Let’s first explore the etymology of the two synonymous words that define this simple, beautiful game described as “the ballet of the masses”. Which is the more appropriate word, ‘football’ or ‘soccer’? The original pristine term is “football” which, over time, has mutated to being called “soccer,” another word coined by the British to differentiate it from “rugby football”. The newer term is now widely favoured, and has certainly helped the Yanks distinguish between their brutal game known as “American football” and the sublime sport celebrated in the civilised world. As almost six billion viewers chomp at the bit in anticipation of the greatest sporting event on earth – the Soccer World Cup 2026 jointly hosted by Mexico, USA and Canada – that is a few days away, it’s time we put a lid, albeit briefly, on our abiding tragedies. The 39-day long soccer spectacle will hopefully provide the joyful distraction and therapeutic salve that will enable the sports lovers among us to set aside the wars, the putrescent politics and the scary economic and social ferment in the country.The World Cup comes at a time when the torrid heat and water scarcity everywhere saps our spirits even as our ‘supreme leader’, instead of setting his house in order, bombards us with boy-scout advice to provide water for the birds, lend a helping hand to the thirsty and keep ourselves hydrated. To add to our brimming cup of woes, on the cusp of this eagerly anticipated soccer fest, the Modi regime has sabotaged NEET, CBSE and CUET, throwing the entire education system into turmoil. As a consequence, the young who are the most fervid fans of the World Cup, will be bogged down by re-tests and fears about their future at a time when they should be celebrating the upcoming soccer fiesta. Tragically, in our upside-down world run by not very competent people, all this is par for the course.Let’s face it: as a nation we neither value soccer nor are good at it. It wasn’t always so. I’m ancient enough to remember the golden era of the 1960s when India was a footballing powerhouse, winning the 1962 Asian Games gold and being runners-up in the 1964 AFC Asian Cup – feats achieved on the back of the heroics of Chuni Goswami, P.K. Bannerjee, Jarnail Singh and co, who were household names and our childhood idols.There has been a precipitate decline since then. We recently failed to qualify for the AFC Asian Cup following a 1-0 defeat to lowly placed Bangladesh. Despite being home to one-sixth of the world’s population we languish at 136th in the latest FIFA rankings. So dismal is the scene that today that our soccer-crazy youngsters who are able to rattle off the names of the leading footballers in the English Premier League and the Spanish La Liga, would be hard-pressed to name any current Indian footballer, barring Sunil Chettri. Just consider: even the oldest and fiercest football rivalry between Mohan Bagan and East Bengal that was suffused with class, cultural and even culinary overtones, is now just another passionless joust of mediocrity.But the World Cup is an altogether different proposition. There are still a fair number of sports lovers in India for whom the FIFA World Cup is the piece de resistance – the apogee – of all spectator sports. During the World Cup, every other sport pales into insignificance. There is no doubt that the viewership for this year’s Wimbledon will be hit hard because the world will be focussed on the magicians doing their thing on the soccer fields in Mexico, USA and Canada.I have been a sucker for the soccer World Cup since 1970 when Pele’s Brazilian team swept past all opposition in rollicking samba style. So vivid are my memories (and fantasies) of that tournament that till I was corrected by Google, I was certain that I had watched that final between Brazil and Italy live on Doordarshan, though it was probably a film replay seen much later. Even to this day I can reel out the names of most members of that great team that thrashed Italy 4-1. Their names have a poetic resonance: Pele, Tostao, Jairzinho, Rivelino, Carlos Alberto.The moment when Maradona flicks the ball with the hand past the outstretched arm of Peter Shilton, also known as the “Hand of God on June 22, 1986. “Photo: El Gráfico, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.In my kaleidoscope of memories, there are vignettes that soccer fanatics will relate to. For me, the standout recollection is of those dizzying ten minutes in the second half of the quarter-final between Argentina and England in the 1986 World Cup. The incomparable Maradona, in a breathtaking run from his half, feinted and steamrolled past four opposing players and the goalie before flicking the ball into goal for “the goal of the century”. Just four minutes earlier, he had netted Argentina’s first goal with the “hand of God” that the referee (God bless him) failed to notice. Imbued with the enduring resentment of the colonised against the coloniser, I rejoiced at his roguish brilliance, fair play be damned. The final score: Argentina two, England one.Other outstanding individual performances that are etched in memory are Kylian Mbappe’s sensational hat-trick in the dying minutes of 2022 World Cup final between France and Argentina, with Argentina two-zero up until the 80th minute. To France’s dismay, Argentina prevailed in the shoot-out. And who can forget the two thunderous headed goals by the charismatic Zinedine Zidane in the final of the 1998 World Cup between France and Brazil which France won three-zero? Or the wondrous long-range lobbed free-kick by Brazilian Ronaldinho which caught the English goalkeeper off-guard in the quarter-final of the 2002 World Cup that Brazil won two-one? Here again, I was cock-a-hoop at the exit of our former coloniser.There have been heartbreaking moments too. By far the most traumatic day of my entire sports viewing career was when arguably the greatest Brazilian team led by the most charismatic footballer of all time – Socrates Brasileiro Sampaio de Souza Viera de Oliveira – were knocked out of the 1982 World Cup in Spain. Playing spectacular football that enthralled the crowds, Brazil won its first four matches in style, scoring 13 goals and conceding only 3.I reopened an old wound yesterday by watching a YouTube replay of that soul-shattering 1982 match between Brazil and Italy, a virtual eliminator, and arguably the greatest match ever played in a World Cup. The Brazilians were at their masterly best, fusing physical athleticism with grace and consummate skill. But for the superhuman goalkeeping by the Italian Dino Zoff, Brazil would have run away with the match. A telling statistic: Zoff made 18 saves, some breathtaking, whereas his Brazilian counterpart, Waldir Peres effected only four saves. The final score: Italy three, Brazil two. The infinitely better team lost. Watching the match 44 years later, I still could feel that dull ache at what might have been.There is no more crazed human being than the football fanatic. We got a taste of this ugly truth in the 1994 World Cup. Colombia, the hot favourite of Pele to win the title, were up against the USA in a do-or-die group stage match. With the score tied one-one late into the second half, Andres Escobar, the Colombian captain, scored an “own goal” resulting in Colombia crashing out of the tournament. A week later, back home in a parking lot, he was shot a dozen times and as each bullet was pumped into him, the assassin shouted “Goal”.Yes, that’s football, a matter of life and death. It’s an art form and a science, embracing creativity and technical finesse. Each capsule of 90 minutes engenders the range of human emotions from joy to heartbreak, rage and laughter and a lot more. It produces incredible sportsmanship, humaneness and camaraderie but also incites the worst instincts of violence and racism. It is a microcosm of human capability, vulnerabilities, character and psyche – in essence, life itself. Albert Camus, who was once a goalkeeper in Algeria, saw football as a life force: “All that I know most surely about morality and obligations I owe to football.”Mathew John is a former civil servant.