There are final tournaments that are played on the field and there are tournaments that are played in the memory of those who watch them. The 2026 World Cup was, for me, both. It began with a starting whistle in stadiums in the United States, Mexico and Canada, but its true measure was seen elsewhere: in the nights that never ended, in the coffees drunk while the city was still sleeping, in the cold light of the monitor and in the daily fight against time.
