 32 looked routine on paper. It became anything but. Germany do not lose penalty shootouts. They did here, and they did it in spectacular fashion, the shock rippling far beyond the tie itself.

Elsewhere, football briefly detached itself from logic. Algeria 3-3 Austria felt less like a group game and more like a fever dream. This was the fixture widely tipped to be a biscotto, a cosy, pre-arranged draw to send both sides through. For long stretches of the second half it drifted that way, the tension more theoretical than real. Then stoppage time arrived and the match detonated into chaos. There were better games in terms of pure quality, and others that ran it close for drama, but nothing stranger.

If you wanted noise, colour and a sense of history pressing in from the stands, you went to the Azteca. Mexico 2-3 England became the travelling circus’s main event. The buildup started the moment the draw came out; the match itself lived up to the billing. England, under Thomas Tuchel, survived a thunderstorm delay, Mexico’s best first half of the tournament and the kind of atmosphere that swallows visiting teams whole. It was a high point for England, a win that should still sting given what came later.

The Azteca also turned into a kind of remote pilgrimage. Some were there in person, others – like those watching on television thousands of miles away – felt their heart rates spike all the same. The game was like “drinking cortisol neat”: relentless, cinematic, the images lodged in the mind whether you wanted them or not.

Drama came in different forms across the month. France 4-6 England bordered on slapstick, a heavyweight contest that kept veering into farce. In Seattle, Egypt 1-1 Iran turned late and wild: a disallowed stoppage-time winner for Iran, two efforts off the woodwork, and finally the realisation that an unbeaten, battle-scarred Iran would still go home.

The defending champions, Argentina, flirted with disaster more than once. Against Egypt, they trailed 2-0 in the last 16 and looked finished, already mentally on their flights home. Then Lionel Messi took hold of the occasion, dragged them back, and Argentina turned it into a 3-2 win in normal time amid refereeing controversy that refused to die down. For some, that was the game of the tournament. For others, the answer was simpler: Argentina 3-2 Cape Verde, a match so improbable it felt like a fable, Sidny Lopes Cabral bending an equaliser into the top corner in extra time and etching his name into World Cup folklore.

Cape Verde themselves became one of the stories of the month. Their 2-2 draw with Uruguay in Miami showcased a team whose attitude and discipline were a joy to watch. Vozinha, their 40-year-old goalkeeper without a club, kept producing performances that turned him into an unlikely cult hero. For many who saw them up close, this was the World Cup’s purest fun.

England’s relationship with Argentina added its own familiar bitterness. For all the improbable wonder of Argentina v Cape Verde and the chaos of Mexico v England, some were still drawn to something more traditional: England 1-2 Argentina, a result that felt grimly, almost comfortingly, on script.

Across more than 100 games, the consensus settled around a handful of nights: the Azteca thriller, Argentina’s escapes, Cape Verde’s rise. Predictable giants, improbable insurgents, and a sense that the tournament’s best football and its weirdest moments often arrived in the same 90 minutes.

Rodri’s empire and the stars around him

On the individual stage, one name kept recurring. Rodri. The metronome, the shield, the captain. The outstanding player for the best side, and the Golden Ball winner who seemed to operate half a second ahead of everyone else. As Spain reverted fully to a possession-heavy model, he dictated everything: tempo, angles, mood.

Some tried to look elsewhere and kept circling back to him. He was the fulcrum of this Spain, the player who never seemed to choose the wrong option when a contest teetered. In those moments where a game hangs in the balance – evading the press, killing a counter, stepping into a 50-50 – no one matched his consistency.

That did not mean the other stars shrank. Kylian Mbappé walked away with the Golden Boot, his tally padded by a wild third-place game but his influence undeniable in a France side that looked like the best team in the tournament until Spain cut them down in the semi-final. Lionel Messi produced another late rescue act against Egypt and continued to bend games to his will. Erling Haaland turned Norway’s run into the quarter-finals into a personal statement, leaving with a short but credible Golden Boot push and a seismic win over Brazil, his second goal in that match a low, precise strike from distance that summed up his tournament: ruthless, economical, devastating.

Jude Bellingham justified every argument in his favour. Instrumental for Tuchel’s England, he dominated in the Azteca and made a mockery of those who had questioned his place in the squad. Michael Olise glided through matches, majestic even as he left a hat-trick against England out on the pitch. Dani Olmo earned quiet admiration, while Pau Cubarsí’s emergence hinted at Spain’s next defensive era.

Then came the outliers, the stories that stitched the tournament’s soul together. Vozinha, again and again, throwing himself in front of giants. His age, his lack of a club, his late-arriving recognition: it all combined into a fairytale that did not need a marketing department to sell it. For some, he was the player of the tournament, full stop.

Others pointed to Pau Cubarsí’s maturity, to Pico Lopes hurling himself into challenges for Cape Verde, to the way Haaland, Mbappé and Messi all met the crushing weight of expectation and still performed. But in the cold, tactical light, the conclusion was hard to escape. Rodri stood above the rest. The player everyone else wished they had.

When the ball left the boot

If there was one goal that cut through the noise, it belonged to Sidny Lopes Cabral. Extra time. Argentina on the ropes. Cape Verde chasing a miracle. He stepped up from distance and launched a shot that seemed to hang in the air for a split second longer than physics should allow before curling past Emi Martínez and into the far corner. The reaction matched the strike: hands to his head in disbelief, then a beeline to find his girlfriend in the crowd. A World Cup debutant, against the champions, in a knockout tie. A long-range thunderbolt that will live in highlight reels for decades.

