Thursday, July 23, 2026

Andalucía & Beyond — Epilogue: The Accounting

So. Did you keep up?


Fifteen days. Fifteen posts (including Coda and the GoT Bonus). Approximately 1,200 miles by car across ten provinces, three countries (technically), and zero incidents. Not a scratch, not a ticket, not a single moment of genuine navigational crisis despite the medieval street geometries of Toledo, Ronda, Córdoba, Granada and several White Villages. I consider that a small personal triumph. 471 kilometers by train in under three hours, watching the meseta blur past at 300 km/h in the comfortable knowledge that this is simply the correct way to travel between Seville and Madrid. 36 nautical miles by ferry to Africa and back, the return faster than planned owing to a disappointing tagine (poetically speaking). Somewhere north of 200,000 steps, which the phone tracked with the quiet neutrality of a device that doesn't judge your choices.

The ledger, for those who keep ledgers:

Eight UNESCO World Heritage Sites. About 8 cathedrals (or was it 10? I lost count), each one more imposing than the next. Countless Alcázars. Toledo's old city and the cathedral that took 267 years to build and which contains a sacristy full of El Grecos and a Baroque ceiling-hole flooding the altar with light. The Alhambra, which is in a category of its own and will get its own accounting below. The historic center of Córdoba, including the Mezquita, a building that is simultaneously two civilizations occupying the same walls and somehow makes that collision feel like the point rather than the problem. Úbeda and Baeza, seen from the road at speed with genuine and lasting regret; they remain on the list, they will not escape. The Cathedral of Seville, the Alcázar, and the Giralda, which between them account for approximately nine centuries of architectural ambition and three distinct civilizations. Itálica, the first Roman city in Spain, birthplace of two emperors, one of whom conquered my ancestors (a personal note in the margins of the ledger). And the May Patios of Córdoba, which we missed by one month and which I intend to make amends for.

Three Flamenco performances, each completely different from the others. The Sacromonte caves in Granada: raw, intimate, performed in a space so small that the guitar strings vibrated the same air you breathe; no stage, no distance, no cushion between you and what was happening. The Alma Jerez tablao in Jerez: authoritative, tradition-first, rooted in the barrio de Santiago style that many aficionados consider the purest surviving line of Flamenco lineage, the guitar work alone worth the entire package price. And the front-row seats at the Tablao Flamenco Andalusi in Seville, courtesy of a booking confusion that I have elected to classify as serendipity: the female dancer in the final piece moved at the outer limit of what a body can sustain and made it look like something she did for relaxation on Sunday mornings, which is either the highest level of artistry or evidence that the laws of physics apply differently in Seville.

Two Arab bath experiences. Córdoba's Hammam Al-Ándalus, vaulted and candlelit and leaving you feeling, after the kessa scrub, like you have been reconstructed from better raw materials. And Seville's Aire Ancient Baths, culminating in a rooftop pool overlooking the floodlit Giralda at midnight with cava in hand, which was, without doubt, a perfect moment; the kind where nothing is missing, nothing is in excess, and the mind registers it as complete even as it is happening.

One olive oil education at Oro Bailén in Jaén province that permanently reorganized my relationship with the grocery store's condiment aisle. I now read labels. I now smell the bottle before pouring. I now have opinions. This is what happens when you spend a private morning in an olive oil facility with a former French teacher who genuinely loves what she does.

One Royal Alcázar, where the same rooms have housed monarchs since the 10th century and where the current king of Spain still sleeps when in Seville. One Alhambra that I cannot describe adequately and will not pretend otherwise. Go, book months in advance, arrive early, and when you are standing in the Court of the Lions or beneath the cedar ceiling of the Hall of Ambassadors, do not let anyone rush you. It deserves more time than any itinerary allows. One Mezquita in Córdoba, already mentioned above but worth reiterating: Abd al-Rahman I's columns and double arches, 856 of them surviving from an original 1,293, extending in every direction beneath red-and-white striped vaults, and then you turn a corner and there is a full Renaissance cathedral, nave rising through the middle of it, inserted in 1523 by Charles V who reportedly regretted it immediately upon seeing the result. The building is not harmonious. It is something better; honest about its own history in a way that harmony would have erased.

One Gruta de las Maravillas in Aracena that made every cave I had previously visited feel like a rehearsal. The Great Lake. The Cristalería de Dios. The silence. No photographs permitted, which turned out to be the right policy.

One Caminito del Rey, formerly the world's most dangerous walkway, now open to mere mortals, its boardwalks bolted to a limestone gorge face 100 meters above turquoise water, its glass balcony extending over nothing in a gesture of architectural confidence I found admirable and briefly terrifying. One Itálica amphitheatre, 25,000-seat capacity, third largest in the Roman Empire, where I stood in the animal pit and looked up at the stone seating and thought about what it means to be Romanian standing in the birthplace of the emperor who made Romania Roman. One Castillo de Almodóvar del Río that is simultaneously a genuine 8th-century Moorish fortress, a 35-year labor of aristocratic restoration, and Highgarden from Season 7 of Game of Thrones, which is either a magnificent coincidence or evidence that the showrunners and Pedro I's Mudéjar craftsmen were working toward the same aesthetic.

One Cinco Jotas bodega in Jabugo, where thousands of jamón ibérico legs hang ceiling to floor in rooms that smell like the Spanish definition of excellence, and where the tasting at the end - thin-sliced, room temperature, with oloroso sherry - is among the five best things I have eaten anywhere in my life. One very disappointing Tangier tagine that I maintain was the tagine's fault and not Morocco's, and whose culinary rehabilitation awaits a future trip to Fez or Marrakesh. One 30-year oloroso reserve poured from a small cask at Álvaro Domecq's bodega in Jerez, which I have thought about almost every day since.

Food I am still thinking about, in rough order of frequency:

The berenjenas fritas con miel de caña at Panaceite in Jaén on Day 1: fried eggplant with sugarcane molasses, a dish so simple and so precisely right that it set the tone for everything that followed and haunts me still. The salmorejo in Córdoba, twice, because the first time was good enough to require a second. The espetos at Chiringuito Mauri in Nerja: sardines on bamboo skewers over olive wood, salt air, sea noise, the kind of food that exists only in its own place and time and cannot be reconstructed elsewhere. The Ibérico Secreto at Casa Ángeles in Granada, thin and marbled and butter-soft, arriving on a hot iron plate and making the case for itself without requiring assistance. The mazamorra at Casa Pepe de la Judería in Córdoba: cold almond soup, white as fresh plaster, deeply savory, the pre-tomato ancestor of gazpacho, criminally underknown outside Córdoba. The Cinco Jotas ham with sherry in the bodega. The oxtail donut at Sal Gorda in Seville: braised rabo de toro inside glazed brioche, a sweet-savory combination that should be examined by scientists. The mango-coconut sorbet at Bar El Francés in Tarifa, which my wife ordered twice. The cornucopia at Mercado San Miguel. All of it. And somewhere in the middle of all of this, the free tapas that arrived with every drink in Jaén, Granada, and Almería provinces, because a civilization that decided to give you food with your drink, as a matter of course, as an expectation rather than a bonus, has got something fundamentally right about the relationship between hospitality and dignity.

