This has been the World Cup of characters, bold fashion statements, and bantz: we’ve had Thomas Tuchel rubber-banding around the England dressing room like a teen at his first all-ages rave, and Iván Barton booting Miguel Almirón from the field as if sentencing him to death. Mauricio Pochettino and his $500 overshirt have brought fresh energy and inspiration to the wardrobes of convex middle-aged men the world over. Jokester Javier Aguirre’s avuncular “fuck you” at Anthony Gordon has pushed bilateral relations between Mexico and England to their warmest point since the British-brokered peace that ended the Pastry War of 1839.
Erling Haaland has shown it’s possible to be Jaws in front of goal and Scooby Doo once the ball is in the back of the net, that there’s nothing about football so important that it can’t make way for some silly bit of online comedy. Even Harry Kane, a man who often seems like he was media trained in the womb, has squeaked thrillingly, if briefly, to life.
