World Cup 2018 | Modrić and the Golden Ball

Expectedly, Modrić was announced to be a winner of the Golden Ball. He had to step toward the award podium to receive it. He had to pass by some heads of state for some greetings. He had to be hugged by Mr. President of France and listen to his consolations. He had to be embraced by Mrs. President of Croatia, who seemed to be in tears among rains and shared the sadness with him just like a mom with her son. He had to stand there, holding the golden ball for pictures to be taken and for viewers to watch. All the manners were done by him, as if out of courtesy. To his mind, perhaps he felt that he won a wrong trophy.

Modrić is a kind of the very basic player, that is, the one playing a base for his teams to get forward, or a kind of the pre-assist or even the pre-pre-assist to be exact. He can play deep; he can play attacking; he can play passing; he can play shooting, of course; all decently and marvelously. In one moment, he can move back behind the midfield and perform some exquisite flick of the ball, just like another Pirlo; next moment, he can swerve his hips to escape one or two markers, just like another Iniesta; next to the next moment, he can send the ball through opponents to his teammates, just like another Xavi; last but not least, he can be as robust as any defensive midfielder of high calibre. So technically and physically versatile a player is the one bearing the name of Modrić, who had come from the hottest abode of Croatian football, Dinamo Zagreb, to enter the European stage, and silently shone behind and under shadows of his mates, as elusive as his moves, for a decade ere this World Cup. That had been the case till the Golden Ball forced him to stand there, in the spot of global attention.

In an interview afterwards, he said that the Golden Ball rendered him bittersweet. You don’t say, as your visage registered it all; as if you would like to say, “Well, what’s the point of the ball?” Well, it does have a point, Luka. That you are the best who causes spectators strange fits of passion by the superb simplicty.

World Cup 2018 | Belgium vs Japan

Photograph: Hassan Ammar/AP

There was the best of the time and there was the worst of the time, which transpired in a single match, for Japan. Initially they had everything before them: their spirit was so high, their technique was so fine, and they presented so daring a style as to take the game to their opponent.

Not long after the second half got under way, a through ball found a Japanese forward in a position facing the Belgian goalkeeper slightly sideways. Then a perfect finishing, and an expected goal was gained.

Not long after the one-goal lead, another Japanese, the very best one, thumped a wonderful shot into the net, seemingly leaving any spectator dumbstruck. Till now the Japanese had carried the hour of feeling and amazement. The ball at their feet had been rolled with sheer smoothness down the field and sheer accuracy toward the opponent’s goal. Some superlatives for the Blue Samurai probably occurred to some people, some romantic thoughts probably had been formed, some excitement obviously had been reached.

Whereupon the Belgian fell into certain confusion and found themselves floundering in their moves and in their passing. The two-goal lead notwithstanding, the Japanese still pushed themselves forward and toward the other side. For them, attacking seemed to be another way of defending, just as some Dutch man once put it several decades ago. Many of a fan began to think of another earthquake caused by another minnow's feat, besides the one for the German. Still, the remaining time was much enough for the Belgian to pull themselves together and conduct some strikes. They did strike, vehemently.

The old school seems never old. Sending square balls to seek for headers was the best way to get over the disciplined Japanese defensive line, taking advantage of Japan’s weakness in physicality. Eventually the Belgian made it in their great comeback, partly thanks to Japan’s insistently pressing and attacking mentality which later in the game lowered their stamina considerably.

Why were the Japanese determined to play that style instead of just sitting back in front of their goal, holding the ball as long as possible, waiting for the time to be consumed up? Maybe they wanted to have a triumphant win against a powerful force, just to prove themselves to be a competent side in the tournament. Maybe they just followed their so passionate lifeblood as to let themselves flow forward along the ball and play away any pragmatic constraint on their part. Whether the reason is this or that, their composure and hard team-work and inspiringly exciting style, the most so far in this tourney, really truly made the day of mine and, I suppose, of many others. What the game, what the prowess Japan showed out there, in the echoing green with their whole heart.