The next-time list, which is the real product of any trip done properly:

Úbeda and Baeza, the UNESCO Renaissance twin towns we drove past with our faces pressed to the glass. The Sierra Nevada villages south of Granada, the Alpujarras, the white towns climbing the foothills, the landscape that sheltered the last Morisco communities after the Reconquista. Sanlúcar de Barrameda. Costa del Sol at a more leisurely pace and during high season. Grazalema in the Sierra de Cádiz, when the roads are not storm-damaged. Arcos de la Frontera, which several people told us was the finest pueblo blanco of all and which we never had a day for. Iznájar. Carmona's Roman necropolis, one of the largest in the Roman world, sitting outside a town an hour east of Seville. A bullfight in Seville. A football match in Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán or Benito Villamarín. An Atlético Madrid game at Riyadh Air Metropolitano. But not Santiago Bernabéu! Unless Real plays Barça. The Alhambra again, because once is not enough and the post-visit reading I have done suggests we missed approximately half of what is there to understand. Medina Azahara, the palace-city Abd al-Rahman III built eight kilometers west of Córdoba in the 10th century and which Berber mercenaries reduced to rubble in 1010, now partially excavated and reconstituting itself stone by stone from the ground: the ghost of Córdoba's lost peak. Cádiz for longer, because it is the oldest continuously inhabited city in Western Europe and deserves more than an afternoon's arrival and a morning's cathedral and a plate of gambas al ajillo. The Córdoba Patio Festival in May, the courtyard competition that transforms the city into a garden for two weeks every spring. All the hiking I mentioned in post #9, assuming the hip and aging knees will cooperate. Doñana National Park, where the Guadalquivir meets the Atlantic through 54,000 hectares of wetland and dune. And Fez and Marrakesh, to give Morocco the second chance it deserves.

Did anything fail to justify its place on the spreadsheet?

Short answer: No. All the research done before we even embarked on this journey made sure of it. But there were some slight misses: 

The Gibraltar cave (fine, worth the stop, forgettable by the time we had seen the Gruta de las Maravillas). Gibraltar as a whole: worth it for the Barbary macaques, the Great Siege Tunnels, and the surreal experience of perching at the top of the rock, but not worth lingering in. The Tangier detour, although the visit itself was somewhat worthwhile for the perspective it provides on standing at the edge of Africa and looking north. Hotel Anfiteatro Romano. The apartment in Córdoba. Madrid. Yes, Madrid (for the most part).

Everything else delivered. Some things (Alhambra, Mezquita, Gruta de las Maravillas, the Seville Alcázar, Jaén, Toledo, Jerez) delivered beyond expectations.

Was it too much? You already know the answer. Same one as the prelude.

Would I pace it differently given more time? Undoubtedly. 

I would add three days for the things we drove past and two for the things we rushed through and one for the things we didn't know existed until we'd already left. Did I have more time? No. Which is why it was fifteen days and not a month, and why the next-time list exists, and why the spreadsheet for the next trip is already open in a browser tab.

Andalucía is the kind of place where the history is so deep and so physically present, embedded in the fabric of the streets, the materials of the buildings, the geometry of the light at different hours on old stone, that you keep revising your understanding of it as you move through it. You think you understand the Reconquista because you know the dates and the broad outline: seven centuries of Christian kingdoms pressing south against Islamic ones, ending in January 1492 in Granada when the last Nasrid sultan handed over his keys. Then you stand in the Mezquita and watch a priest preparing for Mass beneath arches that Abd al-Rahman I designed in 785, and the narrative stops being a narrative and becomes a room you are physically standing inside, and the room is considerably more complicated and more extraordinary than any sentence about it suggested.

That is what travel is for, at its best. Not the accumulation of checkmarks against a list, not the photographs that will eventually be scrolled past, not even the food, though the food, here, makes a strong competing case. It is the conversion of abstraction into experience. The turning of sentences into rooms you can stand inside.

Skip the sangria. Order the Secreto. Book the Alhambra months in advance. Give Cádiz more time than you think it needs. And when someone on this trip, or any trip to Andalucía, suggests lingering somewhere, sitting somewhere, ordering one more round of tinto de verano in a plaza while the evening arrives: let them be right.

Stay a little longer in the light. Longer under the moonlight as well. Let Seville loosen your sense of schedule, let Granada rearrange your idea of silence, let Córdoba teach you how stone can hold memory. Explore beyond the tourist lanes. Walk without needing to arrive.

I’ll stop here. Not because there’s nothing left to say, but because Andalucía is already saying it better.

Nos vemos pronto, Andalucía

Series Links & Resources

Ticketing - book these early:

Tours:

Arab Baths:

Restaurants mentioned (or researched) across the series: 

  • Toledo: El Trébol, Bar Ludeña, Taberna Skala, Taberna el Botero, Taberna La Esencial

  • Jaén: Panaceite, El Pato Rojo, Bar Abrehui, La Manchega, Dña. Estefanía, Casa Vicente, Picualia (Bailén)

  • Granada: Las Tomasas, Casa Ángeles, Pilar del Toro, Los Diamantes, Taberna La Tana, El Rincón de Julio (or any of the ones on Calle Navas), El Fogón de Galicia, Carmen El Agua, Antigua Bodega Castañeda, Bohemia Jazz Café, Tetería La Oriental, El Claustro (fine dining)  

  • Nerja: Chiringuito Mauri or Dolores el Chispa (espetos) 

  • Málaga: Bodegas El Pimpi, Los Patios de Beatas, Casa Lola, Pez Lola, Los Marangós, Casa Aranda, Antigua Casa de Guardia, Mercado de Atarazanas

  • Tarifa: Bar El Francés, Los Mellis, El Lola 

  • Tangier: Dada, Dar Harruch, Kebdani

  • Cádiz: Taberna Casa Manteca, Arte Puro, La Cepa Gallega, La Candela. 

  • Jerez: Alma Jerez, Puro Arte, Bodega Tio Pepe, Cayetano del Pino, Tabanco El Pasaje

  • Zahara de la Sierra: Meson Oñate, Bar Josefi 

  • Setenil de las Bodegas: Bar Frasquito

  • Ronda: Taberna Quinto Tramo, Restaurante Pedro Romero, Almocábar, El Lechuguita 

  • Córdoba: Bodegas Mezquita, Casa Pepe de la Judería, El Rincon de Carmen, Patio de la Judería, La Montillana, Casa El Pisto, La Fuenseca, Los Pedroches, Manolete. 

  • Jabugo: Las Bellotas

  • Aracena: Jesus Carrion, Mesón El Postigo, Taberna Rincón de Juan, Puerta 20, Casa Sirlache

  • Sevilla: El Rinconcillo (oldest), La Brunilda, Los Coloniales, Casa de Pilatos, Bar Alfalfa, La Carbonería, Bar Picantón, Bar Baratillo, Bar El Comercio, Pura Vida Terraza, Terraza del EME, Bar Paco Góngora, Sal Gorda, Casa morales, Casa Matías, Vuela, Bodeguita Casablanca, Chicuela, Morante, Bodega Santa Cruz, Antigüedades

  • Madrid: Mercado San Miguel, Bodegas de los Secretos, Los Montes de Galicia, Santerra, Erre Que Erre, Sazón-arte, PerretxiCo Narváez, Vinos de Bellota, Casa Dani, Juana la Loca, Casa Julio, Lambuzo, La Pulperia de Victoria, Rosi La Loca, La Casa del Abuelo, Casa Alberto, Casa Labra, El Riojanao, La Campana, Mesón del Champiñón, Botín; on Calle de la Cava Baja: Taberna 4 Tapas, Juan Pérez Jamones, Ministriles Cheap, La Osita, la Concha, La Cava, Casa lucas, Vermutería Black Bolita, Taberna Tempranillo, Lamiak, Pez Tortilla; and for high-end: DSTAgE, Coque, or CEBO

Full Itinerary (if you want to skip to a particular leg):


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Andalucía & Beyond — Bonus: The Game of Thrones Itinerary Within the Itinerary

It turns out we accidentally included a Game of Thrones location tour in this trip. Not on purpose (the spreadsheet was built around history, food, and architecture, not HBO production decisions) but Andalucía was so central to later seasons of the show, that the overlap is essentially unavoidable. Six of the places on this itinerary were used as filming locations. One of them we already flagged in its own post (Castillo Almodóvar del Río as Highgarden). The others were hidden in plain sight.

