Now that the World Cup has passed, we can properly lay it to rest with a series of wakes: drinks and thoughts on our favorite World Cup teams, players, themes, and moments; the parts of the Cup we will miss the most.
We'll wind down the wake with an In Memorium look at some of the best pieces of writing over the last couple months. Any time you're pining for the lost Cup, you can pull one of these up and relive those memories all over again. Enjoy.
General World Cup Coverage
Inside Googleâs World Cup war roomÂ
World Cup films from Howler MagazineÂ
Nathan Thornburgh on the Braisilan sceneÂ
Remezcla delivers a gorgeous look into 11 iconic World Cup moments in Latino World Cup historyÂ
Summing Up the Cup
Clay Skipper on Messi and the CupÂ
Ryan Rosenblatt explains why this was the most fun World Cup everÂ
Laurent Dubois on what weâll take from the CupÂ
Bill Connelly breaks down the Cup in 7 numbersÂ
Brian Phillips after the finalÂ
Talking Team USA
Travis Clark on the Yanks in collegeÂ
Mike McCall takes a look at the US dreaded midfield pairingÂ
Brian Phillips in the aftermath of the US tie with PortugalÂ
Spencer Hall in the aftermath of the US loss to BelgiumÂ
The Aftermath
Graham Parker on MLS capitalizing on the World CupÂ
We should've known Germany was destined to win the cup when Union Berlin opening up their field and invited fans to bring their couches in and set up shop. The U.S. has much to learn.
Game Day Meets The American Workplace. Thanks to GFOPs: @usrevo4, @brianmanny, @gregyounger, @h09sier, @kikinosgrove, @paulornothing16, @perryLaskaris, @rwyckoff, @TheRealCoach_H and @wavingateyou
World Cup Wake Week continues and concludes tonight (and maybe into tomorrow), and we drink to The Watchers. The billions in bars, stadiums, offices, beds, trains, wherevers who tuned in to the World Cup. The fans, friends of fans, and enemies who couldn't not watch the games. We'll be posting our favorite shots and scenes and moments from the World Cup of fandom as our last goodbye to the most wonderful month of soccer we can remember. So stay tuned and SALUD.
Now that the World Cup has passed, we can properly lay it to rest with a series of wakes: drinks and thoughts on our favorite World Cup teams, players, themes, and moments; the parts of the Cup we will miss the most.
Thereâs a game we play with sports, and weâve been playing it with this World Cup, so itâs not unfamiliar. Itâs the âIf you had told meâŠI wouldâve taken it in a heartbeatâ game and it goes like this: If you had told me in December the United States would survive the Group of Death, I wouldâve taken it in a heartbeat. Or: If you had told me in May the U.S. would be banging down Belgiumâs door just trailing by a goal in the 120th minute in the Round of 16, I wouldâve taken it in a heartbeat. Or: If you told me on June 12th that weâd be getting an Argentina-Germany final, I wouldâve taken it in a heartbeat.
This game can serve as both a healthy perspective-granting exercise and as an unhealthy reality-ignoring exercise. Playing the game with the United States remembers that Ghana, Portugal, Germany, and Belgium all have superior rosters with more talented and polished players and the U.S played all but about 20 minutes against those teams without their best scoring threat and still ended the tournament as one of the best 16 teams in the world. It also forgets that the Americans had no real Plan B after Jozy Altidore went down, never consistently attacked Germany or Belgium (tactics that made those teams look vulnerable), Bradley had 3 of his worst games in a U.S. shirt, and our back four gave acres of space to teams that knew what to do with it. It remembers Timmy Howardâs and John Brooksâs and Jermaine Jonesâs heroics and Clint Dempseyâs consistent will to âtry shit." It also forgets that Team America still lacks the kind of clinical touch, sense, and tactical nous that seem to come naturally to teams of a higher caliber, and itâs hard to see when and from where those attributes will come.
