By Michael Cox
There are team sports. There are individual sports. And there are sports where the tension between the team and the individual is the most fascinating thing.
Certain games are so unarguably team sports that there’s no incentive for any player to go solo. You won’t ever read newspaper player ratings for rowing or synchronised swimming. Equally, there are certain sports — golf, say — where players technically have team-mates in certain competitions, but where it’s ultimately all about individual performance. There’s no genuine combination play.
Football is in the zone of conflict. The fundamental quality required when building a World Cup-winning side is a group of top-level footballers. No one has ever won this competition without several world-class players in their starting XI. Equally, there are numerous examples of teams who have failed despite all the talent they could hope for, and teams who punch above their weight through cohesion and mutual understanding.
All this is fairly obvious, but never before in World Cup history has there been a final between two teams at obviously opposite ends of the spectrum. Other World Cup finals have been billed as Johan Cruyff vs Franz Beckenbauer (1974), Roberto Baggio vs Romario (1994) or Lionel Messi vs Kylian Mbappe (2022). But this is more of a hybrid: it’s Spain vs Messi.
Spain are not reliant on one individual. Their obvious superstar, Lamine Yamal, has had a relatively quiet tournament; flashes of magic, certainly, but one goal and no assists. Their other two regular forwards, Alex Baena and Mikel Oyarzabal, are not obviously world class. Their midfielders have all had some prominent games, and some quieter games.
But Spain function because they’re all about the system. Everyone knows their role. No one does their own thing. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the first team, the reserve team, the women’s team or one of various youth teams. Spain are about a collective, about sacrificing your individual desires to work for the whole.
The defining feature of their impressive 2-0 victory over France, the favourites for this tournament going into the semi-finals, was how Spain used their full-backs on the overlap. Whereas France’s forwards acted as if the full-backs were there to play a supporting role, making workmanlike decoy runs to allow players time and space, Spain’s forwards saw those players as equals: a fundamental part of the side, worth playing clever passes to. Spain’s win was sealed when right-back Pedro Porro played a give-and-go with No 10 Dani Olmo to get in behind and score. It feels like, in the France side, the No 10 would have tried to produce a moment of individual magic.
Spain have various leaders in key statistical categories, spread across their front three. Oyarzabal has had the most shots on target (11), Yamal has attempted the most dribbles (49), Baena has created the most chances (10). And then there’s Argentina, whose leader in those three categories is Messi (18), Messi (41) and Messi (25).
The funny thing, of course, is that Spain have played in roughly this way for the best part of two decades, and the previous time they won the World Cup, back in 2010, there was an interesting contrast between their style and the approach of Barcelona the following season, precisely due to Messi. The two sides featured five of the same six in midfield and attack: Sergio Busquets, Xavi Hernandez, Andres Iniesta, David Villa and Pedro Rodriguez. The difference was that Spain had deep midfielder Xabi Alonso, while Barca had Messi. And by virtue of being the world’s best player, Messi was given licence to do his own thing.
Even upon his arrival at La Masia from the age of 13, Messi was different. When asked his favoured position, Messi said ‘enganche’, the Argentine word for No 10. No one had a clue what he was talking about. Barcelona’s philosophy was all about passing. Messi’s style was to be a dribbler. At first Barcelona tried to turn Messi into something more typical of their academy, before realising this wasn’t a typical Barcelona player at all. Not only did Messi’s dribbling become the first world-class element of his game, he eventually rose to such prominence that he was brought inside off the right flank and into a false nine position. Given the positioning of Pedro and Villa, wide forwards who ran in behind rather than hugging the touchline, Messi was in effect playing as an enganche.
The crucial thing about the Messi of that period, though, was that it wasn’t about making allowances for him. He changed Barcelona’s system, certainly, and other players — particularly Zlatan Ibrahimovic — suffered as a consequence. But in terms of his defensive contribution, Messi mucked in. In terms of shape, Barcelona were always well balanced. When he and Cristiano Ronaldo were both at their best, it was clear Real Madrid had to make allowances for Ronaldo’s lack of defensive contribution. The holding midfielders had to slide across, the winger on the other side needed to play deeper, the No 10 had to do more defensive work, the striker was there to serve Ronaldo. He, of course, justified his freedom from the system, much as Mbappe generally has for France. But Messi felt like he was part of the system.
At 39, Messi doesn’t have the legs of old. Even at World Cup 2022, everyone understood that Messi needed to channel his energy, and switch off without possession. Therefore, the striker alongside Messi, usually Julian Alvarez, actually spends much of the time deeper than him, dropping into midfield to pick up the opposition holding midfielder. Messi has licence to wander back, spending much of his time in offside positions.
Equally, in attack, Argentina try to work the ball into him whenever possible, at times when attackers would be better off taking a shot on themselves. “We will do everything to make sure Messi wins the World Cup again,” said his striker partner Alvarez after his brilliant goal won a tight quarter-final against Switzerland. “Every game is a battle for him.”
And this is how Argentine football works. Throughout this World Cup, their fans have paraded banners, flags and drums that depict Mario Kempes, Diego Maradona and Messi. This essentially means: 1978, 1986, 2022. The individuals are interchangeable with the successes.
The curious thing is that football has steadily become less about individualism and more about collectivism over the decades, while media coverage focuses increasingly on players rather than teams. This World Cup has been notable for the star players all turning up, yes, but some of the analysis of teams has been somewhat reductive. Cape Verde weren’t a solid side solely because of goalkeeper Vozinha; they were well organised and technically impressive. Portugal weren’t underwhelming purely because of Ronaldo; no area of the side seemed to function properly.
The beauty, of course, is that both methods remains viable. Spain are European champions. Argentina are South American champions. Teamwork often seems a more successful and sustainable approach in the modern era of football. But when the opposition’s star individual is the greatest footballer ever, anything could happen.
THE NEW YORK TIMES
James Madison, oil painting by Asher B. Durand, 1833. The New-York Historical Society.
SITEMETER
