The King’s Coronation

The gold medals were handed out. One by one. From Franco Armani to Lionel Scaloni. One man remained. He came at last. With the armband. With the biggest smile he has ever donned.

After he got the medal, he was supposed to be handed the trophy. The Holy Grail of the game. Wait, not just yet.

As he stood, the Emir of Qatar adorned him with the ‘Bisht’, the ceremonial robe of the gulf, entwined with gold. This was not just the passing down of the trophy to the new set of the world’s bests. This was not just the sewing of another star on the shirt.

This was a coronation. This was a caliph claiming his cathedra. This was finally, after years of agony, anguish, and heartbreak, the ascension of the King to the immortal throne.

After football produced a palpitating pleasure to end the grandest show on earth, it behest its greatest child with the greatest gift of them all. Lionel Messi had finally, finally, won the World Cup. And he earned it in every way possible.

“I’ve paid my dues; Time after time; I’ve done my sentence,” Freddie Mercury, the legendary vocalist of Queen sang. Who knew, the song released a decade before the effervescent Argentine was born would resonate with him that much?

Records rattled at his feet, feats floundered as that magical left foot took on the world and won them all. He just had that one sorrow, that his record with Albiceleste remained as bleak as a boring box-office flop.

From the 2007 Copa America final to Mario Gotze’s 113th-minute winner, from seeing his teammates sway shots in 2015 to skewing one himself in 2016, the little Argentine from Rosario Santa Fe had gone through everything possible. To the extent that he had given up.

When asked if he would give up all his personal accolades for the World Cup, Messi said that he would. Without hesitation, something that seemed prevalent in the footballing Gods in giving him just that.

But as it looks like, they had actually written the greatest fairytale of the game.

After finally ending the drought with the Copa America in 2021, at the heart of their eternal rivals, and also the Finalissima, at the heart of their other foe, England, Messi and Argentina came into the World Cup with the allure of allegory.

But then, they lost to Saudi Arabia. It seemed like myths were meant to be in movies and that reality relished on the ravaging of magic. Well, only if books had one chapter.

The magic man appeared against Mexico, and after missing from the spot against Poland, crucified Australia with that gold-laden left foot before using exactly that to see a pass to Nahuel Molina against Netherlands that left maestros mesmerised and normal people wonder whether that 5’7” man was indeed real.

Against Croatia, in the final four, he was relatively quiet, often seen holding his hamstring. Then, he twisted and toyed with Josko Gvardiol to put it on a plate for Julian Alvarez, leaving everyone questioning whether aliens truly existed.

In the final, he scored the first and played a part in the second. Argentina were cruising, leaving France in a tangle with their tango. The defending World Champions did not seem to have a sniff.

But then, out of nowhere, France came back. The game trickled into extra time, and what Jorge Burruchaga was to Diego Maradona in 1986, Messi became that for himself. 3-2. 12 minutes to go. Game over, surely?

The football Gods laughed. Kylian Mbappe became the first man to score a hat-trick in a World Cup final since 1966 and it went to penalties.

And as Gonzalo Montiel scored, Messi crumbled to his knees at the centre circle. He was there. He was finally there. After everything, football had gifted him a Hollywood script to take away the Holy Grail.

Messi, in the final years of his spellbinding sorcery, had led his nation to the greatest prize in World football, being the difference. Well, that he always was.

So, when Messi climbed on top of Sergio Aguero to recreate Maradona’s iconic photo of 1986, it was the passing of the throne. After years and decades of debate and whatnot, Messi finally put a lid on the question of who the greatest of all time was.

It is Lionel Andres Messi Cuccittini. With no stone left to turn, no more wall yet to pass. Peter Drury uttered that Messi has shaken hands with paradise, and with that, he has written the epitaph of every debate that existed on a magical night in Lusail. On a stage shaped like infinity, Messi went far and beyond everybody to ever grace the game.

Messi, in one night, tuned out every cacophonous chord of his symphony, and he did it with the biggest smile. With the King’s robe, with his crown.

When he was called up to take his honour for being the best player of the tournament again, as he passed the World Cup trophy, kissed it with the sweetest touch, and when he finally got his hands on it, he cradled it as if it was a toddler in his arms, waiting for the magic man to put it to sleep.

Well, he did. Football’s greatest prize was finally in the hands of the game’s most gifted genius.

And now, just like Freddie, Messi can sing atop his voice, “We are the champions; No time for losers; ‘Cause we are the champions of the World.”