Article
Character
Comment
Football
Sport
6 min read

Why England lost the Final

Emerson Csorba explores why love is a game-changer when it comes to winning.

Emerson Csorba works in deep tech, following experience in geopolitics and energy.

Gareth Southgate congratulating the team

So, England reached another final which ended in crushing disappointment. Despite their ability to grind out wins deep into Euros and World Cup tournaments due to the savvy approach of now ex-coach Gareth Southgate, the team risks a similar fate as it looks toward the World Cup.

Gareth Southgate resigned as England manager having lost two successive Euro finals. And maybe there’s a reason. His style is habitually defensive, cautious and careful. There is a sense in watching England that they fear failure under the weight of expectation, the fear leading to a strange restraint. There was a caution in their play, the potential of their extraordinary players limited rather than unlocked. When they equalized in the final, they inexplicably failed to capitalize, sitting back and letting Spain come at them again, leading to Oyarzabal’s winning goal.

It is not surprising that England were overtaken in the final minutes of the Euros by an opponent that went for it. Spain played with more intent, winning the tournament with fewer stars than England, but with heart embodied in captain and player of the tournament Rodri.

Compare, however a lesser-known football nation in a less well-reported competition over these past weeks.

Little was expected of Canada’s Men’s National Team upon entering their first “Copa America” football tournament in late June. However, led by former Leeds United coach Jesse Marsch, Canada made the semifinals – a remarkable run that had much of the ice hockey-loving nation turning their television sets to football.

It took the eventual champions and world number-one Argentina and its star Lionel Messi to knock out the Canadians in a closely fought game. Argentina coach Lionel Scaloni called the Canadians “a very good team that’s made it hard for everyone.”

When all was said and done, Canada advanced further into the tournament than Mexico, the United States, Chile and even titans Brazil.

What was behind Canada’s recent Copa success? And what can be learnt from coach Jesse Marsch – and other similar coaches – in unlocking the potential of their teams?

The answer, modelled by Marsch but seen in other select coaches’ approaches, is found in a quality not often mentioned in the world of sport: it is nothing less than Love, and the courage it produces.

A quality which is not often mentioned in the world of sport: Love, and the courage it produces.

Certain coaches’ evident love for their team allows players to tap into new reserves of energy, taking risks despite fear of failure. These teams play with courage, striving to win, rather than sitting back. They leave everything on the field. This love keeps teams on the offensive, their opponents on the defensive. Such courage is important in modern football, which values a high-energy, attacking style.

Modern sport rewards teams who display speed, directness and versatility. Just as the smartphone has sped up the pace of modern communication and life, rewarding those capable of communicating with large audiences instantaneously, football and other sports reward those with quickness and directness in their style of play.

For instance, in American football, the “quarterback” position of previous decades needed only throw the football effectively. These days, the best quarterbacks must throw and run. Speed, directness and versatility are demanded of the modern quarterback, mirroring the overall speeding-up of society and their ability to reach people instantaneously in an increasingly interconnected world.

Canada, adapting to these changes, brought speed to every match. Marsch’s enthusiasm on the sideline was clear throughout the tournament. Canada provided opponents with little room to breathe, keeping on the front foot from the opening kick to the final whistle. The team was rewarded accordingly, despite their inexperience and lack of stature. The same was true of the dynamic Georgia team in the Euros, who humbled the mighty Portugal 2-0 in the group stages.

Marsh recognised Canada’s potential when others didn’t. Following a quarterfinal win over Venezuela, arguably the most dominant team in the tournament up to that point, with the stadium packing 48,000 Venezuelans compared to Canada’s 1,000 fans, Marsch highlighted his players’ untapped ability. He did this throughout the tournament, and his players fed on this awareness of their potential.

Marsch’s own story is one of challenge. He was fired in 2023 by Leeds United and then rejected by the United States Men’s National Team. Despite his track record and promise, he was overlooked in favour of lesser candidates. These rejections provided Marsch with a deepened belief in his own ability and unique style. This inner strength in turn provided his players with courage in hostile matches throughout Copa America.

