The Spanish 15 thought they were in charge. They were wrong

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Now that we’re at the semi-final stage of the Women’s World Cup, we can see the Big Themes emerging from it. The biggest one – distractions dull focus.

The U.S. team spent the past half-dozen years fighting at the sharp end of the culture wars. That was fine as long as it was winning. Now that it is not, the whole world is landing on it like a piano.

The Canadian team and its federation cannot stop arguing over money. They managed to do a financial deal in the middle of the World Cup – maybe not the best time for that sort of thing. But even the deal they did wasn’t good enough for the players. In announcing it, they also complained about it.

The U.S. and Canadian teams showed up looking like zombified versions of themselves. Playing sprightly sides such as Nigeria and Portugal, the traditional powers of North America played like what they are – old and out of ideas.

But running underneath this trend, there is also a rich history in soccer of chaotic outfits who win despite themselves. This year’s example of bad process equalling good results is the Spanish national women’s team.

As with their male counterparts, the Spanish team is a headscratcher. Spain has one of the best leagues in the world, staffed largely by its own countrywomen. The Spanish are led by a two-time world player of the year, Alexia Putellas.

But every time Spain gets to a World Cup, its knees go wobbly. Between World Cups, the Spanish argue. With each other. With management. With anyone who’s around.

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The lead-in to this World Cup was especially combustible. Just short of a year out, the players tried to get the coach, Jorge Vilda, fired. When that didn’t work, 15 Spanish nationals wrote letters to their federation demanding change. Until that change happened, they asked that they not be considered for inclusion on the team.

It was one of those very modern sports disputes where the grievance is loud and public, but the cause of it is obscure. What exactly had Vilda done to alienate half his team? No one would say.

The mutineers alluded to a “situation” which had “an important effect” on their “emotional state.” Putellas was not among the signatories, but she did post their message on social media. Several other teammates also tried this ‘I’m there for you even if I’m not, you know, there for you’ dodge.

There were echoes in this of recent work actions by the Canadian and U.S. women’s teams. The pattern has become familiar – the team is unhappy with leadership; leadership doesn’t care; the team demands changes; leadership slips and dodges; the team threatens action; leadership dares it to do it; things simmer down for a while and then we go back and do it all over again.

Give the Spanish insurgents credit – they didn’t just threaten to quit. They quit. That’s commitment to principle.

Unhappily for them, the Spanish federation was similarly determined. It refused to remove Vilda. Additionally, it demanded that any player who wanted to return would have to apologize and admit their errors. Three women took the federation up on the offer. The bulk stayed home.

The result? Missing half of its first-choice team, Spain has gone farther at a Women’s World Cup than it ever has. It will play Sweden in the semi-finals on Tuesday.

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So who’s the fool here?

Well, the first lesson is that you shouldn’t pick a fight you’re not sure you can win. The Spanish 15 thought they were in charge. The French may have inspired them.

The French women’s team pulled the same routine on their coach back in March. In that instance, the French federation gave in. The Spanish may have expected a similar surrender. They were wrong.

The second lesson is that the graveyard is full of irreplaceable midfielders.

There is an exception to this rule – one huge star on a mediocre team has leverage. Because without her or him, there is no business to defend. When Alphonso Davies took his fight with Canada Soccer over image rights public, his bosses folded immediately.

However, a dozen good players in a country filled with other, nearly as good players have zero leverage. They are replaceable widgets. The Canadian women’s team has been finding this out over and over again for the past couple of years.

The only way Spain’s soccer putsch had any chance of success was if Putellas jumped on board. She didn’t, and so the revolution didn’t make it off the beach.

All this bad feeling simplified life for the Spanish team. Used to going in to a big tournament as undeserving favourites, it arrived as undeserving underdogs instead. People who couldn’t name half the Spanish 15 were convinced their absence meant doom for Spain. Because that’s how they hoped it would work out.

Instead, Spain has played some of the most watchable soccer at this World Cup. Vilda and the federation are already vindicated. All the insurgents have managed to do is make him coach for life.

But the real winner out of all of this? The status quo.

One of the great themes of the pandemic period was workers taking back control from the bosses. Factory workers at Amazon demanding health coverage isn’t as sexy a story as tennis players demanding million-dollar raises. So, somehow, pro athletes became the Marxist vanguard of the movement.

All they had to do was show that their new formula was also a winning one. That’s the one thing you can never guarantee in sports.

So, loss by loss, the thing you knew would happen is happening. Sports, like every other business, is returning to the old, capitalist way of doing things. Which is to say, winners can make demands, and losers can take it on the arches.