When I went to bed on Sunday, football commentators were killing time waiting for the England match by talking about Donald Trump, Fifa president Gianni Infantino and Folarin Balogun’s red card, waived for the US because of reasons. None of the available words – “unacceptable”, “cheaty”, “absolutely stinks” – covered it. There’s no chance of Trump’s US playing nicely in an international tournament, especially when it’s hosting most of it. Does the US just get the trophy, whatever happens? Do they fashion two trophies, one for the winner and one for most winning host?
It was all a big deal for geopolitics, but for the more immediate matter of how to take seriously a competition in which there were no longer rules, it wasn’t the end of the world. Whatever happened, it definitely wouldn’t end in a showdown between the US and the UK, fixed in advance by a president determined to celebrate 250 years in style. Because, by tomorrow, I thought, England would be out. If we’ve learned anything from the past decade, it’s not to go to sleep waiting for news. Whatever the dawn breaks over will be bad.
