It was an intense affair played between two serious teams with compelling arguments for winning the whole thing. Argentina on the downswing after the high of the late 80s. The Netherlands nearing their apex–maybe they could have been champions of at least one tournament in the late 90s if not for the magistery of a Zidane-led France.

Thirty-two years later, I find myself unable to get excited about the world’s biggest sporting event. The crown jewel in any four-year sporting cycle. Bigger than March Madness. Bigger than the Olympics. Bigger than the Super Bowl. Bigger than the Champions League Final. But, the context surrounding this edition of the World Cup seems to have seeped into a sporting event meant as a temporary salve for society’s troubles.