A quick meme-based (football-free) retelling of the World Cup final

Yes, France won the World Cup, but that’s only half the story. The captured nonsense that surrounded the event was substantially more layered.



For the first World Cup final of the meme-age proper, it didn’t disappoint, as it supplied numerous instances of non-sensical moments that will live forever, minus the proper context. If you chose sleep over glory, here’s a quick dribble of vibrant consciousness that you missed.

The entirety of the nonsense began with a protest that only made sense hours later, as Vlad’s premier antag-tivists Pussy Riot invaded the pitch in the 55th minute. Dressed as Russian policeman, the group pulled the stunt to highlight the environment of wrongful arrests that breathes in Vlad’s Russia. Mind you, I had to Google it, as the television broadcast gave us a wide shot of something.

However, the internet supplied the context, as it snapped the second coming of Marat, Kylian Mbappe supporting the protest, and Croatia’s Dejan Lovren being somewhat less supportive.





As the match closed, and the heartbreak and pomp began in earnest, the sky split, adding moisture to the salt of the vanquished Croatians, dissolving their last speck of vibrant sportsmanship. This was best evidenced by player of the tournament Luka Modric, who was absolutely thrilled with getting a gold statue, but certainly not the one that he wanted.





He’s having fun.

The real MVP of the entirety of the drenched postscript might have been Croatia’s president, Kolinda Grabar-Kitarovic, who held up the progress of the line, empathetically hugging each of her countrymen and slinging an arm around the suited Macaron.



Now, I say might, as there can only be one winner. Our lad Vlad scooped the prize at his tournament, but not with anything overt, or bombastic, the amount of power that he holds was neatly summated in the single act of a raised umbrella.



All of which brings me to Paul Pogba. While Kylian Mbappe rightly secured his lofty legacy of the next person to unrealistically cling to our bosom, it was Monsieur Pogba who oscillated between the three words of naw, that’s niceand please stop.

While his date to the World Cup final was his mother, he also visited much horror upon the nobility of the event, roping in his head of state to resurrect a long-dead millennial “dance”, the dab.




To prove that he’s just like your progeny (who you don’t understand), Pogba took the opportunity to drop the Shaku-Shaku in front of the jaded eyes of the assembled press. Which I think is some sort of meat-based soup dish?



Nevertheless, the ink has set on the page, and the result now official, the only thing left to do is to celebrate, and let that celebration entirely get too far out of hand.



However, for those who missed out, those who now have to wait another four years, those who need to remain at the top of their profession and somehow overcome the galaxy of stars in the next final in 2022, know that there’s another easier, faster way.

Just worm your way onto the stage and just pocket the World Cup winner’s medal. No-one is watching, right?



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