Palate Cleanser: World Cup Classic, in English

England’s epic 3-2 World Cup knockout win against Mexico in Mexico City immediately notches as a classic, a testament to resolve as the Three Lions endured almost half the match down a man against a host team that is nearly invincible in that stadium. Some in the British sporting press are calling it the country’s best performance since winning the Cup in 1966 and perhaps its greatest ever on foreign soil (they won the ’66 Cup at London’s Wembley Stadium). 

A sampling of English newspapers in the aftermath of the win is a treat. British English is its own idiom with some lovely vernacular that can require a bit of thought and translation. British sports writing, particularly when it comes to the national side and its figures, sometimes contains florid phrasing and passages that mostly do not exist in American sports writing. 

In the months and years to come, the match will grow in legend and you can see it entering a sporting equivalent of Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade” or “Beowulf” territory. Consider this from Barney Ronay in The Guardian: “In the event this was the most extraordinary, agonising night of football as an experience of the mind, body, bones, guts, blood and back of the neck. During which England overcame not only the Mexican national football team over 90 minutes plus an extendable eternity of added time; but an event, an iconography, a set of ghosts. “Down to 10 men and faced with the relentless hostile will of the Azteca crowd, the players took themselves into some deep, strange places. This was total immersion, a knockout game that felt at times like watching Colonel Kurtz play Colonel Kurtz at full-contact death match ping-pong.” 

This was Oliver Holt’s lede in the Daily Mail: “In the great football temple of the Azteca, in the midst of the chaotic, untrammelled fervour that football unleashes here, battered by the din, electrical storms raging around the stadium, reduced to ten men for 40 minutes, up at an altitude of 7,220ft, in the thin air that makes your heart race and your lungs gasp, England defied it all. "When the final whistle went, they breathed again. All England breathed again. All England, up in the middle of the night in packed pubs in cities and villages across the country, in front rooms and basements, the intrepid few who sat high in the stands here, all breathed again.” 

Or this lede, from Jack Pitt-Brooke, a British sports writer for The Athletic: “You could watch England play for your whole life and never experience anything like this. Nothing that would feel this meaningful, this exhausting, this stirring, this profound.” 

In other countries, the relationship between teams and the press is sometimes more like a big, contentious family rather than strictly professional subject and reporter. It can be critical, even adversarial, but backed by unwavering support. As in: I get to criticize my family/team/country because I want them/it to be better, but they know I’m always behind them. There’s a mostly unwritten rule in American sports writing: No cheering in the press box. In many foreign press boxes and among foreign correspondents, however, cheering is part of the experience. They’ll still call out mistakes and assign blame and ask difficult questions, but there’s no question where their loyalties are. 

As for distinct phrasing, here’s more Pitt-Brooke: “Even the air itself here, lighter, thinner, harder to breathe, was in Mexico’s favour. England only arrived on Friday night, with no real time to adapt. And yet they still kept finding reserves within themselves, somehow keeping the brains and bodies going through two hours of drama. “And as if all of that was not enough, torrential rain and thunderstorms delayed kick-off by one hour, only adding to the feeling of historic significance. It made you wonder whether this was Tlaloc, the Aztec rain god, the roar of the Earth, all bulging eyes, jaguar fangs and feathered crown, gathering up the air stored in the mountains and pouring it out for maximum mischief.” 

And more Ronay, as England attempted to hold on to its lead: (England manager Thomas) Tuchel was here in blue raincoat and waterproof ankle swingers, like a malnourished minor duke out walking the hounds … He sent on Dan Burn, Djed Spence and John Stones, five defenders flat across the back as Mexico swarmed pleasantly but without real incision, like being assailed by a cloud of dandelion seeds.” 

This was the kicker to Holt’s piece in the Daily Mail: “The crowd smelled blood. They bayed for the equaliser. England clung on. John Stones, Dan Burn and Djed Spence came on. They all played like heroes at the back. Then the fourth official held up a board showing there would be 11 minutes of time added on. “Some doubted England could hold out. But this game was about 15 heroes. Fifteen men who stood up when many expected them to fail. Fifteen men who would not yield to everything the Azteca threw at them. Fifteen men who will travel to Miami this week to play for a place in the World Cup semi-finals.” 

Epic.