Go, Charlemagne: Though many times said and written, it’s still worth remembering that the World Cup is as much a global exercise in populism and patriotism as it is a sporting event. The essence and identity of nations, not club teams, are pitted against each other. The cup is, in effect, a referendum on all aspects of national culture. Results can instantly make countries very glad or very sad. Germany’s 7-1 thrashing of Brazil in the 2014 semifinals —
in Rio, no less — seemed to all but bury the record five titles that Pele’s country had accumulated over 60 years. An even greater seismic shock came at the 1966 cup, when a North Korean team jokingly referred to by Italian newspapers as a hodgepodge of diminutive farmhands, ousted mighty Italy. So humiliating was that loss that una Corea, “a Korea,” came to mean any major embarrassment. America, provincial by nature and fundamentally self-confident on the global stage, cannot fathom what it means when a Cape Verde, population 530,000, holds European champion Spain to a 0-0 draw. This is true David and Goliath stuff that “Go USA” America cannot fully comprehend because it has not been exposed to foreign invasion, the burdens of occupation, decades of rebuilding, mass poverty, colonialism, and what might be called general international irrelevance.
In spirit, to borrow from historian William Manchester, the World Cup can at times seem to hark back to a world lit only by fire, in which jousts and heraldic banners with crested seals mattered above all else. Please, then, don the glasses of historical context when you watch this World Cup, bearing in mind that while the United States now proudly celebrates its 250th birthday, the cumulative age of the competing countries easily surpasses a millennium. Just ask Braveheart’s tartan army.