So many observers started their lists the same way: Sidny Lopes Cabral v Argentina. Then they made room for others. Eldor Shomurodov’s instinctive lob from a tight angle for Uzbekistan against DR Congo, the kind of finish you rarely see and never forget. Julián Álvarez’s vicious, swerving drive in extra time against Switzerland, a goal that lit up a cauldron in Kansas City and briefly reminded everyone of his destructive best.

Kerim Alajbegovic, just 18, took a ball on the edge of the box for Bosnia and Herzegovina against Qatar, slipped past defenders and, off balance, lashed it in to enhance a burgeoning reputation. Johan Manzambi’s run and pass in the buildup to Breel Embolo’s opener against Algeria turned a simple goal into a small work of art.

Wilson Isidor’s strike for Haiti against Morocco, a long-range effort that whistled into the top corner, drew comparisons with the best ever scored at a World Cup. For a nation with little else to cling to from this tournament, it became a permanent keepsake.

Harry Kane’s second for England against DR Congo, Haaland’s surgical finish against Brazil, the disallowed long-range screamer from Uzbekistan that had everyone asking whether it actually was Uzbekistan – they all added to the scrapbook. Yet whenever the conversation settled, it kept returning to the same image: Cabral’s shot bending, impossibly, between Martínez’s fingertips and the far post, and the sound that left every throat watching it.

Human moments in a super-sized World Cup

Away from the tactics boards and VAR screens, the month belonged to the smaller stories. Eloy Room, at 37, breaking the World Cup record for saves in a 90-minute match for Curaçao against Ecuador, then joking he deserved a statue back home. Stadium workers, volunteers and low-level Fifa staff swarming onto pristine pitches after the final whistle of the last game in each venue, grabbing selfies, staging impromptu kickabouts, finally claiming a slice of the stage they had spent weeks preparing for others.

The Azteca, again, worked its magic. Mexico’s win over Ecuador produced a noise that felt physical, the stadium living up to every myth told about it. Messi’s record-breaking goals against Austria in Dallas turned early Argentina fixtures into rolling pilgrimages, fans crossing continents just to say they had seen him score at a World Cup one more time.

In quieter corners, the game showed its odd, tender side. Senegalese journalists passing around a packet of malted milk biscuits during the anthem before their team collapsed against Belgium. Nestory Irankunda reviving Tim Cahill’s iconic celebration 26 minutes into Australia’s opener against Turkey, a ceremonial handover from one generation to the next. Scotland’s players warming up to bagpipes in Foxborough as “Scotland the Brave” blared out, their 28-year World Cup wait finally over, even if what followed is best left unspoken.

Cape Verde’s story kept deepening. Pico Lopes, an Irishman representing his father’s homeland, repeatedly put his body on the line and may now have earned himself a life-changing move – or perhaps simply a more burnished legend with Shamrock Rovers and his national team. Vozinha’s mother, against all expectation, travelled from Cape Verde to see her 40-year-old son play at a World Cup. For many, that single image eclipsed any number of tactical diagrams.

There were surreal flashes too: explaining complex qualification permutations to a mariachi in a giant sombrero; watching Spain’s team bus roll past the window from which Lee Harvey Oswald shot JFK; shouting “Paraguay. Number 10. Cover his mouth. Decision is RED CARD.” during a live show in Manhattan and getting to bellow “HELLO NEW YORK!” in earnest.

For journalists, players and fans alike, the World Cup became a lens on the host nations. After years covering soccer as, at best, the third or fourth sport in the United States, some found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer volume of conversations in bars, on trains, in queues. In a fraught political climate, the shared language of the tournament offered a rare reprieve.

Hosts under the microscope

Across the three co-hosts, the verdict landed in shades rather than absolutes. The United States surprised many with the depth of its interest. Stadiums filled, strangers stopped visitors to ask if they were enjoying themselves, and in cities such as Seattle and Vancouver – with downtown arenas and established soccer cultures – the World Cup felt naturally embedded. In other metropolises, the tournament arrived as a month-long novelty, accommodated rather than fully embraced.

The logistics were brutal. Distances were vast, public transport patchy or non-existent in some US cities, and several stadiums sat marooned miles from their centres. Florida’s infrastructure drew particular frustration, as did the traffic in Boston. The decision to stage the final away from Mexico City or Atlanta’s downtown arena left some wondering what might have been.

On the pitch, the hosts delivered mixed but intriguing returns. The USA produced some of the prettiest football the national team has ever played, then will forever regret their missed chance to do something greater against Belgium. Canada, under Jesse Marsch, were thrilling in bursts – their 6-0 win over Qatar in Vancouver crackled with energy – and their first World Cup match on home soil in Toronto carried a buzz that lingered long after a draw with Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Mexico offered a fervent, febrile football culture that, in the eyes of some, deserved not to be dwarfed by its co-hosts. They barnstormed Group A, outclassed an Ecuador side on the rise and pushed England to the brink before finally running out of ideas in the last half-hour at the Azteca. Their fans remained disarmingly warm, even in defeat.

Yet the tournament was not without a sour edge. The Folarin Balogun reprieve, driven by the US administration and indulged by Fifa, left a lingering stench and a warning about political interference. Fifa’s decision to take direct control of organisation, sidelining a local committee, served as another cautionary tale.

Still, for every gripe about tips, traffic and governance, there were six weeks of people trying to show their best side. Canada eager to be recognised as a “real” football nation. Americans insisting that visitors understood that “this” – the worst of their politics – was not them. Mexicans opening their homes and their football culture to the world.

The World Cup sprawled across a continent and refused to be pinned down. It offered the improbable wonder of Argentina v Cape Verde, the brutal familiarity of England losing to Argentina, the sight of a 40-year-old goalkeeper becoming a hero, and a midfielder named Rodri quietly ruling it all.

The next question is simple enough, and impossibly hard: how do you top a tournament that felt this big, this strange, and this human?