Reflecting on the Copa America success, Marsch said: “I want to get back to loving the game that I love, and this team has helped me find that, and I’m very thankful for that.” This love helped the Canadians play with courage, tapping into energy levels to underpin this courage.

Few coaches achieve this – but the results are evident for those who do.

In the English Premier League, Jurgen Klopp, Mikel Arteta and Pep Guardiola are often criticised for their exuberance on the field, but each coach clearly loves their team. This translates to teams that do not easily give up, responding quickly to setbacks.

St Paul famously wrote: “Love always hopes, always perseveres.” When they are bound together by a sense of love, it enables a person, or a team to push forward, never giving up hope, always pressing for the win.

Jurgen Klopp loved the city of Liverpool and demonstrated this through his unforgettable hugs of his players and on-field energy. His players fed off this love and routinely went for it. Liverpool launched long ball after long ball, with fullback Trent Alexander-Arnold one of the best long passers in the Premier League, game in and game out, winning the Premier League for the first time in decades and even reaching the pinnacle of the Champions League.

Mikel Arteta inherited and rebuilt an Arsenal that had fallen from previous heights. One moment stands out in this rebuilding process. Following a shock loss to Everton at the midway point in the 2022-2023 season, Arteta told the press that he loved his team “even more” than he did previously. Arsenal were unable to unseat Manchester City that year, losing energy in the final weeks of the season. But they took their game to a new level in the following campaign, pushing City to the final day.

Pep Guardiola is the exuberant and intense coach of Manchester City. But look at his captain Rodri, who recently led Spain to Euros glory. Following Spain’s victory, Rodri commented “In sport, as in life, when you leave it all there, you are rewarded.”

Rodri made a similar comment following Man City’s fourth consecutive EPL title, stating that he knew Man City would win the EPL title following Arsenal’s 0-0 draw with City at City’s home stadium the Emirates.

The reason? Arsenal came to achieve a draw – not a victory. They did not demonstrate the heart needed to win the game decisively. They were lacking in love in that match, playing instead not to lose. The difference between these approaches, one focused on winning and the other on not losing, was fear – even if subtle.

The Jewish sage Hillel is well known for saying “If I’m not for me, who will be for me? And if not now, when?” The coaches described above, each demonstrating love, instill in their teams the ability to take risks, playing boldly. This is Hillel’s “if not now, when?”

St Paul famously wrote: “Love always hopes, always perseveres.” When they are bound together by a sense of love, it enables a person, or a team to push forward, never giving up hope, always pressing for the win.

Love is the vital quality providing players with the courage, to play on the front foot with a view to winning decisively. It is conducive to success in modern football valuing speed. Led by the coach, and spreading through players, it is the difference-maker as the margins between failure and success continue to narrow.

Article
Comment
Politics
Truth and Trust
5 min read

The ancients had the right words for Trump’s tussle with the BBC

Can the truth be concealed?

Hal is a theologian and writer based in London.

A composite images shows the entrance to the BBC on one side and Donald Trump on the other
BBC.

The recent controversies surrounding the BBC's leadership and the lawsuit brought by Donald Trump may appear, at first glance, to be merely another chapter in the ongoing drama of contemporary politics and media. Yet for those with eyes to see, something far older and more profound lies beneath the surface turbulence—a perennial struggle concerning the very nature of truth itself, one that reaches back to the dawn of Western thought and touches the deepest springs of our common life. 

The sequence of events is itself instructive. The disturbances at the Capitol occurred on January 6, 2021. More than three years thereafter, the BBC's Panorama programme broadcast an investigation examining the relationship between Mr Trump's rhetoric—his exhortation to "fight like hell"—and the violence that ensued. The programme did not fabricate a narrative but rather sought to interpret one, attempting to hold words and their consequences together within a coherent moral framework. This work was, in its essence, what the pre-Socratic philosopher Parmenides termed Aletheia: truth understood as 'unconcealment', the patient labour of bringing into public view that which has been hidden or obscured. 