A note before we begin: the show's creators chose Spain specifically because Dorne (the southernmost kingdom of Westeros, the hottest, the most Mediterranean in character) was openly modeled in the novels on medieval Islamic Spain. The Moorish palaces of Andalucía were not a coincidence. They were the inspiration. When the production finally had the budget to film in Spain from Season 5 onward, they were essentially returning to the source material.

1. Real Alcázar, Seville → The Water Gardens of Dorne

The most extensively used GoT location on the itinerary, and the most fitting. The Alcázar's Mudéjar courtyards, gardens, pools, and vaulted halls became the Water Gardens of Sunspear, the private residence of House Martell, rulers of Dorne. Multiple areas of the palace appear in different scenes:

  • The gardens and fountains serve as the Water Gardens where Jaime Lannister and Bronn arrive to retrieve Myrcella.

  • The Ambassadors' Hall (the gold-ceilinged throne room, the same room where Ferdinand and Isabella planned Columbus's voyages) appears as the throne room where Ellaria Sand confronts Prince Doran Martell.

  • The Pool of Mercury and the Baths of Doña María de Padilla (the underground cistern beneath the palace) become the private baths of Dorne where the Sand Snakes are introduced.

  • The Garden of the Dance (Jardín de la Danza) is the pavilion where Jaime intercepts Myrcella and Trystane.

The choice of the Alcázar was the production's most inspired Spanish decision. Pedro I's palace was the architectural embodiment of the cultural fusion that Dorne was always meant to represent.

2. Itálica Amphitheatre, Santiponce (near Seville) → The Dragonpit

The 25,000-capacity Roman amphitheatre outside Seville (which we visited as the birthplace of Emperors Trajan and Hadrian) became the Dragonpit of King's Landing, the ruined arena beneath the Red Keep where dragons were once kept chained.

The Dragonpit scene in Season 7's finale is one of the most significant in the entire show: the meeting where Jon Snow, Daenerys, Cersei, Tyrion, Jaime, and nearly every major surviving character gather to discuss the threat of the Night King. The arena floor, the entrance tunnels, the curved stone seating: all Itálica, with CGI adding height to the walls and populating the stands. The scene was also used in the final episode of Season 8 for the Great Council, where the lords of Westeros gather to choose a new king.

The detail that makes this location particularly resonant: a Roman amphitheatre (a place where humans were made to fight and die for entertainment) repurposed as the setting for the most consequential diplomatic meeting in Westerosi history. The stones are the same. Only the purpose changed.

3. Castillo Almodóvar del Río (near Córdoba) → Highgarden

Already covered in Post 9, but worth restating in this context: the 8th-century Moorish castle on its hill above the Guadalquivir, fully restored by the Count of Torralva over 35 years in the early 20th century, became Highgarden, the ancestral seat of House Tyrell, one of the great noble houses of Westeros.

This is where Jaime Lannister arrived with the army at Highgarden's gates, followed by the famous confrontation with Lady Olenna Tyrell (Diana Rigg), in which she is given poison and delivers what is arguably the most satisfying final line in the entire series. The castle's exterior walls, towers, and the viewpoint from which Olenna watches the approaching army are all Almodóvar, with interior scenes added on soundstages in Belfast.

The castle's dungeons were additionally used in the same season to represent sections of Casterly Rock, the Lannister seat, making Almodóvar del Río the only location in Spain (possibly in the world) to have played two different castles for two rival noble houses in the same season.

4. Puente Romano (Roman Bridge), Córdoba → The Long Bridge of Volantis

The 1st-century Roman bridge over the Guadalquivir (the same bridge we crossed on foot our first evening in Córdoba, with the Mezquita-Catedral visible at the far end) became the Long Bridge of Volantis, the great bridge-city of the Free City of Volantis in Essos.

The bridge's most notable appearance: in Season 5, Tyrion Lannister and Varys arrive in Volantis and walk across the Long Bridge, which in the show is lined with taverns, brothels, stalls, and Red Priests of R'hllor preaching to the crowds. The real bridge has 16 arches and stretches 247 meters over the river. CGI extended it significantly and populated its edges with structures that the medieval restoration work had not provided.

The point of dissonance a GoT fan feels standing on the Puente Romano: the bridge in the show is teeming with life and commerce; the actual bridge is wide and open and tends toward the contemplative. The CGI did heavy lifting here. But the stone is the same stone, the arches are the same arches, and Tyrion and Varys walked here. We walked there as well, several times, going back and forth to our apartment on the other side of the river!

5. Plaza de Toros de Osuna (near Seville) → Daznak's Pit, Meereen

This one is not on the core itinerary (Osuna is about 90 kilometers southeast of Seville, an easy day trip) but it belongs in this guide because it is the GoT connection that Seville locals are most likely to mention, and because the scene filmed here is among the most spectacular in the series.

The bullring of Osuna, a stone arena built in 1904, designed by Aníbal González (the same architect behind Plaza de España in Seville), seating approximately 5,000. It became Daznak's Pit, the great fighting arena of Meereen, for the sequence in which Daenerys reluctantly reopens the fighting pits, watches Jorah Mormont fight in a desperate bid to regain her favor, and the Sons of the Harpy attack. It ends with Drogon arriving and Daenerys climbing onto his back for the first time.

If interested, the Osuna Bullring and a small local GoT museum are open to visitors (Thursday, Saturday, Sunday). An hour from Seville by car or train; about 90 minutes by bus.

6. Seville Royal Shipyards (Atarazanas Reales) → King's Landing

The medieval Atarazanas Reales, the Royal Shipyards, originally built in the 14th century on the bank of the Guadalquivir to construct ships for the Castilian navy, were used in Season 7 as the vaults beneath the Red Keep in King's Landing. The vaulted stone ceilings and massive Gothic arches of the shipyards provided the subterranean Red Keep aesthetic precisely.

The Atarazanas were closed to the public for most of the past two decades but underwent restoration work in recent years. Check current access status before visiting; they have been intermittently open and are worth seeing for their own architectural merit independent of the GoT connection.

A Final Note

The fact that HBO chose Andalucía specifically because the region's Moorish architecture inspired Dorne in the original novels adds a pleasing layer to the whole thing. Ronda's gorge, Seville's Alcázar, Córdoba's Mezquita — these places shaped George R.R. Martin's imagination when he was constructing his fictional world. The show then brought cameras back to the source. When you walk through the Real Alcázar and recognize the courtyard from Season 5, you are standing inside the inspiration for the inspiration. The Moorish craftsmen who built the Alcázar for Pedro I in 1364 had no idea they were constructing the Water Gardens of a kingdom that wouldn't be imagined for another 625 years.

That's the kind of thing that makes Andalucía impossible to fully account for. The history keeps going.



Full Itinerary (if you want to skip to a particular leg):



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Wednesday, July 22, 2026

World Cup 2026 - The Wrap Up

Back on June 10th, before a single ball had been kicked, I made my predictions.

Spain to lift the trophy. (go back to that post if you don't believe me)

England to fall short.

Brazil to disappoint.

France to go deep.

Some of it was luck. Some of it was intuition. Some of it was educated guess (pats self on back). Most of it was simply looking beyond the shirt names and paying attention to how these teams actually played football.

For once, I got more right than wrong.

I'll take the victory lap.

A very small one. 

Because predicting a World Cup is never really the point.

Living one is.

Over the last month we've watched 104 matches spread across three countries, countless time zones, and enough emotional swings to require medical supervision.

We've seen teenagers announce themselves to the world.

Veterans say goodbye.

Nations dream.

Others implode.

We've watched underdogs become everybody's second favourite team until they knocked your team out.

That's football.

Spain deserved every inch of that trophy.


