Some could argue the spectacle Sunday was merely an elaborate showpiece meant as a passing of the torch. From Lionel Messi to Kylian Mbappe, teammates at Paris Saint-Germain, a French superclub bankrolled by the Qataris. One great to the next. Though, we’d be remiss not to note that Mbappe was already a World Cup winner–having won his first four years ago in Russia.

The match was at best a momentary salve, a reminder that whatever baggage I thought it could help carry, it would, in fact, only carry so far, if at all.

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.

Team Melli punches their ticket to Qatar.