I keep thinking about the tunnels under MetLife. Same New Jersey bowl that hosts this World Cup final. Ten years ago Leo Messi was in there with his hands over his face, crying hard enough that nobody in the room could reach him. Then he said the quiet part out loud: he was done. He could not take any more.
Four finals, one broken night
Argentina had just lost the Copa América Centenario final to Chile on penalties. Messi missed against Claudio Bravo. Captain. Another final gone. That made four: Copa América 2007, 2015, 2016, and the 2014 World Cup. He looked cursed in the albiceleste. At Barcelona he cleaned up. At home in Castelldefels he already had four Ballons d’Or sitting in a glass case. With Argentina he could not finish the job, and you could see it eat him.
“That’s it, I’m finished with the national team. Four finals. It’s not for me. It was what I wanted most. I think that’s enough. That’s what I feel now, that’s what I think.”
Lionel Messi in the mixed zone, June 2016
The return, then Scaloni
Argentina never sat easy on him. He did not come up through an Argentine club, and for years some of the local press treated him like a guest. Early senior tournaments were a mess too, and a lot of that mess belonged to the federation, not just one shy kid from Rosario.
A few weeks after MetLife, Edgardo Bauza flew to Barcelona to haul Messi and Mascherano back. Messi asked about the staff at Ezeiza. The cook. The physios. Small things. Human things. On 1 September 2016 in Mendoza he walked out against Uruguay with blond hair and the whole ground stood up.
Scaloni arrived in 2018 and somehow built a dressing room Messi could breathe in. Then the titles started sticking: Copa América at the Maracanã against Brazil, the Qatar World Cup, another Copa in Miami when Lautaro scored the only goal against Colombia. Three finals under Scaloni. Three wins. I still find that stretch a little unreal when you stack it against 2016.
Back to New Jersey as a different man
Now he walks into the same stadium where he bottomed out. This World Cup version of Messi is louder. He cries. He hugs people like he means it. He sings. He celebrates the way he never quite did in those careful Barcelona years. Spain can still beat him on the night. Fine. One match does not rewind the Argentina story. That argument ended a while ago.
