The North American World Cup ended Monday, with Spain defeating Argentina in a 1-0 snoozefest.

Argentina decided to recreate their Dirty War on the pitch, tallying five yellow cards, one red, and one yet-to-be-disciplined chokehold. Spain, for their part, demonstrated that 1588 was the last time that their offence posed a formidable threat.

Despite its lacklustre finish, the World Cup offered a plethora of wonderful moments, from Cape Verde’s tenacious battle with Argentina to yet another so-bad-it’s-good meltdown by England; like Odysseus, football will not be coming home any time soon.

I could continue to discuss the positive aspects of ‘the beautiful game.’ Instead, I will turn to its politics, particularly its nationalism. Whether it was the deluge of European tourists or the increasing dominance of social media in our lives, the nationalist banter that usually pervades the World Cup reached new heights.

Indeed, some European nationalist commentary reminded me of the Baron de Montesquieu’s novel, Persian Letters. In that novel, two Persian noblemen travel to pre-Revolution France and send letters back home making fun of the backward, unenlightened nature of feudal society.

Except instead of Persians, North America got Parisians.

Of course, many antiquated barbarisms of North American life would be quite jarring for a cultured European, like complimentary water or air conditioning. I imagine the European tourists writing the Parisian Letters:
 

“The North Americans give the players hydration breaks due to extreme heat [and increased advertising revenue]. What babies! In Europe, we let thousands die during our heatwaves to preserve our inclusive way of life.”

There would be genuine and fair complaints about the North American hosts too.
 

“Trump’s attempts to rig officiating and photo-bomb the Trophy Lift are disgusting. The half-time show interrupted play just to force-feed us a washed Madonna, a rusty BTS, and a still terrible Justin Bieber. I would rather have watched Eurovision than that!”

But not all commentary in the Parisian Letters would be negative.
 

“The Americans are quite friendly and chatty – the Canadians too! The nature and open space are wonderful, Five Guys ought to be a world heritage site, and many people hail from our hometowns. Are we really that different?”

Perhaps in 2030, when North American tourists visit the Iberian Peninsula for the next World Cup, we can all avoid football fandom’s recurrent pitfalls of myopic nationalism and boorish hubris.

Oh, who am I kidding? ¡Vamos!