What the âIf you had told meâ game really does, is the reverse of what Brian Phillips talked about on Grantland yesterday:
The reality of everything that happens is too immense to hold on to, so we take the highlights and arrange them into an order that at least feels plausible. In sport, though, weâre constantly setting out the stakes ahead of time. If the prince with the silver shield takes the black castle, he has a chance to be the greatest king in history. We tell stories with no endings. We tell stories that may not come true.
 Of course the preordering happens â we create our expectations and then hold athletes and sport to have met, exceeded, or fallen short of them. Be we also re-shape sport from the future, after the fact. We tell ourselves that Germany were the inevitable champions when they trailed Ghana, snuck by Algeria, and couldâve given up 2 or 3 goals to Argentina in the final. Or we tell ourselves that Germany werenât all that great when they clinically dispatched Portugal and Brasil, never lost a game, never needed penalties to win, and never even trailed a game for longer than 8 minutes. We tell ourselves that Messi shrank from the moment after he scored the highest percentage of his teams goals, created the most goal-scoring chances, and took on more defenders than anyone in the tournament. Or we can tell ourselves he was a deserving Golden Ball winner even though he failed to score or assist in Argentinaâs last three games and had as many chances to win knockout games as Rodrigo Palacio (and failed as many times).
When we play the âIf you had told meâ game, we tell stories that may not be true even though we know the ending. Or, at least, they didn't get to the end in the way that we expected them to. If you had told me on June 11th that Messi would lift the Golden Ball after the World Cup Final in The Maracana, Iâm sure I wouldâve taken it, only my mind would have filled in an entirely different narrative for the four weeks in between. Now that itâs happened, which narrative do I pick to explain it?
And how about this: If I had told you, maybe sometime around June 8th, maybe I whispered in your ear to you: âDonât worry- youâll be in a bar on July 1st, and your heart will be swimming in the beer in your throat because Kyle Beckerman played the three games of his life, and because Jermaine Jones was marauding all over the park having scored one of the best goals of the tournament, and because DeAndre Yedlin was a blur on the right touchline, and because Clint Dempsey scored one of the five fastest goals in World Cup history, and because Rocket Pops are undefeated, and because NO WE DID NOT lose the Ghana again, and because Michael Bradley is gonna drop a dime against Belgium like he dropped a dime again Turkey, and because there were hundreds and thousands and tens of thousands huddled and clenched and bouncing in front of communal screens in every corner of America, and because the âLittle Troutâ scored in the 107th minute, and because Timmy Motherfucking Howard was once again standing on his motherfucking headâŠâ
 Now that the World Cup has passed, we can properly lay it to rest with a series of wakes: drinks and thoughts on our favorite World Cup teams, players, themes, and moments; the parts of the Cup we will miss the most.
 We begin our series with the World Cup itself. Just go ahead and search the hashtag on Twitter: #THISWORLDCUP. What began as exasperation and disbelief morphed into something like reverence and love. What seems like a simple descriptor was really an incredulous gasp every time the Cup served up an expectation-obliterating moment.
And it is perfect for this World Cup. The first goal in the first game was a Brazilian own goal. Fred took a dive. The Netherlands smashed defending champs Spain and Robin van Persie scored (if not the best) the most physics-stupefying goal of the tournament. Colombia kicked off their Group Stage danceathon. Costa Rica, COSTA FUCKING RICA, blew the doors off a Suarez-less Uruguay. Andrea Pirlo dummied Italy past England. Pepe happened and then a whole lot of Thomas MĂŒller happened. Clint Dempsey blasted off after 30 seconds and John Brooks blasted a header home after 85 minutes. And all that in the first 4 days of games.