There was no miracle run.

No fortunate draw.

No referee carrying them over the line.

They simply became better every single game.

By the knockout rounds they weren't just winning. They were suffocating opponents, akin with how a cat plays with a hopeless mouse.

The midfield dictated tempo like a metronome.

The press arrived in waves.

Possession wasn't a statistic.

It was a weapon.

In many ways this felt like a spiritual successor to the Spain teams of 2008-2012. Not because they copied them (in my opinon, that generation had more talent, player for player), but because they rediscovered the same footballing principles.

Control.

Patience.

Technical excellence.

The beautiful game, beautifully played.

And a word for Luis de la Fuente.

What a tournament he managed.

The easy thing for a coach to do is pick his best eleven and stick with them. De la Fuente did the opposite. He watched. He adapted. He trusted form over reputation and made changes before they became obvious to everyone else.

Pedri started the tournament as the heartbeat of the team, but after another marathon season with Barcelona, the miles were beginning to show. He looked tired. Slow. So De la Fuente adjusted. In came Fabián Ruiz, and together with Rodri and Dani Olmo they turned Spain's midfield into a footballing Bermuda Triangle. Opposition attacks entered. The ball never came back out.

The same story unfolded at right back. Marcos Llorente was the incumbent, but after an uninspiring display against Cabo Verde, Pedro Porro got his chance. The rest, as they say, is history. Two goals later, nobody was asking where Llorente had gone.

Spain also lifted the trophy despite never really having all their weapons available. Lamine Yamal was clearly not fully fit for much of the tournament and never quite reached the levels we've become accustomed to. Nico Williams was battling fitness issues throughout, robbing Spain of some of the explosiveness that normally stretches defenses to breaking point. 

So not much of a wing play - which Spain is known for - without those two fully fit.

Ironically, that only made Spain lean even more heavily on what it does best: complete control of the midfield. If the wings couldn't blow teams away, the midfield simply suffocated them instead.

And then there was the number nine.

Mikel Oyarzabal had his moments.

Ferran Torres... well... Ferran was Ferran. One successful attempt out of twenty, usually accompanied by nineteen moments of collective head-in-hands frustration. Yet somehow, when it really mattered, he delivered. As they say, even a broken watch is right twice a day.

Imagine this team with Harry Kane.

Or Erling Haaland.

It's almost unfair to think about.

Spain weren't missing ideas. They were missing a ruthless finisher.

In the end, though, maybe that's exactly what made this team so special.

There wasn't one superstar carrying everyone else.

There wasn't one player you simply had to stop.

The star was the collective.

Because football, despite what social media sometimes tells us, is still a team sport.

Go figure.

But no World Cup belongs only to its champion.

We'll remember Morocco reminding everyone that 2022 wasn't a fluke.

We'll remember Norway proving that Scandinavian football has entered the stage in an imposing way.

We'll remember England once again discovering increasingly creative ways to make an entire nation reach for the antacids.

We'll remember Brazil still searching for an identity nearly fifteen years after their last truly dominant side.

We'll remember USA imploding after a strong start.

And Turkyie imploding before even getting started.

And Cabo Verde

And Germany. Poor Germany.

And we'll remember just how quickly reputations can change over the course of four weeks.

That's why we watch.

Not everything deserves applause.

The officiating was, frankly, all over the place.

One day VAR would spend four minutes drawing microscopic offside lines.

The next, obvious incidents were waved away without so much as a second glance.

The threshold for yellow cards changed from match to match.

Handball interpretations seemed to exist in parallel universes.

Players, coaches, broadcasters (even former referees) often struggled to explain why similar incidents produced completely different outcomes.

The technology isn't the problem anymore.

Consistency is.

For a competition that represents the pinnacle of football, the standards of refereeing still felt too dependent on who happened to have the whistle.

And don't even get me started on the "suspended" red card for Balogun. FIFA should be ashamed. In retrospect, the US would have probably been more alert with their goal-scorer missing

Then there's the elephant in the room.

Argentina.

No team generated stronger opinions.

Most admired them.

Some despised them.

The louder they won, the louder the criticism became.

Sound familiar?

It reminded me of the Tom Brady Patriots.

Everyone hated them. 

Were Argentina aggressive?

Of course.

They've always been.

Long before Messi.

Long before Scaloni.

Long before this generation.

Argentine football has never apologised for being emotionally charged, fiercely competitive and, at times, walking right up to the line.

Sometimes over it.

That edge is part of their footballing DNA.

You don't have to like it.

But pretending it suddenly appeared in 2026 ignores decades of history.

Having clueless "Instagram fans" point to that, with no knowledge of Argentinian football should be totally invalid. Yet, that's not the world we live in. I just choose to ignore them...

As for Lionel Messi...

What else is left to say?

Every World Cup seems to become another chapter in a story we keep telling ourselves is about to end.

And somehow it never quite does.

This tournament wasn't about goals.

Or assists.

Or statistics.

It was about gravity.

Wherever Messi walked, football followed.

Every touch changed the atmosphere inside the stadium.

Every substitution felt like the audience collectively wondering whether they'd just witnessed him for the final time.

We've become so accustomed to his genius that we risk forgetting how absurd it all really is.

Nearly two decades at the summit of world football.

Every expectation met.

Most exceeded.

Club football transformed.

International football conquered.

An entire generation inspired.

Children who first watched him in grainy YouTube clips are now bringing their own kids to stadiums to say, "That's Messi."

There will be other Ballon d'Or winners.

There will be other World Cup winners.

There may even be another player who scores more goals.

But there won't be another Lionel Messi.

Not like this.

Not for this long.

Not while carrying the weight of expectation from half the footballing world every single time he stepped onto the pitch.

Whether you're Argentine, Spanish, Barcelona, neutral   (or even one of those people who spent years insisting he was overrated) you witnessed something football has never seen before.

We're unlikely to see it again.

From my point of view, he WAS the best player of the tournament. 

Sure, Rodri got the trophy instead (with some merit, to a degree - and take that from a Spain fan)

But Messi carried Argentina to a another final, with 8 goals and 4 assists. And the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Mbappe was good, but he had other 3 lieutenants in support (none of which showed up when it mattered)

Haaland was prolific (but his only job - minimizing it, of course - was to stay up front and score goals)

So was Kane. 

Bellingham was actually impressive (a LOT more than he has been for Real Madrid all season). Until he wasn't.

So I believe Messi not getting the best player trophy was also something FIFA got wrong

Sure, he wasn't in the winning team after all, but Luka Modric in 2018 was not either (I'll stop showing off now). That trophy should take into acount the entirety of the tournament. Not just one game!

Personally?

This World Cup gave me memories I'll carry forever.

Watching Spain live in Atlanta against a spirited Cabo Verde (only game they didn't win)

Watching Spain again live in Dallas. With the added bonus of Ronaldo in tears on likely his last game for Portugal.

The endless ticket drama.

The conversations with strangers who became friends for ninety minutes.

The beers.

The songs.

The tension before kick-off.

The silence after missed chances.

The roar after goals.

The photographs.

The moments where thousands of people who couldn't even speak the same language somehow spoke football fluently.

Those are the things FIFA can't package.

They just happen.

Eventually another World Cup will arrive.

New stars.

New favourites.

New controversies.

New VAR debates.

New predictions.

Some of mine will undoubtedly age terribly.

That's part of the fun.

But 2026 reminded me why this tournament remains unlike anything else in sport.

For one month every four years, billions of people stop arguing about politics, work, deadlines and ordinary life...

...and start arguing about left backs, offside traps and whether that was really a penalty.

Honestly?

The world could use more of that.

Until 2030.

Gracias.

Gracias, España.

Gracias, Leo.

And thank you, football.

We'll do it all over again soon enough.

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Sunday, July 19, 2026

World Cup 2026 - The End!

