And yet if these last few months have shown anything, it is that is not true. Mbappé’s smile and Diallo’s joy and Atalanta’s pain and Sterling’s despair have all been real, and it has all been real because, deep down, the players and the coaches we adore are not doing it for us. They are doing it for themselves.

They are doing it because this is what they have dedicated their lives to achieving, because this is what they are trained for, because this is what they dreamed of, because this is what they spend every waking hour (in some cases) thinking about. They are doing it for pride and for status and for ambition and, sometimes — though not as often as people say — for money.

That has been clear not just from the Champions League, but from countless scenes in countless countries. It has been striking to see how many players have celebrated goals in empty stadiums as if the stands were full to bursting. At first, it was tempting to see it as a force of habit — what else are you going to do? — but after a while, it became clear that it was not. It was a genuine expression of joy. They wanted to run to the corner. They wanted to raise their arms. Their happiness was not dependent on our presence.

The celebrations by Liverpool and Real Madrid and Bayern Munich when they won their leagues were not artificial. Nor were Chelsea’s or Manchester United’s when they qualified for the Champions League, or Aston Villa’s when it avoided relegation. Soccer means something to the players whether fans are there or not. They do not need to be told what to feel.

That has always been true, of course. To some extent, it is perhaps not especially revelatory. But only now, in these weeks of quiet and still in the stadiums, has it been brought into sharp focus. That is what has been most striking about soccer’s summer behind closed doors, what the new normal has allowed us to see: that the game does mean something, whether we are there to interpret it or not.

Source: New York Times

Powered by NewsAPI.org