— Melbourne Rectangular Stadium
The beauty and cruelty of this World Cup is that it feels like it could be anyone’s.
Teams entered with hope, with expectation, with form and framework and faith.
But there’s no certainty in life, few assurances in sport.
The Reggae Girlz just made history. They did so by sending Brazil home, ending the last dance of a name we’ll remember as a great. Marta’s last World Cup- her sixth World Cup- ended with a frenzy, and both teams on the pitch in tears.
On Brazil’s end (and scattered throughout the stadium) were the shock-ridden tears of a team that felt capable of making a run for the World Cup trophy at the end of this month. They’d thought they’d do it for Marta.
At the other end, steeped in opposing emotion, was Jamaica, swaying together in a huddle as Bunny Shaw delivered a speech. Their tears were elated tears— the tears of a team in its second World Cup, progressing for the first time ever to the Round of 16.
While Bob Marley rung out, song after song, the Reggae Girlz soaked in the evening long after the Brazilians had gone. Bunny Shaw stopped to pray in the center of the field. Jamaican flags unfurled as they made a lap around toward their fans.
They’d ended Marta’s arc of legend in the Women’s World Cup. They halted her teammates from honoring her name with a deeper run.
In a way, and in their own words, though, their victory was Marta’s too.
For Marta
A few months back, Kerolin said on a podcast that the team wanted to win this World Cup for Marta. “The way Argentina did for Messi”, she’d said.
There was an aura in Qatar following Lionel around. Observing it up close as I was- though I’m sure palpable from anywhere you watched- was a trophy, finally, for Lionel Messi, delivered on the backs of what felt like an inevitable cause.
Their supporters smothered every stadium in Doha with their cheers, their unbroken song. The stands seemed to move at times beneath them, banners featuring Messi and Maradona strung all around. They arrived hours before the match did and left, still singing, long after it was gone. They joined hands with Messi’s teammates, who (like Kerolin and Adriana and Debinha had hoped to) ushered their talismanic icon to World Cup glory at long last.
That type of energy emanated from Brazil’s fans in Melbourne last night.
Their numbers, their nuanced and at times cutting support, their buzz of hopeful energy, were reminiscent of the supporter-energy surrounding Messi in Qatar.
They crowded the stadium in Brazil’s colors, filled it with their song. The match kept pace to the low tempo chants “Bra-sil”; the constant drum beats behind the goal clocked time.
As the match grew tense, time passing too fast, the crowd felt it, perhaps impacting it, yelling out at times to improve the pass, find the runner, don’t waste the ball.
Theirs was an atmosphere not made entirely from scratch, but carved from a culture that harbored it always for their men’s team. Increasingly, now they do for the women as well— in so small measure because of Marta.
When it comes to Brazilian football, and expanding beyond her into the broader story of women’s football, so many things are.
When fate has other plans
I mean no disrespect or neglect to the Reggae Girlz, who tore into Group F with a mark to make and made it, before a generation to grow of their own.
From Brazil to France, they held juggernaut nations to a standstill, with impenetrable lines of defending, and a counter that cuts to the quick. They collected their first World Cup win against Panama. They made Concacaf history as just the third-ever nation in the region to join the US and Canada (though not the latter in this edition) in having qualified for the knockout rounds.
They did so beleaguered by insufficient support and subpar funding from their federation. They had to crowdsource the money to prepare. They managed the unexpected, a remarkable unit, against the odds.
But where legends bid adieu to the most romantic stage of football, this yearning heart of mine wants their story arc graced by the gods.
Riding on that pervasive sentiment, I suppose I wasn’t alone in imagining it would take place. Surely, should Brazil fall short of their lofty Marta-motivated mission, it would happen further along. Surely, tragedy wouldn’t strike in the groups, where they haven’t fallen out since 1995.
But that’s where they fell, ending Marta’s decades-long run.
Our heats beat on toward the story arcs we’ve imagined, yearned for, romanticized. But sometimes life and football has other plans.
A frenzied, frantic energy
I wonder slightly in retrospect if the overwhelming desire to impact a perfect fate flummoxed the case.
From the stadium and onto the field in Melbourne last evening, a frenzied, frantic energy seemed to envelop the pitch.
Marta appeared in the starting XI. Though working within neat compact lines of Jamaica’s backline, found herself only infrequently with the ball.
With Brazil’s loss to France, the game arrived with Brazil in third place. They desperately sought out a goal, requiring a win to move on. None arrived.
Jamaica only needed things even. They remained stoic in defense, while the Brazilians hounded toward hope. Sufficient opportunity never materialized, never mind who had the majority of the shots, or the dominance of the ball. (Brazil held 73% of possession, and outshot Jamaica 18-3).
The more Brazil tried to do, the more things seemed to unravel. Debinha’s elite crosses, electric back heel flicks were off. No longer ensnaring, it caused an eruption of frustration among a few fans.
All eyes on the clock, including mine, as shot after shot after shot deep into the second half were errant, went wide.
The low constant hum of the drums had started like an encouraging support section, but sounded like the looming threat of what was coming by the end.
The seagulls dwelling above the stadium began to circle down, swooping above the press tribune, gliding above the fans. Down and down they hovered, overseeing the dwindling time, like vultures to the dissipating cause.
And then it was over, FIN.
Time marches on
Every World Cup since 2003 has had “Marta” etched upon its name. The development of Brazilian women’s football- from the days it was illegal, in whose direct aftermath Marta took it up- is driven by her maverick heart.
The generation before us now, competing with striking ferocity and un-before seen parity this tournament, is downwind from the foundation that Marta’s generation built.
And on that stage they built, the new generation defeated them— ending their last gasp at a trophy before they’re gone.
It happened on the same pitch calling curtains on Canada’s own personal legend Christine Sinclair, just a few days before. So it goes in life and football, I suppose, eventually replaced by the things you built.
In the mixed zone, Jamaica’s Cheyna Matthews was moved to tears speaking about Marta, indicating in many ways, what they created was in part because of Marta:
“She’s somebody that I watched in World Cups as a kid. And so to be on the same field as her, even at this stage is… is a dream. And I wish her all the best. I mean, she’s a trailblazer for us women. So I can’t thank her enough. I hate that it had to be this way. But you know this is, you know, what she’s been fighting for...”