Welcome to Shelter’s soccer issue. I make no apologies, because it’s all I can think about right now.
Yes, that’s partly on the heels of my pilgrimage to see Arsenal — who, if you haven’t heard, became the English champions on Tuesday for the first time in 22 years. (And no, Zohran and I will not stop talking about it.)
But it’s also because the World Cup arrives in North America next month, and I have a terrible dilemma, which is that I have a 7-year-old son, and he is of the perfect age to fall in love the world’s beautiful game.
1994 — when the World Cup last came to these shores — turned out to be the foundation for my family’s love of the game. My dad took my two brothers to see Brazil 3 - Netherlands 2 in Dallas.
There were solo flair goals from Romario and Bebeto. Bergkamp’s scrappy bullet to kick off an improbable comeback by the Dutch team. Winter’s header from corner. Branco’s laser-guided, heat-seeking missile of a free kick from miles out. The baby celebration (it’s that thing when three Brazilians make a cradle with their arms and rock it back and forth in sync in a tribute to Bebeto’s two-day-old son.)
Sadly, I was not invited to this game, probably because I was 5 but also due to the handsome $35 it cost for tickets. That would be $75 in today’s money — and practically free compared to the extortionate prices they’re charging this year: $160 for the worst seats and an average of $1,600.
So there’s the dilemma: I want to give my son the gift that was given to his uncles. But how can I possibly support an organization, known for its rampant corruption, that is now baldly shaking down its loyal fans? Pantomime villain Gianni Infantino makes us nostalgic for the disgraced Sepp Blatter in the way that “FIFA Peace Prize-winner” Donald Trump makes George Bush look like an amusing court jester.
The beautiful game has become a prize pig for fattening, while its propagandizes us with images of Ronaldinho rising from the favelas, Maradona transcending La Boca, and a kid with no ball making his own out of scavenged plastic bags.
It is a terrible shame that the sport that gave us 20+ years of Messi vs. Ronaldo — and Argentina’s unbelievable arc from 2014’s heartbreak to 2022’s thrilling triumph — has been overrun by Arabian sportswashing and human-rights violations.
There is no resolution to this letter because my there is no resolution in my fandom. My love of the game is in conflict with my disappointment with the greed and graft of its stewards.
If you, like me, are infected by football fever and doomed to sit with these contradictions, all I can say is that you have an eventful summer ahead. Here’s what’s coming up:
On Sunday: Pep Guardiola, the greatest manager of all time, bids farewell to the Premier League. And Tottenham Hotspur get booted out of the league at last.
On May 30: Arsenal take on Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League Final (see the links for a recap of each of their journeys so far)
And on June 11: The Mundial kicks off. Here’s everything you need to know about the favorites and dark horses who could win it all. (France, on its revenge tour, has my pick.)
Backyard Legends
Directed by Mark Molloy for Adidas
Best line: “If they can’t win, I’ll play.”
My take: They don’t usually make them like they used to. This one breaks that trend. Honorable mentions to the greatest commercials of my youth:
Soccer’s heavy boredom by Brian Phillips for Grantland
My take: Brian is my favorite soccer writer, and it makes me sad he doesn’t do it as much any more. I remember this line from his coverage of the 2018 World Cup: “Soccer is beautiful because soccer is hard. Most popular sports artificially enhance the human body. Soccer diminishes it. Instead of giving players a bat, a racket, protective armor, or padded gloves—tools that allow players to reach farther, return a ball faster, absorb harder hits, or hit harder themselves—soccer takes away players’ hands.” But this article, from peak Grantland in 2012, is him at his very best. The ball was huge when he wrote this.
Best line: “I want you to like soccer if you don’t already, so I probably shouldn’t admit this. But the game gets in your head. Following soccer is like being in love with someone who’s (a) gorgeous, (b) fascinating, (c) possibly quite evil, and (d) only occasionally aware of your existence. There’s a continuous low-grade suffering that becomes a sort of addiction in its own right. You spend all your time hoping they’ll notice you, and they never do, and that unfulfilled hope feels like your only connection to them. And then one day they look your way, and it’s just, pow. And probably they just want help moving, and maybe they call you Josie instead of Julie, but still. It keeps you going. And as irrational as it sounds, you wouldn’t trade this state of being for a life of quiet contentment with someone else. All you could gain would be peace of mind, and you’d lose that moment when the object of your fixation looked at you and you couldn’t feel your face. Soccer is, in other words, both romantic and tragic, and the soft agony of a bad game is an inescapable part of this.”
The 20 best World Cup jerseys of all time via IndieGround Design
My take: There aren’t actually any good lines in this one; it’s all about the visual beauty of retro kits.
The good news about extortionary World Cup ticket prices by Will Leitch for New York Magazine
Best line: “The World Cup Final on July 19 will be the most expensive sporting event in human history. (The get-in price is currently more than $9,000 with the average ticket about $13,000; one reseller is offering four seats for $2.2 million.) But every match is absurdly priced now. The cheapest price for any game — there will be 104 — is $162 with the average ticket price landing at about $1,600. The draconian FIFA tier-pricing structure is deceptive at best and outright fraud at worst. Even New Jersey Transit took a hit after reports came out that it was charging more than $150 round-trip for its train from NYC to the final in East Rutherford and back, a journey that usually costs about 13 bucks. NJ Transit eventually lowered the price to $105, which didn’t help its cause much.”
Home tour
Glennon Doyle and Abby Wambach Share Their California Home
By Ariel Foxman for Architectural Digest
Best line: “The other day, our youngest had friends over,” says Glennon Doyle, the best-selling author and popular podcast host. “And I overheard one of them say, ‘Your house smells so good, and it’s so cozy,’ and I was like, I could die after that. I was so happy.” Doyle’s wife, Abby Wambach, a soccer deity who also happens to be a best-selling author and popular podcast host, clarifies “Yeah, it smells like candles and incense.”
Seth Putnam is an editor and writer in Chicago. He lives with his wife, son, and daughter in a 1920s home that is the epitome of a work in progress.
“Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” — Mary Oliver