A poetic reflection on Argentina’s defeat and the symbolism of a baby bath
In a recent column for The Nation, Nigerian writer Sam Omatseye offered a deeply personal and culturally layered take on Argentina’s loss in the 2026 World Cup final. Rather than a straightforward match report, Omatseye weaves together football analysis, historical commentary, and philosophical musings on race, fate, and generational change.
Omatseye describes Argentina’s performance in the tournament as uneven—a team that seemed to rely on last-minute magic, particularly in the 80th minute against Egypt and in a victory over Cabo Verde, whom he calls “the revelation of the tournament.” But when it came to the final against Spain, he writes, “Messi had no influence.” Spain, he notes, conceded only one goal in the entire tournament, while Argentina managed just two shots in the final, none on target. Messi himself did not register a single shot over 120 minutes.
The photo that resurfaced
Central to Omatseye’s column is a photograph that circulated widely during the tournament: a young Lionel Messi, then 20, bathing a black baby boy. The baby, Omatseye explains, was Lamine Yamal—the Spanish winger who would go on to star in the final against Messi’s Argentina. The photo, originally posted by Yamal’s mother, had been online for years. Omatseye calls it “a handing over of sorts,” a prophetic image of the torch passing from one generation to the next.
Omatseye acknowledges that many dismissed the photo as AI-generated, but insists it is genuine. He uses the image to pivot to a broader critique of Argentina’s historical relationship with race. “Argentina does not have many black babies,” he writes. “Argentina does not like blacks.” He references a former Argentine leader, Carlos Menem, who boasted that the country had “almost no blacks.” Omatseye also recalls the 1996 Olympic football final, when Nigeria beat Argentina, and claims that before the match, Argentines said, “let the monkeys come.” A BBC journalist, he notes, responded that if Nigerians were monkeys, then Argentines were bananas.
Messi’s legacy and the question of return
Despite his criticism of Argentina’s racial attitudes, Omatseye is careful to separate Messi the individual from his nation. “Messi may not be a racist,” he writes. “But his nation is.” He praises Messi’s career as “one of the best in the history of the game,” ranking him second only to Pelé, who won three World Cups. Omatseye compares Messi’s left-footed elegance to his own boyhood hero, Nigerian midfielder Haruna Ilerika, who once so impressed a Moroccan princess that she bejewelled him after a match.
Looking ahead, Omatseye doubts Messi will play in the next World Cup. “He will be 43, an old man in football years,” he writes. “Yet he scored more than 80 percent of all Argentine goals.” He suggests that even if Messi is not on the pitch, his legacy will endure through videos of “his surreal dribbles, his impossible goal, his poise and positioning.”
A cynical view of football’s racial politics
Omatseye closes with a broader critique of how football’s global stage is used to project racial harmony. He references the philosopher Walter Benjamin, arguing that leaders “use the masses to aesthetise their tyranny.” Black players like Kylian Mbappé, he suggests, are used to create an illusion of inclusion. “The blacks only are good to entertain them,” he writes. “A cynical love.”
The column ends with a haunting image: Messi, looking on from the sideline at the next tournament, while the little black boy he once bathed—now a star—plays on.
Sam Omatseye is a columnist with The Nation.
