In the grand, exhausting theatre of human distraction, few acts are as consistently pathetic as the worship of the association football match. This week, the mantle of collective delusion falls upon Senegal, a nation that has decided to suspend the laws of productivity and logic because eleven men managed to kick a ball into a net exactly one more time than eleven other men from Morocco. A 1-0 victory. That is the catalyst for this civilizational pause. Not a breakthrough in sustainable energy, not a miraculous leap in literacy, or a sudden surge in the GDP, but a singular, sweating moment of athletic competence in a game that is essentially a ninety-minute exercise in cardio-induced frustration.

Senegal supporters are currently engaged in a state of performative ecstasy that would make a medieval flagellant look composed. From the streets of Dakar to the diaspora hubs around the globe, the narrative is the same: ‘We won.’ No, you didn’t. You sat on a couch or stood in a pub, likely consuming something that will shorten your lifespan, while professional athletes—millionaires in their own right—did the actual labor. Yet, the human ego is so desperate for a sense of belonging that it shamelessly appropriates the physical exertion of others. It is the ultimate participation trophy for the non-participant. To celebrate a 1-0 win as if it were the storming of the Bastille is to admit that your daily existence is so devoid of victory that you must outsource your joy to a group of strangers in short pants.

And then comes the inevitable decree: a public holiday. A day off. Because apparently, the sheer mental strain of watching a ball move across grass is so taxing that the entire machinery of a state must grind to a halt. Governments love this, of course. It is the cheapest form of governance available. Why bother fixing the sewage system or stabilizing the currency when you can simply declare a holiday after a dramatic win? It’s a classic bread-and-circuses maneuver, though in the modern era, we’ve largely done away with the bread and just doubled down on the circus. By granting a day off, the state legitimizes the irrationality of the mob, ensuring that for at least twenty-four hours, nobody is asking where the tax revenue went because they’re too busy nursing a hangover and re-watching a highlight reel of a single goal.

Morocco, meanwhile, finds itself on the other side of this vacuous coin. The ‘Atlas Lions,’ once the darlings of the global sporting press, have been relegated to the status of losers in a binary system that lacks any nuance. Their fans, who were likely prepared to engage in the same brand of obnoxious revelry had the score been reversed, are now plunged into a performative mourning. This is the inherent stupidity of the sport: the margin between a national holiday and national despair is often a deflected shot or a gust of wind. It is an unstable foundation upon which to build a national identity, yet millions do it with a fervor that suggests they’ve forgotten that on Monday morning, the trophy won’t pay their rent.

From an intellectual standpoint, the Afcon win is a fascinating study in atavistic tribalism. We pretend we’ve evolved, that we are creatures of reason and industry, yet we are still easily manipulated by the most basic ‘us vs. them’ dynamics. The Left will undoubtedly frame this as a beautiful moment of ‘continental unity’ and ‘cultural pride,’ ignoring the fact that it is built on a foundation of exclusionary nationalism. The Right will co-opt the imagery of the ‘warrior’ on the pitch to sell some brand of rugged individualism that the players themselves don’t actually practice. Both sides are equally wrong and equally annoying. The truth is far more mundane: it is a game. It ended. One number was larger than the other.

As the celebrations continue, the reality of the situation remains unchanged. The 'dramatic' nature of the win is a linguistic trick used by broadcasters to keep you from changing the channel. In reality, it was a low-scoring affair defined more by what didn't happen than what did. But the fans don't care about technical proficiency or the quality of the play; they care about the hit of dopamine that comes from being on the 'winning' side of a zero-sum game. Senegal will wake up tomorrow, the holiday will end, the streets will be littered with the remnants of the party, and the problems that existed before the kickoff will still be there, waiting, entirely unimpressed by the 1-0 scoreline. But for now, let them scream. It’s easier than thinking.