One Last Goodbye


There comes a moment in every football lover's life when you realize you're not just watching a match anymore.

You're saying goodbye.

Not to a player. Not to a tournament.

To a piece of your own life.

For those of us who fell in love with football through Barcelona, Lionel Messi was never simply the greatest player we'd ever seen. He was the soundtrack to our weekends. The reason we rushed home before kickoff. The impossible made ordinary. The player who taught an entire generation that football wasn't just a game—it could be poetry.

We grew older together.

His impossible slaloms became our happiest memories. His celebrations became our celebrations. We measured time not in years, but in seasons. Guardiola. Wembley. Rome. Berlin. The Clásicos. The Ballons d'Or. The tears in 2021 when he left Barcelona. The tears in 2022 when he completed football. And now...

This.

One final World Cup.

The score almost doesn't matter.

Whether Spain lifted the trophy or Argentina had one last miracle, that's what history books will remember.

I'll remember something else.

I'll remember watching Messi walk off a World Cup pitch knowing that, for the first time in nearly twenty years, there won't be another one.

No next tournament.

No "one more chance."

Just memories.

As a Barça fan, my heart belongs to Spain's footballing philosophy. The passing. The patience. The courage to believe the ball should always be your best player. Watching this new Spanish generation lift the trophy feels like watching the philosophy of Cruyff continue to breathe through new lungs.

The future is in good hands.

But the future always comes with a price.

It asks us to let go of the past.

And that's the hardest part.

Because there will be other World Cups.

There will be new champions.

New stars. New heroes. New kids wearing No. 10 shirts in their backyards.

But there will never be another Lionel Messi.

One day, years from now, someone will ask us what it was like to watch him.

We'll smile.

We'll probably get emotional.

And we'll struggle to explain that it wasn't about the goals, or the assists, or the trophies.

It was about the feeling.

The feeling that every time he touched the ball, something impossible might happen.

How lucky were we to live through that?

The World Cup is over.

The stadiums will empty. The songs will fade. The flags will be folded away until 2030.

But some moments refuse to leave us.

Some players never truly retire.

They simply become memories that grow more beautiful with time.

Thank you, Spain, for reminding us why we fell in love with beautiful football.

Thank you, Argentina, for giving the greatest artist of our generation one final stage.

And thank you, Leo.

For filling our lives with moments we'll tell our children and grandchildren about.

For making us believe.

For making us dream.

For making grown men cry over a game.

Football will go on.

But a little piece of it leaves with you.

Gracias, Leo.

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Thursday, July 16, 2026

World Cup 2026 – The Final I (We) Secretly Wanted

Every World Cup tells a story.

Not just of champions.

Of generations.

Of careers.

Of countries that spend four years dreaming, only to discover that dreams have a ninety-minute expiration date.

By the time the semifinals arrive, tactics still matter.

Talent still matters.

But something else begins to take over.

Legacy.

Heart.

This week, we didn't just watch two football matches.

We watched four nations trying to write the chapter their supporters would remember for the rest of their lives.

One semifinal was won by intelligence.

The other by heart.

And somehow, both were beautiful.

Over two unforgettable afternoons, four outstanding teams reminded us why the World Cup isn't just the biggest tournament in football.

It's the greatest theatre in sport.

Spain 2 – France 1: The Art of Silence

Coming into the semifinal, France looked unstoppable. I was definitely concerned.

Their front four (Mbappé, Dembélé, Olise and Barcola) had terrorized the tournament, combining for 16 goals and 12 assists. Every opponent had asked the same question:

"How do you stop them?"

Spain never tried.

Instead...

...they stopped the ball from ever reaching them.

What Luis de la Fuente's midfield produced may have been the tactical performance of the tournament.

Rodri, Fabián Ruiz and Dani Olmo created a "Bermuda Triangle" where every French attempt simply vanished!

They didn't just control possession.

They controlled space.

Every passing lane into France's attackers disappeared.

Every transition was interrupted before it became dangerous.

Every time Mbappé looked up, another white shirt had quietly appeared between him and the goal.

And Rodri was literally everywhere!

France's Ferrari spent ninety minutes stuck in Dallas traffic.

It was mesmerizing.

For those who appreciate the sport, it was a tactical masterpiece brilliantly executed.

We've spent the early stages of the World Cup associating Spain with endless sideways passing that somehow resulted in very little.

Not anymore.

This Spain side still loves the ball.

The difference is they've remembered what it's for.

There was a confidence about them that reminded me of the great Spanish teams of 2008 through 2012. Not because they played the same way (that generation had more talent), but because they dictated the match on their terms.

France didn't suddenly become ordinary.

Spain simply made an extraordinary team look ordinary.

That may be the highest compliment you can pay them.

Argentina 2 – England 1: The Albiceleste Never Stop Believing

Twenty-four hours later, football reminded us there is more than one way to win.

Spain won with control.

Argentina won with chaos. 

And heart!

England had a plan: Score. Defend. Protect.

Tuchel gradually pulled his team deeper and deeper until, at times, it felt like England were playing with 11 defenders none 30 yeards away from Pickford.

Against almost anyone else, it probably would have worked. It did earlier against Mexico.

Against Argentina, it was merely delaying the inevitable.

There is something impossible to quantify about this team.

Talent?

Of course.

Experience?

Absolutely.

But neither explains what keeps happening.

They don't panic.

They don't accept defeat.

The clock isn't their enemy. It's simply another opponent to overcome.

This team simply refuses to believe the match is over until someone blows the final whistle.

Not the 85th minute.

Not the 90th.

Not when they're behind.

Not when the odds say otherwise.

Every loose ball is chased as though it's the last one they'll ever see.

Every tackle is celebrated.

Every recovery run is made at full speed.

Every minute feels like another opportunity instead of another obstacle.

England defended heroically.

Argentina believed relentlessly.

And once again...

Belief won.

One More Chapter for Messi

I've tried very hard throughout this tournament not to make every blog about Messi.

It's becoming increasingly difficult.

Not because of the goals.

Not because of the assists.

Not even because he produced another decisive moment when everyone in the stadium knew the ball was going to him anyway.

It's because we're watching something we'll never see again.

This is no longer about statistics.

It's about time.

There are only ninety minutes left.

Maybe one hundred and twenty.

Maybe penalties.

However Sunday's final unfolds...

That's it.

The last World Cup match of Lionel Messi's career.

One day, someone will ask us what it was like to watch him.

We'll mention the goals.

The passes.

The trophies.

But what we'll really remember is something harder to describe.

The way 80,000 people leaned forward every time he touched the ball.

The feeling that something extraordinary might happen...

...simply because he was on the pitch.

Some players become legends.

Very few become memories before they've even retired.

I was lucky enough to see him live in Rio (Maracana) in 2014, scoring against Bosnia. Then again, ten years later in Atlanta as Argentina beat Canada in Copa America. A third time for Argentina would have been "the charm", I just couldn't score a ticket on what was definitely the most sought after game in the entire tournament. Not unless I sold a kidney (which I almost did a couple of weeks earlier, to see my Spain take out Portugal). For a few hours I even lived with the hope that I might be able to get a decently priced ticket. But so did thw 20,000 or so fans that were left out of the stadium yesterday. 

It would have been poetic - to see the first and last World Cup game in Atlanta - but it just's wasn't to be.

Perhaps I'll have another shot at Messi live when Miami comes to play Atlanta United (did that last year as well)

For now, I stole a couple of shot here from a friend that WAS inside the stadium:

The Final We Secretly Wanted (unless you're a Real Madrid fan and all of a sudden you have to support either Messi or half the Barcelona team)

Every four years, the football gods write a script.

Sometimes it's predictable.

Sometimes it's cruel.

And every now and then...

...they absolutely nail it.

