Saudi Arabia Leaves Another Scar on Argentina’s Soul

Argentina had the finest player on the planet — possibly the finest of all time — in a rich vein of form, a supremely gifted supporting cast and a vast army of fans at its back, the streets of Doha thronged with albiceleste jerseys and banners and flags. All of that has been the case for at least three World Cups, of course. The difference, this time, was that the team looked self-confident, assured, something close to serene.

It took no more than five minutes to break all of that apart. Argentina had dominated the first half, taking the lead through a penalty won, a little fortuitously, by Leandro Paredes and converted, with precious little ceremony, by Messi. That was as far as its good fortune ran — a further three goals were ruled out for offside, at least one of them extremely narrowly — but, still, as the teams headed inside at the break, there seemed scant cause for concern.

Perhaps complacency explains what happened next: Argentina dozing as Saleh Alshehri clipped home an equalizer, and then watching on powerless as Salem Aldawsari danced through three challenges and curled a shot, its parabola picture-perfect, beyond the clawing grasp of Emiliano Martínez.

Saudi’s fans, bussed in by the thousand from the border 90 miles away, roared; Argentina’s stood, shell-shocked, the ghost of defeat to Cameroon at their shoulder. The players, too, seemed unable to respond; this is not a team that has, in recent years, had much experience in recovering from set-backs.

And so, instead of keeping a cool head, slowly turning the screw on their tiring opponents, Argentina’s players fretted and frazzled and chased and hurried. There is a fine line between urgent and frantic, and Messi and his teammates fell firmly on the wrong side of it.

With half an hour to create a single chance for some of the finest forwards on the planet, Argentina generated nothing. Even Messi, a being seemingly hewn from pure, uncut poise, seemed afflicted, rushing his passes, missing his beats, fading from the game as the clock ticked rather than bending it to his will. Perhaps, by now, he has suffered these indignities enough to scent when one is coming; perhaps he is in tune with the cruelty of fate.

All is not yet lost, of course. Argentina still has two games to avert disaster, to spare its blushes; beat Mexico and Poland in the remaining two group games and, on the surface, losing to Saudi Arabia will have done no lasting damage. That defeat to Cameroon in 1990, after all, did not prevent Diego Maradona leading his team all the way to the World Cup final. This is not the end of Messi’s tournament. It may be nothing more than a false start.

In the moment, as Messi and his teammates gathered in a tight bunch in the middle of the field, as if huddling together for safety and for security and warmth, it did not feel like that. Instead, it seemed as if something had come undone in the white heat of Lusail’s afternoon sun. This time was supposed to be different. All of a sudden, for Messi and for Argentina, it all felt exactly the same.