We no longer let go of the mask or to write an article about football. However, we maintain the fiction that pandemic obsession is compatible with sports devotion, when it’s just a neocortex trick. We pretend devastated by the messi exile in some emirate, after suffering the soccer Champions League saved by radio broadcasts, it was preferable not to watch that moor. Not to mention the current NBA chatter at Disneyland, vacuum-packed dunks. The champions have not competed seriously for a year, and on top of that they pretend to bore you with their antediluvian exploits. They have been reduced to the caricature of a video game.
It is not disputed whether Messi is God, but if he is old. And above all, it should be decreed that he is nobody without his audience, those gregarious ants that big business underestimated and without which he will not survive. For not focusing on the greatest footballer of all time past, the same circumstance devastates Mbappé, Benzema or Pérez. Now that existence is contested to life or death, we prefer to have an epidemiologist by our side, to name another professional from the realm of fiction.
Messi and his lineage seem too old today to appear in shorts, elderly children who did not find out that the thing is serious. The phenomenal evocation in which we are involved acts as a hindsight. We are not moved by the years lived with a champion only equaled by Michael Jordan, Michael Phelps or Sergei Bubka, we are caught by the times when there was no coronavirus. The spoiler then points out the millions at stake, but the commercial turmoil is also a pachanga. The shuffled figures are not unreal because they are huge, but because they will drop to zero with the great inflation. The world was left in the dark, without stars, Messi will not even have to turn off his light.