Mexico and Brazil played the most exciting 0-0 90 minutes in the Cup (sorry, Germany and Argentina, but Memo Ochoa wins this one). Chile smashed defending champs Spain and Tim Cahill scored (if not the best) the most favored-leg defying goal of the tournament. Colombia danced some more. Suarex eliminated England and Costa Rica, COSTA FUCKING RICA, all but eliminated Italy. Lionel Messi bent a goal around the entire Iranian team to salvage a win in the 91st minute. Jermaine Jones mirrored Messiâs goal, but Christiano Ronaldo bent a cross around the entire U.S. back four to salvage a tie in the 95th minute. Algeria scored four goals.
More Colombian dancing, more Suarez player-biting, more Messi scoring, and more American nail-biting closed out the Group Stage that could, with little argument, be the most compelling and exciting fortnight of football in history. Combined with viewer-friendly game times, fantastic crowds, and spectacular coverage, from lead broadcasters ESPN on down to upstart blogs, World Cup 2014 was putting down a marker as the best in history.
It was inevitable that the knockout stages would be more conservative, and pure excitement was replaced by tense drama. Brazil/Chile went to penalties and James Rodriguez scored (if not the best) the most space-time continuum defying goal of the tournament. Rais Mbolhi nearly offed eventual champions Germany by himself. Arjen Robben took a dive (though not on the decisive penalty). Tim Howard nearly held off presumptive dark horse champions Belgium by himself. The weight of Brazilâs World Cup hopes (and Juan Camilo ZĂșñiga's knee) broke Neymarâs back. And the rest of the quarterfinals were pretty bland. I mean, something called a Tim Krul happened. Remember that?
And then, 7-1. Again, seven to one. In case you missed it, GERMANY SOCRED SEVEN GOALS ON BRAZIL IN A WORLD CUP SEMIFINAL ON BRAZILIAN SOIL. (I keep typing this for my own edification but I still donât believe it, even in the #THISWORLDCUP context.) Argentina and the Netherlands played the most tactically demanding 0-0 120 minutes in the Cup. So demanding Javier Mascherano tore his anus. And after suffering a head-to-head collision that left him stumbling on the field, that was his second-most horrifying injury that game.
And then the final. If the Cup hadnât pulled your heart out Kali Ma-style before Germany and Argentina kicked off, maybe go see your cardiologist. Either the team that eviscerated Brazil 7-1 or their biggest sporting rival would win the World Cup in their holiest of soccer temples. Messi against Die Mannschaft; Man vs. Machine. The Germans squeezing Argentina like a vise, then Messi and Ezequiel Lavezzi squirting out to create chances that Gonzalo Higuain, somehow, couldnât finish. Bastian Schweinsteiger legitimately bleeding and not-so-legitimately rolling around in the grass. And then Andre Schurrle (who replaced scarily-concussed Christof Kramer) drops a deft cross to Mario Gotze (who replaced legendarily goal-scoring Miroslav Klose) and just like that, after four weeks and 113 minutes, the Cup was over.
 In the end, weâre just going to miss this World Cup. This one. Not a World Cup - not any World Cup - this particular World Cup. It was special from the jump and consistently delivered. Goals. Drama. Narrative. Dancing. Tears. Blood. Joy. The Copa das Copas. #THISWORLDCUP
Moments before Brasil and Germany kicked off âa match that obliterated belief,â an extremely friendly woman handed me the fan pictured above. We were packed in at the corner of the bar in our chosen World Cup pub, where we had watched a few matches together before. I had previously mentioned the Torcida America project, and last Tuesday she pulled the fan out of her bag and said, âI want you to have this.â
Helpfully labeled, it is a fan from World Cup 1994, held in the United States. On the back side is the âHINO DA TORCIDA No1.â
As Google translates, it is The Anthem of the Crowd, and goes something like:
 ANOTHER,
ANOTHER,
ANOTHERâŠ
GO BRAZIL
OF A SHOW
METE A BALL IN THE NET
HEADQUARTERS AND KILLS MY GOAL
ANOTHER,
ANOTHER
COME ON, SELECTION
FILLS MY HEART
THE FOUR-TIME WANNA BE
ANOTHER,
ANOTHER
PRA FEEL PLEASURE
AND FLAVOR OF WANTING
TO BE CHAMPION
ANOTHER,
COPA AND THE MOTHERLAND
AT THE FOOT OF BOOT
AND BEER IN HAND
COME ON, SELECTION
LIFTING THE FINGER AND SHOUT: BRAZIL!
