The 2022 World Cup semifinals have gotten off to a cracking start. With so much to decode from all the action, ESPN India attempts to pick out the one moment that defined the day's action.
For day 19, we pick a moment of Lionel Messi magic: where he rolls back the years as he outsprints and outwits the best defender at the World Cup, before setting up Argentina's third in their thumping win against Croatia.
When you see where he gets the ball, you don't really expect him to do what he does. You probably should have; knowing him, having watched him do it for a decade and a half, again and again till it became one continuous dribble-dribble, turn-turn, make-defender-look-silly blur. You should have, but you don't. You see, he doesn't really do that anymore. He's old. The knees are creaking. There's no burst of acceleration left, those two steps that can mean the difference between escape and running into a cul-de-sac. The kicks hurt more and more. He's been rubbing his left hamstring all game long. He's been walking around like a bored child. He always walks, yes, but it feels like he's been doing even more of that than ever before. It feels like a pretty safe assumption to make -- 'Messi will just play it safe now. This isn't 2012.'
Besides, his team's leading 2-0, and there's just about twenty minutes to go. Julian Alvarez, an agent of chaos sent to upset this tactical chess match made in modern purist heaven, has won a penalty and scored an incredible solo goal. The latter an unreal mixture of speed, power and pure luck. Messi was involved in both, smashing the penalty home and toe-poking the ball forward to send the Alvarez juggernaut on his merry way. Two-Nil. Big match. 'Ah, it's the smart thing to do. Keep the ball. Kill the pressure.'
Messi and his best friend, that round little thing, have other ideas.
He gets the ball at the halfway line - just past it actually, a yard or two. It reaches him when Julian Alvarez heads down a particularly long throw-in from Nahuel Molina down the line. His first touch stops it dead, before he pushes it well forward. With that second touch, the ball knows what it must do. He flies down the touchline, boots on chalk like he's 21 again, hands flailing wildly, the wriggling of his hips propelling him forward as much as the whirring of his legs. Where he goes, the ball goes; man and ball knotted in a bond the rest of us can't even fathom.
He's not 21, though, and the man chasing him (almost) is. Josko Gvardiol has easily been the tournament's best defender. One of its best players, period. At such a young age, he's already assumed leadership of his team's defence and he's marshalled them brilliantly. One-on-one, he's been unbeatable. As the two sprint toward and then past the Croatian box, cutting in from the byline in an acute angle now, Gvardiol catches up. Messi stops. As ever, the ball doesn't leave his side.
When he turns around to protect it, you think, 'oh, ok. That was a fun little throwback, but this is it. He must be panting, the old man. No way is he getting past this masked giant now.' Again, that would have been the sensible assumption to make. Gvardiol is holding onto him while showing him on his left, but with Mateo Kovacic catching up that would just be turning into trouble. So, the safe option would have been to keep it, and wait for backup to come close.
Hah.
A quick drop of the shoulder, the only sleight of hand Messi ever does, and Gvardiol is done for. Like hundreds of defenders before him he's been sold one of the greatest, simplest, cons the footballing world has ever seen. When Messi drops that shoulder, only he and the ball ever truly know which way they're going to go.
He plants his right foot and feigns cutting inside, before making a sudden turn. A gentle nudge of the ball with the outside of his angled left boot and he's driving around the outside. Gvardiol claws at him, tugging his shirt, pushing him with both hands, but there's nothing stopping Messi now. The little 'flea' is at it once again: he's too fast, too small, too slippery. Ducking under Gvardiol, he makes a beeline towards goal. Without breaking stride, without even looking up, he then cuts it back perfectly for Alvarez, who sweeps it into the far post first-time.
Three-nil. Match done. Semifinal won. Sealed with a stamp from the man himself, a touch of good ol' Messi magic.
There's nothing quite like it.