Three nations, three worldviews, and a welter of mutual suspicion. That is the unlovely picture presented by the hosts of the next World Cup as they struggle, with the weary encouragement of the UK, to bury their differences. The spectacle is not a pretty one, but then again, it never is when sport tries to paper over the fissures of geopolitics.
The tournament, a vast and glittering bauble, is meant to unite. Yet the closer it gets, the more the three hosts seem to resemble a dysfunctional marriage held together by nothing but the fear of the divorce costs. The UK, that tired old uncle of international diplomacy, has stepped in to urge unity, but one wonders if even a world cup is worth the pretence.
After all, the most memorable tournaments are not those where everyone got along, but where the football itself was a glorious escape from the gloom of politics. Perhaps, then, we should let these nations squabble. Their grudges are as old as the hills, and no amount of ‘One Love’ armbands will change that.
The World Cup will happen, as it always does, and for 90 minutes, we will forget. But the morning after, the divisions will remain. That, too, is part of the game.
