On a night when the world turned its gaze toward Lionel Messi, hoping for brilliance, it was the misstep of another Argentine—goalkeeper Willy Caballero—that defined the evening’s cruel trajectory. In the 53rd minute, with the game hanging in tension, Caballero attempted a delicate chip over Croatia's Ante Rebić. What followed was a catastrophe in miniature: the ball fell short, Rebić seized it mid-air, and volleyed into the vacant net. Argentina’s hopes buckled with the sound of that strike.
For Messi, this was another page in a long, tortured volume
of international anguish. Adrift and muted in the first half, he showed flashes
of intent later—urging his team forward, orbiting the penalty box—but even his
mythic aura could not penetrate Croatia’s steel. The closest he came was a
glancing half-chance, a hurried snatch at a rebound from Maximiliano Meza’s
shot, which was blocked and cleared by Ivan Rakitić. It never felt like enough.
Croatia, for their part, were pragmatic before they were
brilliant. Their second-half approach was disciplined and cynical, yet also
possessed of the sublime—none more so than Luka Modrić’s 80th-minute strike.
The Real Madrid maestro, often understated in his artistry, found space and curled
a shot of rare elegance beyond Caballero’s reach. It was the moment the match
shifted from contest to coronation. Rakitić’s late goal, calmly slotted after a
sweeping move, only emphasized the gulf that had emerged.
Argentina now stood at the precipice. Their World Cup
campaign, already weakened by a 1-1 draw with Iceland—where Messi had missed a
penalty—was unraveling. Even a resounding win over Nigeria in the final group
game might not suffice. Should Iceland defeat Nigeria, a mere draw against Croatia
would send the Scandinavians through and eliminate the Albiceleste.
Messi, always elusive in club colours, seemed trapped by the
weight of his nation. When the anthem rang out before kickoff, the camera found
him: eyes closed, brow furrowed, as if praying not to fail. He has carried the
burden of Maradona’s legacy for over a decade, expected not just to win but to
transcend. Yet on this stage, again, his light flickered without catching fire.
Argentina’s structural flaws were apparent long before Caballero’s
miscue. Their midfield, built around Enzo Pérez, struggled to contain Croatia’s
transitions and was routinely exposed on the flanks. In the first half alone,
Croatia carved out three clear chances down the wings. Meanwhile, Pérez missed
a glaring opportunity and looked overwhelmed. Messi, frequently isolated,
wandered through spaces where the ball never came.
This Argentina team—erratic, fragile, occasionally
brilliant—was far from the vintage sides of old. It bore none of the cohesion
of 2006, the fire of 1998, or the defiant resilience of 2014. The difference
now is psychological as much as tactical. The pressure has become a shackle
rather than a spur.
Caballero, playing only due to the injury of first-choice
Sergio Romero, became a tragic figure. His error—the kind goalkeepers relive in
slow motion for years—seemed to crush the Argentine spirit. From that moment
on, heads dropped. Messi’s included.
And yet, this wasn’t a Croatian masterclass from start to
finish. Before the goals, they were often second-best in possession and
wasteful with chances. Ivan Perišić’s early shot was saved well; Mario
Mandžukić misdirected a header from six yards; Rebić skied a golden opportunity
from a glorious Modrić pass. At one point, Argentina nearly scored themselves
when Meza’s misjudged cross clipped the bar. But when the moment to punish
came, Croatia were merciless.
Behind their efficiency was tactical nuance. Argentina’s
early use of a diamond midfield shape—anchored by Enzo Fernández, flanked by
Alexis Mac Allister and Rodrigo De Paul, and with Messi and Julián Álvarez
pinning Croatia’s defenders—caused early discomfort. Croatia’s midfield trio,
particularly Modrić, struggled to provide width coverage. De Paul often found
Nicolás Tagliafico in advanced areas before the Croatian backline could fully
shift.
Sensing this danger, Croatian coach Zlatko Dalić instructed
a tactical retreat, morphing the shape into a back five. It neutralized
Argentina’s spatial advantages, matched their five attacking outlets man-for-man,
and enabled efficient ball-side pressing. The switch was decisive. It reduced
Argentina to lateral ball movement, and Croatia used that containment to spring
into a transitional threat.
Even Messi, for all his ingenuity, was given no breathing
room. Croatia did not assign a shadow to follow him—instead, the nearest two
midfielders converged only when he received the ball. It was zonal suffocation:
space denied, not duels provoked.
Yet no tactic is perfect in transition. Croatia’s defence
faltered during chaos, particularly on counterattacks or throw-ins, when
structure briefly dissolved. In such moments, Messi almost broke free. One
instance, in particular, has already entered the canon of near-glory: his
mesmerizing dribble past Joško Gvardiol—twisting, turning, commanding
time—before assisting Álvarez for a goal that will outlive the match itself.
But such brilliance was rare. The bulk of Argentina’s
chances came through Croatian lapses, not systemic superiority. And in the end,
that is the difference between a team built to survive and one hoping for
magic.
Now, as Messi approaches his 31st birthday, the spectre of
his last great chance lingers. His legacy at Barcelona is secure—14 years of
majesty, of trophies, of transcendence. But at the international level, a different
story has unfolded: three lost finals, one fleeting retirement, and now perhaps
a final disappointment.
Cristiano Ronaldo continues to impose himself upon the World
Cup through sheer will and goals. For Messi, the same story might end in
silence—one of football’s greatest ever, but with one piece forever missing
from the crown.
And as Argentina falter, that silence grows louder.
