Messi, Messi!
Watching the World Cup this year feels a bit strange. Not in a conspiracy way. Not because of upsets, or Argentina turning a simple match into a drama again. It’s a different kind of strange.
Lionel Messi is still scoring.
And that just doesn’t feel logical. He already turned the last World Cup into a perfect ending. People cried, documentaries were made, and the “greatest of all time” story felt complete. It should have ended there. The credits should have rolled.
But here he is again. Still scoring. Still breaking records.
Today I went to Flat Iron Square to watch the match. I used to watch games there during the 2018 World Cup too. We were all a bit younger back then. Messi was younger. Argentina was also very good at emotionally destroying me in the most creative ways.
As I stood in the crowd waiting for kickoff, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned around—Bianca.
We hadn’t seen each other in five or six years. She’s Argentine, and we used to work together. Back then, we talked about football all the time—Messi, Argentina, everything. At some point, I’m not even sure if we were talking about football or just trying to avoid work.
London is huge. The crowd was huge. And somehow, she was standing right next to me.
It felt a bit like a movie, but also not at all like one. In movies, reunions come with slow motion, music, and perfect lighting. In real life, it’s just loud Argentine fans spilling beer everywhere.
When the second goal went in, the south bank of London suddenly felt like Argentina overseas. For a moment, I thought maybe I shouldn’t be spending my time so far from the sun.
Time doesn’t move in a straight line when Messi is around. Sometimes it bends. Sometimes it quietly loops back—to places like Flat Iron Square.
After the match, I walked through London wearing an Argentina shirt. Someone filming on their phone saw us and shouted, “Messi!”
We shouted back, “Messi!”
It wasn’t really a conversation. It carried no information. It was more like a code. You say “Messi,” I say “Messi,” and we both understand each other.
On the way home, a few young guys saw my shirt and suddenly shouted, “Messi!”
Maybe they don’t support Argentina. Maybe they only watch the Premier League. Maybe they just had a few pints and needed a word that felt big and simple enough for the night air. And “Messi” works perfectly for that.
Lately I feel a bit like a missionary. If you ever get the chance, just stop and watch him play. You don’t need to understand football. You don’t need to care about Argentina. Just enjoy those small moments of genius—light, unnecessary, impossible to explain, but somehow joyful.
In a world that feels more divided than ever, there aren’t many things left that can make half the planet lose their minds and celebrate together.
今年看世界杯，有点不对劲。不是那种阴谋论的不对劲，不是冷门频出，也不是阿根廷人又开始把一场小组赛踢成悬疑片。是另一种不对劲
梅西还在进球
这件事本身就很不合理。一个人已经把上一届世界杯踢成了大结局，大家眼泪也流了，纪录片也拍了，球王登基的字幕也打出来了。按理说，故事到这里就应该收尾，观众散场，工作人员开始打扫
结果他今年又来了。而且还在进球，还在打破纪录
今天去 Flat Iron Square 看球。八年前俄罗斯世界杯的时候，我也常在那里看各种球。那时候我们都还年轻一点，梅西也年轻一点，阿根廷也还很擅长用各种奇怪方式把我折磨到跪地祈祷
今天再去，我正站在人群里等开球，突然有人从旁边拍了拍我
我回头一看，天啊，Bianca！
我们大概五六年没见了。她是阿根廷人，是我以前的同事。以前上班时我们就经常聊球，聊梅西，聊阿根廷，聊到最后也不知道是在聊足球，还是单纯不想上班
这么多年过去，伦敦这么大，看球的人这么多，她竟然刚好站在我旁边
这件事有点像电影，但又不像电影。电影里老友重逢通常有慢镜头，有配乐，有一束非常懂事的光打下来。现实里没有这些。现实里只有一群嘈喧巴闭的阿根廷人，挥洒着啤酒洒到一双双鞋上
进第二球后，伦敦南岸突然变成阿根廷的海外飞地，我再次觉得自己不该在北回归线以北的地方消磨时间。时间这个东西，只有在梅西面前，它不安分走直线，它有时候也会偷偷绕路，绕回 Flat Iron Square
散场后我穿着阿根廷球衣走在伦敦街上，有人拿着手机录像，看见我们，挥手大喊：“Messi！” 我们也跟着喊：“Messi！”
其实这个对话没有任何信息量。严格来说，它甚至不能算对话。它只是一种街头暗号。你喊 Messi，我喊 Messi，双方身份确认完毕，可以安全通过
吃完饭往回走，又有几个年轻人看见我的球衣，突然振臂高呼：“Messi！”
也许他们并不支持阿根廷，也许他们平时只看英超，也许他们只是喝了几个pint后发现，此刻需要一些响亮但不复杂的词，而 Messi 正好很适合在伦敦的夜风里喊出来
我现在的心态仿佛一个传教士。我希望如果你刚好有机会，真的可以停下来看一眼梅西，不需要懂足球，不需要关心阿根廷，只需要享受天才为你制造的这些轻盈的、无法归档的、毫无用处但让人开心的想象力瞬间
毕竟在这个分裂的世界上，能让全球一半人口同时发疯、拥抱在一起的东西，已经不多啦