Inside the corporate monstrosity hides something that’s actually quite lovely and joyful and organic. It’s burrowed down real deep, beneath layers and layers of maximalist nonsense. But it’s in there somewhere, a good soccer tournament, cloaked by all the avarice and bombast, in spite of itself and those responsible for it.
It’s true: the Club World Cup and its new summer format haven’t been all bad. The group stage, which concluded on Thursday, offered fun and competitive teams. It served up a few genuinely enthralling games, especially in the clashes between the European and South American sides. The fans of some teams – the indefatigable singing and chanting of Boca Juniors’ and River Plate’s barras; the churning sea of red hopping up and down for the Urawa; the clapping and singing Wydad fans; the drumming and dancing Brazilians crisscrossing the nation in the wake of their four thriving clubs – injected the proceedings with exactly the kind of summer tournament folklore and fever you should hope for. We’ve even seen some kit design excellence – thank you, Botafogo.
