The World Cup left us with some surprising heroes. Kudos to pop’s leader of the bland and his very public rebuke to hatred and division

Long before the United States turned the World Cup final into an orgy of pop music and advertising, the signs were already there that this year’s co-hosts should never have been allowed within a thousand miles of the tournament. The garish half-time show curated by Chris Martin of Coldplay seemed to reinforce that – but then came a moment of improbable genius.

I was surprised. The last time America hosted, the problem wasn’t commercial overkill so much as sheer shrugging apathy. I was in New York during USA ’94. Apart from a few flapping banners outside the Nike store, you wouldn’t have known one of the world’s biggest sporting events was taking place. This, in hindsight, was a blessing. Football was allowed to football.

Simon Price is a music journalist and author

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