The Cup: Half-Empty

Lionel Messi, at 39, played an astonishing 120 minutes of football in the World Cup final tonight. In addition to losing the game 1-0, as team captain he led his Argentinian team and maybe his nation into ignominy.

In an absolutely brutal display, his team was not only outplayed to an embarrassing degree by the Spanish side, but earned the disrespect of much of the global audience by playing in a completely undisciplined and thuggish manner that was not only unsporting but also dangerous.

If you look up the play that earned Enzo Fernández his second yellow card and ejection from the game in the 93rd minute, you will see a man take out another player in a way that suggests that if the rumours of preferential treatment by officials are not true, that at least he believed them.

Brutal fouling, dirty play, and cheap shots that the Argentinian fans describe as ‘passionate’, ‘spirited’, or ‘part of the (South American) game have followed La Albicelestes throughout this tournament, despite having one of the easier pools and even paths to the final, particularly in their match against Egypt.

Even worse, after the final whistle, ARG player Nahuel Molina took a swing at .Spanish captain Rodri as he trotted past to celebrate with his teammates, and I think he connected. Rodri turned around to confront Molina, there were words, then shoves, a scrum formed and then Leandro Paredes jumped in, shoving, throat punching, throwing a second Spanish player down to the ground and got the game’s second red card for his troubles. (Fun fact: if the six red cards doled out at World Cup finals over a near-century, three of them belong to Argentina…)

And then, during the trophy ceremony, the Argentines appeared to turn their backs on Spain as they hoisted the trophy - truly classless.

It’s a sad way to end Messi’s legacy as the dominant player of the last decade and some, but I have no sympathy for the man. On top of him personally riding Jude Bellingham out on the sidelines in a headlock worthy of a steer wrestler at the Calgary Stampede during the semifinal against England, he tried to get Spanish player Marc Cucurella sent off under FIFA’s new rule prohibiting mouth covering during confrontations (a way to punish players trying to conceal racist attacks on opponents).

The video makes it abundantly clear that Cucurella was only pointing to his lips, not covering his mouth, but Messi’s hand shot up in a callous attempt to turn the situation to his advantage, which, blessedly, didn’t work.

Gracias to Spain for playing a great match and restoring some faith in football, if not FIFA.

Messi can cry himself to sleep on a pillow filled with money, and you know what? I kind of hope he does.

The Cup, Half-Full (2026)

My enjoyment of this year's World Cup, like most of the sporting events I bother to follow, is a mass of contradictions.

I hated watching Canada lose to Morocco, a solid, solid team.

I loved Canada not only making it out of group but into the Round of 16 for the first time! 
And playing the best 45 minutes in the history of the CANMNT for the first 45 minutes. This will not be our last World Cup!

I hated watching Canadian mid-fielder, Ismail Koné, get his leg broken after a flawed tackle attempt by a player from Qatar. 

I loved seeing that same player, bereft at the consequences of his action, being consoled by a Canadian player before being eject from the game. (The Qatari player, Qassim Madibo, not only visited the Candian locker room to apologize immediately after the game, but visited Koné in the hospital the following day.)

I hate having 48 teams in the round robin (with the possibility to expand the tournament to 64 teams by 2030).

I loved having Cabo Verde, a tiny group of islands off the coast of Africa with half a million souls and a 40-year-old goalkeeper, make it out of group undefeated and hold the reigning champs, Argentina to only a 3-2 victory in the round of 16.

I hate the corruption of international organized sport, which seems so endemic, being made so blatantly visible by Trump's demand that a red-carded American player be allowed to compete, and FIFA capitulating.

I love that Belgium, a weaker team on paper and not having a great tournament up to that point, beat the USA in a great match, and that the red-carded player made a point of shaking hands with the Belgian coach.

I hate knowing that, of his own free will, English captain Harry Kane played a round of golf with Donald Trump.

I loved seeing Jude Bellingham score a brace of goals in Estadio Azteca, perhaps the most intmidating staidum in the world for a visiting team, leading ENG to a thrilling  victory (seriously, the match to beat for years to come in my eyes). 

(Even better, after the Congo game Bellingham stopped to speak to a disabled reporter from Venezuela that almost everyone else in the tunnel ignored, and in Spanish, sent well wishes to the people there struggling after an earthquake.)

And despite his Norwegian side losing to England yesterday, I loved learning that Erling Haaland exists. 

My Instagram and Threads feeds are filled with this enormous lug, this Shrek-adjacent behemoth who, as near as I can tell, is winning the hearts of millions simply by being a hard-playing, decent human who appears to be one of the few millionaires playing professional football to actually be enjoying himself while respecting others.

And as long as we are talking about Norway, let's give it up for their brilliant team kit, unequalled team photos, and most importantly, their Viking row, hands down the best fan movement since the Mexican wave.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5WUEqEkQZU

In the end, bringing the four corners of the globe together in sport will always be problematic - there is too much money, too many problematic personalities, too much greed for it to be otherwise. But despite this, the positive moments and quality individuals continue to make it a worthwhile endeavour, at least for me.

Still More Monsters of the Manual

Even without comparing it to subsequent editions, the very first Monster Manual for what was then called Advanced Dungeons & Dragons was simply not a very good book. There are some typos and formatting issues and such, but the biggest reason is the art. 

Much of it is just not very good, drawn by seemingly whomever TSR could get to sketch something up by the deadline for the first-ever hardcover D&D book. There are exceptions (nearly everything by David Trampier, for instance), and a lot of entries have no art whatsoever, which is probably (?) worse.

But how many nerds like me did that 1977 book draw in and then never let go? Many of those images are still conjured up behind my eyes by the mere mention of the names of these esoteric creations, regardless of their quality.

And over the four decades I've played D&D, I have always sought to fill in the corners with some of the more iconic monsters and some other personal favourites, many times just because of the evocative memories of the art that accompanied them.

Most recently I added a displacer beast (mentioned in my 2020 post about iconic monsters in miniature) as well as a pair of perytons - harpy-like stags that not only consume human hearts, but whose shadows reveal the silhouette of a man and not a beast (tragically irreproducible in miniature form).

It's been six years now since that monster post, and I have been filling out the corners of my Monster Manual collection:

There are a number of things preventing me from having a truly comprehensive index of MM miniatures (lack of funds, time, storage space and interest to name but a few), but adding a few classics like these has been pretty rewarding - even for someon who only plays D&D in person perhaps a dozen times a year!