Messi and the Passage of Time
By FARHA GUERRERO
I am awoken early this morning, as I often am, around 4 a.m.—what I have known for a long time as the magic hour. I hear words immediately upon awakening, words waiting to be written, and it is a reminder that I am a writer.
Today my words turn to the memory of a man who many of us simply call Messi, a household name known by every lover of football. A man who plays the game in a way that we know we may never witness again.
The passage of time is key in these early morning thoughts, just as it was four years ago when I wrote a small piece called Argentina gana el Mundial — Argentina Wins the World Cup.
It was a reflection on how one can imagine one’s life in between World Cups, a life divided into four-year intervals.
When one makes that simple calculation, I reflected, one immediately realizes that there are not that many World Cups in one’s lifetime. That number suddenly becomes small, and one feels that the passage of time is equally short.
What, too, happens, I ask early this morning, between one World Cup and another? How much did we learn and gain in these last four years? What hardships did we overcome? What beauty and wonder did we witness? And what beauty and wonder will we witness in these final games?
I, like so many people around the world, anticipate something extraordinary this Wednesday. Our gazes will be fixed on the man himself because, at the age of thirty-nine, we don’t know if we will see him play on the world stage again.
Messi, at least to my eyes, hasn’t aged since the last World Cup. He is the same man, playing with that extraordinary intensity and wisdom. It is an affirmation not only of his will to play this game, but of his knowledge and intelligence.
Messi is methodical. He’s a thinker. He’s Rodin’s Thinker, but on the pitch.
He, I believe, sees what many other players cannot see: empty spaces, places to place the ball perfectly. He stops time. Milliseconds can feel like an eternity, and it is in that eternity of excellence that he delivers his magic.
His focus is extraordinary. His ability to regulate his emotions is even more so. He is humble, and there is a kindness and a quietness to him. It is this persona that makes us love him. He sometimes feels, at least to me, like the perfect human on the soccer pitch.
And so this Wednesday, as our gazes remain intensely drawn to the man, I am sure of one thing. I am grateful to have had six World Cups with him.
And even more grateful to have lived through seven World Cups with my Argentine husband.
Related essay: Argentina gana el Mundial — Argentina Wins the World Cup (December 18, 2022)