Argentina returns home after World Cup final loss, Messi absent from homecoming

The aircraft touched down in Buenos Aires on a cold, wet afternoon, and the players descended into a scene that felt more like a funeral than a homecoming. Thousands of Argentinians had gathered outside the AFA training complex near Ezeiza international airport, bundled against the rain, clutching blue-and-white umbrellas and flags. They had come to welcome their team home after the World Cup final in the United States. But something was missing. Lionel Messi, the captain who had carried the nation's hopes for decades, was not among those who stepped onto the tarmac. Neither were several other squad members. The Argentinian Football Association had announced the absences beforehand, but seeing the empty space where Messi should have been made it real.

Coach Lionel Scaloni and the rest of the squad were greeted with a red carpet and a military band—the formal trappings of honor that felt hollow against the weight of what had just happened. Spain had beaten Argentina 1-0 in the final, denying the team a chance to win back-to-back World Cups. The match itself had been marred by fouls and poor sportsmanship, and the loss stung in a way that no ceremonial welcome could soften.

Yet the fans came anyway. Marga Ledezma, thirty-six years old, stood in the drizzle and spoke about Messi with a tenderness that suggested something deeper than disappointment. She thanked him for the years he had made Argentinians happy, and she urged him not to abandon the national team. "Argentinians will celebrate anyway," she said, as if the act of showing up, of bearing witness, was itself a form of gratitude. Leonardo Barrientos, also thirty-six and working in a textile workshop, echoed the sentiment. "This team united us all, and we should be grateful for that," he said. "We will always be there for them, rain or shine."

There was a particular pride in how some fans spoke about the semifinal victory over England—a 2-1 win that carried weight beyond football, given the long-standing dispute between the countries over the Falkland Islands. That match had felt like something more than sport. Maria Ortiz, twenty-eight, had brought her two-year-old daughter to the airport. She acknowledged that Spain had deserved the win, but she was grateful for what the team had given Argentina. The loss, in other words, did not erase what had come before it.

That evening, thousands made their way to the Obelisk in Buenos Aires, the traditional gathering point for celebrations. They came with fireworks and music, determined to mark the moment even in defeat. But as the night deepened, the mood shifted. Brief clashes erupted among the revellers. Police responded with water cannons, tear gas, and rubber bullets. Fifteen people were detained before order was restored. It was a jarring end to a day that had begun with quiet gratitude and ended with the streets of Buenos Aires in turmoil—a fitting coda, perhaps, to a World Cup campaign that had promised so much and delivered heartbreak instead.