THE STARS
World Cup, Cartier, pho tip
★★★★★ World Cup
So far, the 2026 World Cup has had something for everyone. For soccer fans, many exemplary instances of the beautiful game in action. For goalkeepers, a vindication of their under-appreciated skill. For followers of the Messi vs Ronaldo rivalry timeline, the unequivocal resolution to the GOAT question. For leftists, the chance to barrack for decolonial revenge narratives—or at least for the team least responsible for its own historical state crimes. For Catholics, a chance to blame Brazil’s lacklustre efforts on the rise of neo-Pentecostalism. For online race scientists, new data concerning ancient Viking phenotypes. For resistance boomers, further confirmation of Trump’s blatant corruption, and then natural justice served via the Leopoldians. For your Eds, our first opportunity to indulge in a pint of Guinness and a flat white at 5am at the Great Northern. It was half time, Australia 0, Egypt 1. The place was packed with mulleted, mustachioed boys who had been on the bags all night, and the smell was just dreadful. We nabbed a spot at the front bar next to a debonair older gentleman in a grey suit who was sipping on a sparkling wine and a double espresso. Classy. He told us he played professionally in the former Yugoslavia, but gave it up when he migrated to Australia. According to the gent, the only people who played here back then were the wogs, and he didn’t want to be a wog—he wanted to blend in. “But now look,” he said, gesturing at the tables of young men placing multis on their phones. “We’re all wogs now!” Well, at least for a few weeks… The second half began. We scored (or actually they scored for us). The fellas went nuts. Harry Souttar blasted the ball over the crossbar. An image of Tony Popovic, wide-eyed and sweating bullets, flashed on the screen. “He looks awful,” the Yugoslav said. Herrington, the 18-year-old, also missed. Everyone groaned. The harried Great Northern bar staff breathed a sigh of relief. “Bad luck,” the security guard yelled after Hossam Abdelmaguid buried Egypt’s winning penalty. “Go home. We’re tired. See you in four years.”
★★★★ Pho Bat Dan
Bill Clinton would have three bowls, if not more.