When this World Cup began, forty-eight nations arrived believing.

Some believed because they had history.

Some because they had talent.

Some simply because hope asks very little of reality.

One hundred and two matches later, only two dreams remain.

And somehow...

...they're the two that speak to everything I love about this sport.

Spain.

Not just a team, but an idea.

For twenty years they've insisted football can be won with intelligence rather than intimidation. That the ball should be cherished, not feared. That controlling a match isn't about possession statistics—it's about controlling your opponent's hope.

Against France, they produced ninety minutes that every football purist could appreciate.

They didn't outrun France.

They outthought them.

Every touch had purpose.

Every pass carried intent.

Every movement seemed to ask the same question:

"Can you keep up?"

France couldn't.

Not because they lacked talent.

Because Spain never allowed that talent to breathe.

Watching them felt strangely familiar.

It reminded us why so many of us fell in love with Barcelona.

With Xavi.

With Iniesta.

With Busquets.

Yes, with Messi too.

With the beautiful arrogance of believing the ball will always move faster than the player.

And then...

...there's Argentina.

Football has always struggled to explain Argentina.

They're rarely perfect.

Rarely comfortable.

Rarely calm.

They don't win because everything goes according to plan.

They win because they refuse to accept that the plan is over.

Every comeback feels inevitable.

Every setback feels temporary.

Every loose ball is chased as though an entire nation is running alongside them.

Against England, when most teams would have accepted defeat, Argentina simply... didn't.

The clock kept moving.

Their belief never did.

Maybe that's their greatest talent.

Not Messi.

Not the tactics.

Not the quality.

Belief.

An irrational, contagious belief that the next minute belongs to them.

And somehow...

...it usually does.

So here we are.

One finalist represents the football that taught many of us how to love the game.

The other reminds us why we love it.

One plays with breathtaking clarity.

The other with breathtaking heart.

One seeks to master the ball.

The other refuses to surrender the moment.

How lucky are we?

Whatever happens on Sunday, one truth is already certain.

Football wins.

One Last Prediction

Im my very first post, before the first ball was kicked, I picked Spain to win it all. I still think they might. (https://disdatdudder.blogspot.com/2026/06/world-cup-2026-my-predictions.html)

I've picked Spain and Argentina through every knockout round.

Somehow, they've kept making me look smarter than I really am.

So here goes one final time.

Argentina 2 – Spain 1 

Yes, I know it goes against my initial prediction, but based on what I've seen the last few weeks, I now think Argentina will win back to back, something that has not happened since before I was born

Not because Argentina are the better team.

Truthfully...

I'm not sure they are.

Spain may well have been the most complete side in this tournament.

But World Cups aren't always won by the best team.

Sometimes they're won by the team that needs the moment just a little bit more.

Also...

Albiceleste have the supporters. Atlanta went crazy for two days. Thousands partied day and night. They will be a big factor in the final. Spain's supporters - at least what I saw in Atlanta and Dallas - more subdued. They will be entirely overwhelmed.

That factor alone will tilt the outcome of the match.

If Argentina lift the trophy on Sunday, it won't just be another star above the crest.

It will be the final brushstroke on one of football's greatest masterpieces.

And if Spain spoil the ending?

Then perhaps that's fitting too.

Because football has never promised fairy tales.

Only unforgettable stories.

Either way...

We're down to one match.

Ninety minutes.

Maybe a few more.

Enjoy every second.

For me, it will be bittersweet either way.

I'll be happy if Messi retires [from international football] at the top. 

I'll be sad if he stops short of another World Cup. 

I'll be happy if Lamine Yamal picks up where Messi leaves off. 

Not so sad if Spain lose. Their young stars will definitely get it in 4 year's time. 

Despite it all, I'll continue to be a Barça fan.

On game day, I'll need some "liquid courage" to turn off my brain and just enjoy the game with my heart! Which should not be a problem, as I've stocked up on some good Albariño and Malbec!

Vamos Argentina! 

Vamos España!

Vamos Carajo!!!

*         *         *         *         *

PS - No, before you get all worked up, I did not forget about the 3rd place "final". But I wish FIFA would scrap it. There's no such thing at the Euros. Frankly, the last thing the two semifinal losers want to do is determine which one is less/more of a loser! It's a game not many people care for anymore (including most of the players). When you've been so close to making the final, this game is just another emotional drain on already spent psyches. No, thank you. Just give both a 3rd place medal and let them enjoy some time on the beach...

I will however, have some fish and chips, a cold ale, and root for the Brits. Without them, none of this would have happened. And my life would be meaningless 😜. 

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Monday, July 13, 2026

World Cup 2026 – The Final Chapter: Glory, Heartbreak, and One Last Dance

And then there were four!

What a weekend! More drama, more controversy, but my semifinal picks survived.

Morocco's magical run finally met the immovable object known as France. Clinical. Efficient. Very French. And over in just 6 minutes in the second half.

Spain and Belgium delivered exactly what everyone expected: ninety-plus minutes of two outstanding teams refusing to blink. Spain blinked last. Merino, again the hero.

Norway's remarkable tournament came to an end against England, but Erling Haaland reminded everyone why defenders wake up in cold sweats. And Bellingham somehow continues to deliver when it matters.

Then there was Argentina and Switzerland.

What should have been a comfortable evening became yet another reminder that nothing involving Argentina can ever be simple. Because why win quietly when mild cardiac arrest is an option?



The Semifinals – Heavyweights Only

By now, the tournament had distilled itself into exactly what FIFA executives dream about:

France.

Spain.

England.

Argentina.

Four giants.

Four former champions. All hoping to add a star to their jersey.

Four fan bases already planning the parade.

France looks every bit the powerhouse, but Spain reminds us that possession football still has a pulse, as long as you occasionally remember to shoot. I'm just hoping they will find another gear. Or that De La Fuente has something new in his bag of tricks.

Frankly, Spain looked tired. Slow. Lacking that sharpness in the final third. 

France is the favorite for many, but I'm sticking with España!

The other semifinal has everything.

England trying to bury decades of heartbreak. To avenge "the hand of God"!

Argentina trying to extend Messi's impossing career by just one more game.

Millions watching.

Half of them hidden behind the sofa. 

Only one will survive. 

You all know who I'm rooting for!

England have the legs.

Argentina have Messi.

Sometimes that's all the analysis you need.

The longer this stays level, the more it tilts toward Argentina.

Because if there's one player on Earth you trust with one moment...

It's him.

The Final?

If my predictions hold...

Spain vs Argentina.

A match for the true beautiful football fan. Unless you're also a Barcelona fan, in which case either winner will break my heart.

Will it happen?

Probably not. 

France are more likely to push through. Argentina is finally against a worthy opponent. At this stage, it only takes a minor slip. Or a brief moment of inspiration.

Because the only thing more unpredictable than the World Cup...

...is me trying to predict it.

See you after the semifinals!

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Wednesday, July 8, 2026

World Cup 2026 – Round of 16: No More Pretenders

The Round of 16 is where the World Cup grows up.

The group stage is fun. There are surprises, underdogs, calculators, and enough permutations to make a mathematician reach for a drink. But once the knockout rounds begin, none of that matters.

Win.

Or go home.

The margin for error shrinks to about the width of a VAR offside line.

Canada vs. Morocco

Canada had the "next door neighbor" home crowd.

Morocco had the better football team.

The Atlas Lions have officially graduated from "nice little story" to "the team nobody wants to see on the other side of the bracket." They were simply too much for the co-host. More organized, more dangerous, and seemingly one step ahead all afternoon.

The Cinderella story continues. She's just wearing a different jersey.

Paraguay vs. France

Paraguay apparently decided that subtlety was overrated.

If they couldn't outplay France, they would out-muscle them.