A vocation 

When the crisis deepened, the BBC's then Director of News, Deborah Turness, reaffirmed the Corporation's mission as the pursuit of truth "with no agenda". It was a well-intentioned defence, though perhaps insufficiently bold. For the BBC's founding vision was never a pursuit of neutrality as an end in itself, but rather the pursuit of truth in service of the common good—a vision given permanent expression in the inscription carved into the very walls of Broadcasting House: 

"This Temple of the Arts and Muses is dedicated to Almighty God... It is their prayer that good seed sown may bring forth a good harvest... that the people, inclining their ear to whatsoever things are beautiful and honest and of good report, may tread the path of wisdom and uprightness." 

This inscription is no mere ornament. It constitutes a theological statement concerning the vocation of public speech. The call to sow "good seed"—echoing Jesus’ parable of the sower in St Matthew's Gospel—the summons to attend to whatsoever things are "honest and of good report" as St Paul exhorts in his letter to the Philippians, and the call to walk "in wisdom and uprightness" from the book of Proverbs—all these speak to a moral order in which words are meant to bear fruit. Panorama's investigation may be understood as a contemporary attempt to fulfil this sacred charge: an inevitably human and imperfect effort to unconceal the connection between language and its consequences in the world. 

The ancient force of oblivion 

Mr Trump's response, however, embodies a different and equally ancient force: Lethe—the personification of oblivion and forgetfulness in Greek thought. His lawsuit is not simply a defence against an allegation he finds unwelcome. It represents, rather, a strategic campaign to enforce forgetfulness. What Trump has chosen to bring into the light is not his own intent or action, but rather the BBC's editorial process. By directing all attention toward the matter of editing, he seeks to bury and render forgotten the original and far more consequential question: the demonstrable connection between his words on the sixth of January and the violent response of his supporters. The strategy is to employ a minor unconcealment—the technical matter of the edit—in order to accomplish a major concealment: the causal chain linking rhetoric to riot. 

This, then, is the quiet heart of the matter. The lawsuit functions as a modern political instrument deployed within an ancient philosophical conflict. It represents a deliberate choice for Lethe over Aletheia, aiming to dissolve the connection between word and reality, and to immerse the most uncomfortable truths in the waters of oblivion. 

For Christians, this struggle occupies familiar ground. To stand for truth is not to claim infallibility—a pretension that belongs to God alone—but rather to participate in the slow, difficult work of revelation: to bring things into the light for the sake of healing and restoration. Whether in journalism, the Church, or the wider public square, truth remains first a vocation before it becomes a verdict. 

The crisis at the BBC, therefore, is not merely about institutional governance or corporate reputation. It serves as a reminder that the pursuit of truth is always a contested act of unconcealment, perpetually threatened by the seductive pull of forgetfulness. In an age tempted by distraction and denial, even imperfect truth-telling becomes an act of faith—a wager that reality is trustworthy, that words have weight, that consequences follow causes. 

A reason to persevere 

This ancient struggle between unconcealment and oblivion offers perspective on our present moment. For those who hold religious faith, it recalls St John's testimony that "the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not"—a conviction that truth ultimately prevails. For those who do not share such faith, the argument stands on its own philosophical ground: that truth-telling, however costly and imperfect, serves something greater than partisan advantage or institutional survival. 

The inscription at Broadcasting House speaks to both believer and non-believer alike. Its prayer for "good seed" and "good harvest", its call to attend to things beautiful, honest, and of good report, articulates a civic ideal that transcends particular creeds. It suggests that public institutions bear a responsibility—not to be infallible, but to resist the gravitational pull of forgetfulness, to maintain the connection between words and their consequences, to choose unconcealment over oblivion. 

Whether one grounds this commitment in theological conviction or in secular principle, the work remains the same: the slow, difficult labour of bringing uncomfortable truths into the light, trusting that a society capable of facing reality is stronger than one that retreats into comfortable fictions. In an age tempted by distraction and denial, this may be reason enough to persevere. 

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