I know from the soccer experts it was officially The Worst World Cup Final Ever, but we had the best time last Sunday night. We were in Spain, which explains it, sitting at a table outside a bar in a tiny square on the Costa del Sol. Face-painted waiters wandered around taking drinks orders, Spanish flags tied gladiatorially around their shoulders. I sat beside two little Spanish sisters, Manuela and Maria, who were wearing Lamine Yamal jerseys. They were watching with their dad, sharing a bag of oranges, hope burning brightly in their eyes.
Oh, we all knew it was a boring match, but the non-Spanish in the square also knew we might never be in this position again. On holidays in a country that had reached a World Cup final, witnessing the euphoria of locals as they snatched victory from a strangely diminished Argentinian side. When the final whistle blew, Manuela and Maria leaped from their chairs and the whole square seemed to embrace.
I had felt more prepared for this game knowledge-wise than for any other World Cup final thanks to our new Irish Times podcast, America 2026. I listened to the preview episode from host Paul Howard, who has played a blinder in that new role. In a fascinating conversation, our man in New Jersey, Ken Early, posed an interesting question, the kind that made this once-every-four-years soccer fan, this annoying World Cup bandwagon jumper, more deeply invested in Lionel Messi and friends: “Do they love each other because they win all the time or do they win all the time because they love each other?”
What a question. I pondered it as I pitched up to the square several hours before the match to stake a claim on a table near one of several outdoor screens. I bought a nectarine from the fruit shop where, the day before, we’d purchased a load of cherries, vine tomatoes and a cucumber for €2.40 in the kind of gobsmacking shopping encounter that has you briefly fantasising about moving to a different country.
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I found a table long before anybody else had gathered. I had an audio book in my ears to keep me company. An escapist, uplifting holiday read, you might be thinking. You couldn’t be more wrong. For some reason I had downloaded the masterful Regime Change: Inside the Imperial Presidency of Donald Trump by Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan. And once I’d started listening, I couldn’t stop. Trump himself has called it “mostly made up, fake news, largely fiction”, so you know it must be true.
Your man was at the World Cup final of course, where, in the end, love turned out to not be enough. Afterwards, walking across the pitch, all pally with Fifa president Gianni Infantino, Trump was booed as he approached the podium to present medals.
Back at the apartment, away from the jubilant crowds, I watched on television as the players shook Trump’s hand in the line-up. It was difficult to avoid, although one player – the Argentinian Cristian Romero – did not seem to engage. It made me think of the president’s potential visit here in September, when his Trump International Golf Links at Doonbeg is playing host to the Irish Open.
We know who he is. Everybody knows. Especially him. A few months ago the New York Times reporters who co-wrote Regime Change went to the White House to talk to Trump for the final part of their book. When they asked him about his power, Trump told one of his aides to get him a document he said was written by a historian, which he then handed to the reporters.
[ A ghost from my teenage past emailed to say hello. I’m so glad he didOpens in new window ]
The first line of the document declared that Trump is “the most powerful man that the planet has ever known by a long way”. It put him at the apex of a group that included Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun. Trump was delighted about this. Their reach, he said, was local, not global like his. The book pointed to “the evident pleasure” Trump took in the company of men some of whom were masters of state control through murder, torture and detention. The authors noted “the untroubled ease with which he accepted a place among men who had reshaped the world through conquest and fear. He drew no distinction between those who built and those who destroyed”. The report, it turned out, had not been written by a historian, but by a former caddie of Trump’s golfer friend Gary Player.
We’ll never forget our night in Spain, where football was the least memorable thing about the occasion. It brought people together, something a Trump-hosted golf spectacle in Ireland, with all the inevitable craven displays, is unlikely to achieve. I’m still hoping it won’t actually happen. It’s embarrassing for Irish golf, and for everyone involved, that the event is being held at a Trump-owned property. Being present at the 2026 Irish Open may not be something to boast about or remember fondly in years to come. It might be something to hide.
Source: The Irish Times