To the referee's credit (or depending on your allegiance, his everlasting shame) he let plenty go. Until the soft penalty.

Was it enough contact? Probably.

Did France need the help? Probably not.

Will Paraguay still be talking about it in 2034? Almost certainly.

France advance. Paraguay leave wondering what might have been.

Brazil vs. Norway

I'll admit it...

I called this one.

Not because I'm a football genius (although I have my moments), but because this Brazil team has never convinced me. The yellow shirt still carries enormous weight. The aura doesn't.

Norway, meanwhile, look like they were assembled in a Scandinavian laboratory. Big. Disciplined. Organized. Clinical.

Twenty years ago, Brazil going out in the Round of 16 would have shaken the football world.

Today?

It's disappointing.

It's also not that surprising.

That may be the biggest indictment of Brazilian football today.

Mexico vs. England

If someone asks me six months from now what the game of the tournament was...

This one will be on my shortlist.

Goals.

Drama.

Momentum swings.

England down to ten men.

Mexico refusing to die.

It had everything except a functioning defibrillator for England supporters.

England somehow survived. Mexico somehow didn't.

Nobody who watched this one came away feeling short-changed.

Portugal vs. Spain

After my last post, I confidently declared that FIFA wouldn't get another penny from me.

Then Spain drew Portugal.

In Dallas.

Apparently my principles have an 800-mile radius.

So yes... FIFA won again.

The atmosphere inside AT&T Stadium was absolutely worth the trip. Tens of thousands of Spanish and Portuguese (ahem, Ronaldo) supporters turning Texas into the Iberian Peninsula for one night was something special.

Enjoying this as a father-daughter trip on her birtday (and her first live World Cup game) qualifies as one of those Master Card "priceless" moments, no matter what the actual credit card statement shows.


The match itself?

Good.

Not great.

With that much talent on the field, I expected a heavyweight fight.

Instead, we got a high-level chess match.

Spain finally looked like Spain. Quick passing, relentless movement, methodical, but lacking sharpness. And, just to keep my blood pressure in check, there were a couple of moments that reminded me why cardiologists stay in business.

In the end, I wasn't complaining.

A Spain victory over Portugal is always a good day.

The other story, of course, was Cristiano Ronaldo.

If this truly was his final match for Portugal, then we've witnessed the end of one of the greatest international careers the game has ever seen.

Even as a Spain supporter, that deserves a standing ovation.

USA vs. Belgium

The United States didn't just shoot themselves in the foot.

They emptied the entire magazine.

They didn't lose the game. They donated it.

Belgium were excellent, but the Americans made life far too easy with a self-inflicted collapse that snowballed in spectacular fashion.

Then there was the Balogun saga.

FIFA managed to perform an even rarer feat than overturning a red card. They made almost everyone equally confused.

The suspension was lifted.

The debates exploded.

Belgium won 4-1 anyway.

After all that controversy, it ended up changing absolutely nothing. And Balogun seemed to take the suspension serious (even though he was on the field) by doing nothing all night...

Sometimes football has a wicked sense of humor.

Argentina vs. Egypt

Supporting Spain and Argentina in the same tournament has done absolutely nothing positive for my cardiovascular health.

Egypt refused to read the script.

Argentina looked vulnerable.

The ref, controversial, especially for Egypt fans.

Messi looked emotional.

And then, after one of the wildest matches of the tournament, there he was... in tears after the final whistle.

Relief.

Joy.

Exhaustion.

Probably all three.

I completely understood.

Although I managed to keep my own tears to a respectable minimum.

I almost went to the game, but prices were not in line with the alarm sounds coming from my credit report. Obviously, it would have been worth it. I lived it vicariously through my daughter, who was there to experience live the whole emotional rollercoaster!

Switzerland vs. Colombia

Some matches deserve penalties.

This was one of them.

Neither side deserved to lose in ninety minutes. 

Or after one hundred and twenty.

But football is cruel like that.

Switzerland held their nerve.

Colombia didn't.

Penalty shootouts remain football's cruelest invention.

Unless, of course, your team wins them.

Then they're a wonderful tradition that should never change.

A Word About the Officials

The referees had... a week.

Some performances were excellent.

Others reminded us why refereeing remains football's most thankless profession.

The France penalty will be debated for a while.

England-Mexico seemed determined to test the referee's cardiovascular fitness almost as much as the players'.

And VAR continued its quest to prove that, despite having forty-seven camera angles and a team of officials in a climate-controlled room, confusion remains very much achievable.

Technology has improved many things.

Consensus isn't one of them.

And Then There Were Eight

Now this is a World Cup quarterfinal lineup.

Heavyweights.

Dark horses.

Old rivals.

New stories.

Morocco continue crashing the party.

Norway have announced themselves as legitimate contenders.

Spain are still alive.

Argentina are still alive.

Which means my stress level has officially doubled.

Quarterfinal Predictions

First, I should pat myself on the shoulder. In my last post, I only missed two predictions. Colombia vs. Switzerland was always going to be a toss-up. US - Belgium? I don't know... perhaps too emotional on that one. Although the Americans simply sent on an "entirely different" team.

So now:

France vs. Morocco – France... but only just.

Spain vs. Belgium – Spain, because I'm biased. Also because I think they're peaking at exactly the right time

England vs. Norway – England. By the slightest of edges. Although Haaland seemes unstoppable. He will score for sure. Question is, will England score more than he will?

Argentina vs. Switzerland – Argentina. But not before taking several years off my life expectancy.

Eight teams remain.

My two favorites are still alive.

My wallet is lighter.

My blood pressure is higher.

And somehow, despite everything I've written about FIFA over the past month...

I'd do it all again.

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Saturday, July 4, 2026

World Cup 2026 - The Round of 32: The Heavyweights Survive... Mostly (and Barely)

The group stage is where dreams are born. The knockout stage is where most of them die.

And the inaugural World Cup Round of 32? It delivered exactly what FIFA had hoped for: drama, surprises, heartache, and enough extra time and penalty shootouts to keep cardiologists employed for another generation.

The Expanded World Cup Is Working

Let's start here. The doomsayers said 48 teams would dilute the tournament. Instead, it has given us something precious: more stories.

Because without expansion, there is no Cabo Verde.

The tiny island nation that many casual fans couldn't find on a map took Argentina to extra time. They drew Spain. They made Lionel Messi and company sweat. Their goalkeeper, Vozinha, became an overnight folk hero. They reminded us that football isn't just played with tactical systems, billion-euro academies, and data analysts. Sometimes it's played with heart. And occasionally, heart is enough to make the giants wobble.

Cabo Verde may be going home, but they leave with something bigger than a Round of 16 ticket: they leave with everyone's respect.

So here we go, match by match:

Cabo Verde and the Beauty of the Impossible

Argentina are through.

But that's almost beside the point.

Because for 120 glorious minutes, a nation of just over half a million people looked the reigning world champions straight in the eye and refused to blink.

Cabo Verde didn't park the bus. They didn't show up simply to exchange shirts with Messi and ask for autographs. They came to play. To compete. To believe.

And for long stretches, they made Argentina look uncomfortable, ordinary, even vulnerable.Cabral's goal was applauded by Dibu Martinez himself. Then he promptly ran over to the stands for an amotional hug with his significant other. Unscripted. Genuine. Emotional.

This is why the World Cup matters.

Every four years, a tiny underdog nation gets to stand on the same field as a giant and say, "Why not us?"

Most of the time, Goliath survives.

This time, Goliath survived too.

But David left with something equally valuable: the admiration of an entire footballing world.

Argentina move on.

Cabo Verde go home.

Yet years from now, when people remember this tournament, they won't remember that Argentina won.

They'll remember that, for one magical night in Miami, a little island in the Atlantic made the world believe in impossible things again.

Auf Wiedersehen, Germany

And then there was Germany.