YOU AND THE NUMBER ONE
TWISTING FOR OUR SELECTION
MAKE NEW BRAZIL
ONE! NUMBER!
(The highlight for us is obviously âand beer in handâŠâ)
Clearly this is a loose translation, especially of the word âtorcida.â When I first came across it in David Goldblattâs Futebol Nation, I knew I wanted to use it for this project: âtorcida, literally meaning âthe twistedâ.â It evoked images of twirling scarves and fans with their guts in knots. I understand the term has now come to refer to the ultra fan factions, some of which have partaken in violence inside Brasilian soccer stadiums and out, as well as the bland Google definition of âcrowd.â But I like to think romantically of those early 20th century crowds, spinning their handkerchiefs and losing their mustaches over matches.
The Other Fan
Brasil won the 1994 World Cup, in Pasadena, California. It was the Cup that launched 10 MLS teams and began the inexorable rise of modern soccer in the United States. Better writers than I have chronicled the importance of 1994 in the context of American soccer. For me, that summer took me from soccer player to soccer fan. My family travelled to Orlando for the Round of 16 matchup between the Netherlands and Ireland. Ireland had a cool jersey. I got one. They lost 0-2. There was a party on Church Street. It was amazing.
I had vague recollections of catching snippets of the â90 World Cup on TV. I remember Roger Milla. I got a postcard. But that was it. Until 1994, that was my only real exposure to international soccer, other than seeing jerseys in Eurosport catalogs. 1994 made it real. And now, 20 years later with this Cup in Brasil, a fan from that Cup with the word âtorcidaâ on it shows up in my hands in an Oakland pub. Wheels within wheels.
So thank you, Lauri, itâs been on hell of a Copa.
 If youâre already an avid soccer fan, youâll have your second-favorite team already selected out of the last four that remain. Youâre pulling for Argentina because youâre a Barcelona fan and you like Messi and you donât want mean Argentinians to say mean things about him if they donât win the whole thing. Youâre hoping Brazil can avenge their defeat on home soil in the 1950 final, in the same stadium, no less. You want the Germans to win because you get to see more of goalkeeper Manuel Neuer treating the entire pitch like his own personal playground. Youâre rooting for The Netherlands to finally exorcise their own World Cup demons, and get the star that Johan Cruijffâs Briljante Oranje teams of the 70âs deserved. Those are all positive rooting interests and very nice. But what if you just grabbed hold of the Copa because of Americaâs involvement and then caught a bit of the bug and need to pick a team to follow for the next week? Hereâs a handy guide to picking a new bandwagon, from the Team Americaâs perspective.
 ARGENTINA
Quicklook:
Lionel Messi and 10 other blokes. Youâll recognize Messi as the tiny one (nicknamed âLa Pulga,â The Flea), dribbling a Family Circus-esque trail through the middle of the field, unlocking defenses with impossibly angled passes, or nautilus-curving free kicks into the corners of the goal. The question this tournament has always been, âHow far can Messi carry them?â And the answer, especially with the team unable to find a consistent rhythm, seems to be âNot much farther.â Americans root for Argentina mostly for Messi, but also for Real Madridâs Ăngel Di MarĂa and for faded photos and memories of Diego Maradona.
World Cup History:
In 1930, Argentina kept the U.S. out of the final with a 6-1 shellacking. Even so, it was the Americansâ best ever finish â third place. That remains the only time these two have meant in the World Cup, so unless 1930 still sticks in your craw, theyâre a pretty clean rooting interest.
