Under the lights. It’s a refrain advanced by commentators and echoed by fans. Shorthand for the prime-time pressure of the biggest games. High stakes deserve dramatic staging, and the cold light of day, it is assumed, simply cannot provide the necessary emphasis.
Tell that to Maradona.
The Cosmic Kite that flew through the Azteca 40 years ago did so under a blazing sun, forever burning himself into our collective consciousness. And he’s not alone.
To think of the World Cup is to indulge in sun-kissed nostalgia, with the history, memories, and emotions all deeply informed by an endless-summer aesthetic. But that aesthetic is changing.
In the modern era, the number of World Cup games held under the lights has been growing, as a chiaroscuro battle wages between night and day. And if this World Cup is anything to go by, then the days, it seems, are numbered.
Historically, the World Cup is a daytime tournament. The first several editions consisted entirely of afternoon and early evening kickoffs. It wasn’t until the 1950s that floodlights were (sparingly) introduced, and it would be another 30 years before they featured in a final, at the Bernabéu, in 1982.
But even as technology advanced and the size of the tournament grew, tradition dictated that the majority of World Cup games were staged during the day. Indeed, up until the turn of the 21st century, only three finals - 1982, 1990, and 1998 - required the use of artificial light, while not one of them kicked off after nightfall.
It’s not just historical precedence, however, that bathes the World Cup in sunshine. From barbecues to beer gardens, watch parties to holidays, the tournament is both consumed and celebrated like a summer festival. Even in the Southern Hemisphere - where decorated nations like Brazil and Argentina experience the World Cup during their winter - forgiving climates and festive traditions see block parties and churrascos imbue the tournament with quintessentially summer characteristics.
It is in this context that the World Cup canon was written. Baggio blasting Italian dreams over the crossbar, toward Southern Californian palms. Bergkamp’s right-footed symphony, conducted between light and shadow. The Hand of God reaching up toward the blue, Mexican heavens. Indelible moments made mythical in glorious sunshine.
But new memories are being made in a different light.
Of the 104 matches at this World Cup, 65 were played either after dusk or indoors (that’s not including the eight games held at SoFi, where a hybrid design allows for dappled sun through its translucent roof). In total, that puts over 60% of the tournament outside of full daylight.
It’s a stark contrast to the last time the tournament was hosted in North America, when a mere 13% of matches at USA ‘94 were held under the lights. But it’s no longer unusual.
Between 2002 and 2022, 65% of all World Cup games were played either indoors or after dusk, including three finals held entirely at night (2002, 2010, & 2022) and another three played during twilight (2006, 2014, & 2018).
Nowhere was this change more pronounced than in Qatar, where a remarkable 89% of all fixtures were taken out of the sun. However, 2022 wasn’t just the apex of this trend, it was also emblematic of the cause.
With an oppressively hot climate, Qatar was an illogical host for a summer tournament. But rather than change the host, they changed the tournament.
Taking place in the winter for the first time ever, the 2022 World Cup bucked tradition in order to satisfy FIFA’s relentless determination to “grow the game” (interpret that as you will). Yet growth comes at a cost.
New markets, expanding formats, and incongruous hosts make scheduling changes inevitable. Couple that with the ever-deepening climate crisis and it would appear that the sun is setting on World Cup day games.
But perhaps that’s a price worth paying? After all, the nighttime final in Qatar four years ago was one of the greatest games of football ever played, with drama unparalleled.
Likewise, to be beholden to nostalgia is to forsake the future. As Tony Soprano once opined, “remember when" is the lowest form of conversation. World Cups are about writing history, not repeating it. So what’s the difference if it’s written under the lights?
When the USMNT faced off against Bosnia and Herzegovina in their Round of 32 clash on July 1st, they did so in golden, Californian sun. The game kicked off at 5pm local time, and from the opening whistle the elements were in play. Commentators talked of wind coming in off the bay, while viewers watched the pronounced shadow of Levi’s Stadium gradually work its way across the field.
Then, in the 82nd minute, Malik Tillman converted a free kick that will likely go down as one of the greatest goals in U.S. soccer history. But the long shadows and amber light that colored the moment weren’t just decoration. They were visual, mnemonic markers. Subtle textures forever anchoring the moment in time and place - both for those who watched it live and those who will only ever know it through highlights.
Now compare that with the semifinals of this past week. France vs Spain and England vs Argentina were two very different but equally fascinating games. Far more significant and consequential than any Round of 32 fixture, they are also fresher in our minds. Easier to distinguish.
Or are they?
Both games were played indoors, in identical light, under identical, temperature-controlled conditions. As different as the stadiums may (or may not) be, their aesthetics were eerily similar. Unless you were paying attention, you’d likely be unable to say where either took place (Dallas and Atlanta, respectively.) In time, you may even forget when (the afternoon).
In other words, what indoor, artificially-lit environments give us in consistency they may cost us in memory.
Recall once more the World Cups of yesteryear. The chewed up turf and vivid color of 1970. The spider-like shadow over the center circle in 1986. The geometric patterns of sunbaked grass in 1994. What they all have in common is imperfection.
Playing in the sun accentuates idiosyncrasies, allowing each tournament to develop its own, unique aesthetic, and creating a less homogenized experience.
Perfectly lit, sterile environments might help for content commodification, but with less variation there’s less to hold onto. Less to connect with. Less imperfection.
That’s not to say that footballing portraits painted under the lights are inherently less beautiful. They’re not. Rather, it’s that their frames are all similar. And in the gallery of our memory, World Cup games deserve more than factory molding.
It’s easy to dismiss such romanticizing, but re-watch the Goal of the Century and ask yourself if the beautiful game isn’t at its most beautiful under the sun?
Which brings us to - of all places - New Jersey.
MetLife Stadium is far from an ideal host for a World Cup final. Plagued with numerous logistical issues, it has (deservedly) received its fair share of criticism. Much of that criticism, however, stems from climate concerns.
MetLife (or, New York New Jersey Stadium, as FIFA has temporarily re-branded it) is an exposed stadium, and scheduling the World Cup final for 3pm local time, in mid-July, felt like inviting trouble. Extreme heat, humidity, and thunderstorms occur regularly throughout Mid-Atlantic summers and have already affected games this tournament. The round of 32 match between France vs Sweden (also at MetLife) saw on-field temperatures reach 95°, while France vs Iraq was interrupted for over 2 hours due to thunderstorms in Philadelphia.
Still, such issues are nothing new. Extreme weather has always been a part of the World Cup. In the 1934 final, Italy overcame a one-goal deficit in 100° heat to lift their first title on home soil. 1994 saw numerous games played in triple-digit heat, including another final. Games have been played in downpours, delayed by storms, and burnt by the sun throughout its entire history. That’s simply part of the tapestry of a World Cup.
The world, however, is changing.
At the time of writing, it’s neither storms nor heat that are a concern for the final. It’s smoke. Blown hundreds of miles south from Canadian wildfires. Air quality alerts have been issued by New York and New Jersey authorities, with the outdoors currently deemed unsafe for exercise - let alone lung-busting competition.
While forecasters expect conditions to improve over the next couple of days, it’s a bleak reminder of a harsh reality that the World Cup must confront. Because of climate change, the risk-reward ratio of outdoor games is shifting. And as memorable or beautiful as sun-kissed fixtures are, they may no longer be worth it.
So when Spain takes on Argentina this Sunday (assuming a dystopian haze doesn’t get in the way) soak it all in. The sun. The clouds. The imperfections.
And every time you squint as the ball passes between bright light and dark shadows, remember that you’re not just watching a World Cup final, you’re likely watching the sunset of an era.