âSports arenât art, by which I mean theyâre not intentionally constructed by a person or a group of people in order to convey an idea. They are a story, however, in the sense of history more than narrative: meaning is constructed in layers, first through experience and then through reflection, trying to make sense of the things weâve seen. Itâs that first element â experiencing a story as it happens, one where an ending hasnât been decided â that gives sports their fun and their nerve. Witnessing something extraordinary is always a thrill, and sport is where we go for that, democratically, to sit in stands or in bars or on couches across the world and watch togetherâ
âThe many miracles of the tournament, the genuinely riveting moments of sporting magic and the fangs-out bloody battles that made it such a spectacle seemed at odds with the strange, muted atmosphere of the thing itself, how no one could quite tongue out the lie that things were just as theyâd always been. No one felt good about Qatar 2022â
âAs Brian Phillips wrote eloquently in his final roundup, we tell ourselves stories to live. I felt that, during this tournament, as the infinite fracturing futures of my team split out in front of meâ
âItâs easier to go back to art, where things happen for a reason. But life? Sports, politics, family, relationships? In this world, the one we live in now, the cruel one? No oneâs writing the ending. Thereâs no structure to follow, no author to trust. Itâs back to the funny little script of fate. The ball goes in, or it doesnât. The good thing doesnât happen . . . or it doesâ
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