World War History:
Again, not too much history here. Argentina sat out WWI and most of WWII and supported the Allies when they finally did choose a side. We canât even be too mad about that whole Falkland Islands thing â itâs a bit silly for England to own islands way down there and kicking the British out of places had become quite fashionable by 1982.
Final Verdict: 8/10 Tim Howard Saves
BRAZIL
Quicklook:
Much like Messi, Neymar da Silva Santos Junior had been carrying a wayward Brazil through the World Cup until it literally broke his back in the Quarterfinals. Or, perhaps more accurately, Colombiaâs Juan Camilo Zuniga broke his back with a Nigel de Jong-worthy flying knee. Neymar led the Brazilians in goals, shots, and chances created, and without him, the job is left to the likes of Fred and Jo, possibly an Oscar or Bernard, and maybe even a Jefferson. SoâŠnot very joga bonito. Americans root for Brazil because of romance, because of Fat Ronaldo, or because they bought something Pele was hawking.
World Cup History:
THIS:
  World War History:
Brazil tried to remain neutral in both conflicts, but eventually sided with the Aliies in each. So, like Argentina, not much to go on.
Final Verdict: 5/10 Clint Dempsey Belly Goals
GERMANY
 Quicklook:
Ze Germans came into the tournament boasting a new expansive and aggressive style of play and delivered by crushing Portugal 4-0 in their first match. Ever since then? They traded blows with Ghana in a 2-2 tie, dominated possession in a 1-0 defeat of the U.S., needed extra time to eke by Algeria, and bored France to death with a 1-0 win. We keep thinking this team has an extra gear in them, but they are more and more resembling older editions of Die Mannschaft that expertly crafted low-scoring wins and penalty shootout victories. Americans root for Germany because our coach and 5 players are German, and for Manuel Neuerâs heat map (again, heâs a goalie!) and Joachim Lowâs prodigious gold-digging.
World Cup History:
You mean other than the aforementioned 1-0 defeat? Torsten Fringsâs handball in 2002 is the most egregious, ending the U.S.âs best World Cup run since 1930:
And there was also a 2-0 defeat in 1998, but we lost to everyone that year, finishing 32nd out of 32 teams.
World War History:
I think youâre starting to get a sense of why this section is included in the first place. Iâll leave the rest to Wikipedia and footage of non-white German players not singing the national anthem before games.
Final Verdict: 2/10 John Brooks Headers
THE NETHERLANDS
Quicklook:
The Oranje have been the most consistently dynamic team this World Cup. The 5-1 drubbing of the reigning champs; the 3-2 win over Tim Cahill; 2 late goals over Chile; 2 late goals (1 dubious) over Mexico; and about 37 missed chances against Costa Rica until a late-sub goalkeeper made two penalty shootout saves to get them here. Just about every one of their games has been damn good fun. And then thereâs Arjen Robben who is either the best or worst player in the tournament, depending on your âsimulationâ sensibilities. Americans root for the Dutch because they have Robin van Persie Manchester United jerseys, learned the âCruijffâ turn at age 10, and read books about totaalvoetbal.
World Cup History:
Nil. Never played the United States on the biggest stage, which come to think of it makes it seem like theyâre dodging us. Come and get yer whoopin, The Netherlands!
World War History:
From the Germany-Netherlands Football Rivalry Wiki, take it away, Wim van Hanegem (b. 1944), Dutch midfielder!
I didn't give a damn about the score. 1â0 was enough, as long as we could humiliate them. I hate them. They murdered my family. My father, my sister, two of my brothers. Each time I faced Germany I was angst-filled.
Itâs a bit hard to reconcile sympathy for an invaded country with that countryâs unparalleled cooperation with their invadersâ genocide. So it pretty much means that the imp that is #THISWORLDCUP will give us a Germany-Netherlands final in Brazil. (Although Argentina-Brazil for all the marbles in the Maracana would be just as juicy.)