Another tournament, another early exit.

Paraguay sent the four-time world champions packing on penalties, and suddenly the questions become unavoidable. Was this merely a bad tournament? Or has Germany's decline from the relentless machine of 2014 become something more structural?

Either way: Auf Wiedersehen, Germany.

The Mannschaft used to arrive at World Cups with an air of inevitability. Lately, they arrive carrying baggage.

Tot ziens, Netherlands

The Dutch won't be joining us either.

Morocco followed up their magical 2022 run by knocking out another European heavyweight, proving that their success wasn't a one-off fairy tale but the result of years of investment and development.

So: Tot ziens, Oranje.

The Netherlands once again played lovely football in stretches and once again leave earlier than their talent suggests they should.

A familiar script.

Croatia and the Cruelty of Football


No team understands the cruelty of knockout football quite like Croatia.

A late equalizer, extra-time drama, and then the heartbreak of seeing a potential comeback erased by technology's cold precision. The margin was literally hair-thin!!!

Cheers to my friend (and guy a share a birthday with!) for the Portugal win. Come Monday, we may no longer be friends. At least not for a while. We-ve done this on and off after many El Classico 😏😁. We'll be fine...

Portugal survived. Croatia didn't.

And with it, the end of the road for a terrific generation, chief among them, Luka Modrić.

What a player.

No World Cup trophy, but that somehow feels irrelevant. He leaves behind something more difficult to achieve: universal admiration.

The little magician from Zadar gave us two decade of elegance, intelligence, and resilience. Football will miss him.

Belgium's Annual Chaos Continues

If there were a trophy for "Most Entertainingly Dysfunctional Team," Belgium would be perennial favorites.

Just when you think they're done, they pull off another crazy comeback and survive. Their golden generation may be fading, but their capacity for drama remains elite.

Belgium don't do easy.

England: The Art of Looking Unconvincing and Advancing Anyway

Some teams dominate.

Some teams entertain.

England simply... advance.

Not elegantly. Not convincingly. But effectively. Harry Cane saved them again.

The Three Lions scraped through once again, joining the long tradition of tournament teams that somehow keep progressing despite never quite looking like genuine contenders. Brazil had a bit of that same energy this round as well, needing to dig deep against Japan rather than steamroll them.

Tournament football has a funny way of rewarding pragmatism over aesthetics.

Still, if you're an England supporter, you'd probably prefer fewer nail-biters.

Then again, where's the fun in that?

Spain Shift Into Another Gear

The group stage version of Spain was very good.

The Round of 32 version looked downright frightening.

Austria were dispatched with a level of comfort that bordered on disrespectful. The midfield controlled everything, the press suffocated, the attack flowed, and the defense once again looked impenetrable.

This is beginning to resemble a team that knows exactly when to peak.

And that's a dangerous thing.

Spain suddenly look like a side that can beat anyone, in any style, on any stage.

The road only gets tougher from here, but for the first time in this tournament, it feels like La Roja have moved from "one of the favorites" to "the team everyone else wants to avoid."

The Rest of the Round of 32

A World Cup isn't won in the glamour fixtures alone.

Canada Keeps Making History

Canada's 1-0 win over South Africa won't make any all-time highlight reels, but that's the point. Tournament football is often about surviving, not sparkling.

The Canadians defended well, managed the game, and quietly marched into the Round of 16. There is something very un-Canadian about their growing ruthlessness. It's almost… European.

Brazil Win, But Don't Convince

Brazil beat Japan 2-1, but this wasn't vintage Seleção.

Japan led. Brazil wobbled. Then the yellow shirts did what the yellow shirts tend to do: they found another gear just in time.

The concern for Brazil is that this has happened a few times now. The aura remains, but the invincibility? Not so much.

France Are Beginning to Look Terrifying

Three goals against Sweden. Another brace for Mbappé. Another statement performance.

This French side has reached that dangerous phase where they appear to be operating in second gear while scoring at will. Depth everywhere, pace everywhere, and perhaps the most terrifying player on the planet leading the line.

France are no longer one of the favorites.

They may be the favorites.

Mexico's Party Continues

The co-hosts beat Ecuador 2-0 and now get the prize for their efforts: England.

The atmosphere in Mexico City for that one may register on the Richter scale.

England might have the better squad. They definitely won't have the crowd.

Good luck, lads.

The United States Are Dreaming Again

The United States beat Bosnia and Herzegovina 2-0 and, more importantly, looked like they belonged.

The crowds are massive. The confidence is growing. They even scored with one man down. The team appears organized and fearless.

Belgium await, which feels like one of those games that could either become an American sporting memory for the ages… or end in glorious heartbreak.

Either way, it's appointment television.

Switzerland Finally Win a Knockout Match

The Swiss waited 88 years for a World Cup knockout victory.

Eighty-eight.

Then they calmly beat Algeria 2-0.

Swiss football in a nutshell: no drama, no fuss, just quiet competence and an excellent watch collection.

Colombia and Ghana Deliver the Kind of Match We Love

One goal separated them.

One moment.

One lapse.

And Colombia are through.

Ghana bow out having once again contributed to the entertainment value of the World Cup, something they've been doing rather reliably since 2006.

What's Next?

The Round of 32 gave us exactly what the expanded format promised: more nations with a chance to dream, more stories, and just enough chaos to remind us why we love this sport.

But now comes the hard part.

The romance starts to fade.

The margins get thinner.

The contenders separate from the pretenders.

And somewhere out there, another giant is preparing to pack its bags.

The World Cup always does this.

It builds your hopes up… and then, eventually, breaks your heart.

My Predictions for the Round of 16 

Now the real tournament begins.

Canada vs Morocco

Morocco have been here before. They know how to suffer, defend, and scrape a win. They play a dynamic style of football where the player with the ball always finds 3-4 teammates that move to an empty space ready to pounce. They will be too much for Canada.

Paraguay vs France

Paraguay's reward for eliminating Germany is… Mbappé. That's just cruel. End of story.

Brazil vs Norway

Norway can hurt anybody with their physicality and directness. Most people pick Brazil here. I'm going with power over flair. In my younger years I used to love Brazil. The Brazil of Socrates, Zico, Falcao, and later Ronaldinho. This Brazil is no longer that. Nowhere near. And the Haaland story continues. Messi and Mbappe need a golden boot contender.

Mexico vs England

This feels like the trap game of the round.

Mexico City. Host nation. Ferocious atmosphere. Altitude advantage.

And yet England keep scraping through. They will do so again, probably in extra time

Portugal vs Spain

Circle this one.

The Iberian Derby.

Portugal's experience against Spain's rhythm and youthful exuberance.

My heart says Spain.

My head also says Spain. Just not as loudly.

I hope I will survive the emotional rollercoaster, as I will be in Arlington to see it in person!

United States vs Belgium

Belgium are chaos incarnate. In theory, there is enough talent there to edge this one. But the US have the home field advantage and have been playing serious football. Balogun is a huge miss for them

I wouldn't be remotely surprised by penalties. Belgium to lose, mostly because they don't deserve to be advancing thus far.

Prediction: Belgium 2-1

Argentina vs Egypt

Egypt have already overachieved. Did not show much against Australia. Argentina have Messi.

That usually settles things.

And after the Cabo Verde cold shower, the Albiceleste will adjust.

Still looking for a ticket, here in Atlanta, if anyone offers... 

Switzerland vs Colombia

The sneaky good game of the round.

Swiss organization versus Colombian flair.

I'm taking the South Americans.

And Then There Were Eight...

The expanded World Cup has given us underdogs, surprises, and more stories than we know what to do with.

But now comes the part where legends are made.

Or broken.

By late Tuesday, eight more nations will be gone.

And somewhere, another country's collective blood pressure will have reached medically inadvisable levels.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

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