There are good reasons to boycott the World Cup in Qatar. And if there was a world championship in roller hockey or water polo, I would declare a boycott. But teams in Qatar play football. And it’s not just a team, it’s the best team in the world. I can’t pretend that I can do without it.
For as long as I can remember, football has been a magnet that has drawn me irresistibly. It doesn’t have to be games with Lionel Messi or Luka Modric, Olten can also play against Fulenbach in the second regional division. When I watch football, I am a different person, then I feel the heart of the little boy that I used to be. I see the field and the ball, and everything seems possible to me. Every pass, every run, every tackle, every shot on goal is conceivable. Much or little can happen. But whatever happens, I want to see it.
My heart warms when the playmaker changes the rhythm, when the body game opens up space, when the goalkeeper cuts the corner perfectly and still outplays with a light cross.
I have been following the World Cup since the 1970 tournament. If a friend wants to ask me if I still remember “Schwalbe” from the final in Munich in 1974, all he has to do is say “Helzenbein” and I will see the German striker floating in the air. When someone mentions Cesar Luis Menotti, I can smell the two packs of cigarettes that the brilliant Argentina coach smoked during a dugout match in 1978. I cry with Socrates and Zico when I think about Brazil’s departure in 1982. My heart skips a beat when I look at the immortal Diego Armando Maradona at the Aztec Stadium in Mexico City in 1986. I still shudder in disgust when I think about Frank Rijkaard spitting in the top striker Rudy Völler’s perm in 1990. I still feel the joy of 1994, remembering Georges Brega’s free kick in Detroit. Four years later, I stood in the midst of a French crowd in Lourdes when Zinedine Zidane beheaded the Blues to win their first world title. Oliver Kahn’s drama followed in 2002 when, after a great tournament, he lost in the final against Brazil of all places. When I think of the Swiss victories over Togo and South Korea in 2006, I almost forget the unfortunate shootout against Ukraine in which our team didn’t score a single goal. Four years later, the melancholic mustachioed Vicente del Bosque led the Spaniards to victory in the tournament. In 2014, the Germans did not spare the hosts of Brazil. They humiliated the world champion record holder 7:1. Four years ago in Russia, which is only now being looked down upon, France won the final with a promising Kylian Mbappe against an unexpected team from Croatia.
From early childhood, I think and feel in four-year cycles. If I hadn’t been able to follow the 2022 World Cup in Qatar, I wouldn’t have an anchor in my heart. It is unforgivable that FIFA awarded the World Cup to a country like Qatar. But I still want to watch matches.