Welcome back to the cyclical hell of international football, where the faces change but the crushing redundancy remains the same. The 35th edition of the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) is staggering toward its conclusion in Morocco, a country currently engaged in a desperate, expensive bid to convince the world it is something other than a sun-bleached kingdom with a penchant for tactical infrastructure spending. The BBC, in its infinite capacity for beige reporting, has released a guide on 'all you need to know' about the final between Morocco and Senegal. What they failed to include, predictably, is that what you actually 'need to know' is how much of your dwindling lifespan you are prepared to trade for ninety minutes of men chasing a piece of synthetic leather in the desert.

Let us contemplate the matchup: the Atlas Lions versus the Lions of Teranga. One wonders if there is a shortage of predatory mammals in the collective imagination of the continent, or if 'Lion' is simply the default setting for any nation hoping to project a strength they clearly lack on the geopolitical stage. Morocco, the host, has spent years manicuring its image, positioning itself as the bridge between Europe’s wallets and Africa’s potential, all while the tournament itself serves as a convenient distraction from the more pressing realities of regional instability and the slow-motion collapse of global sanity. The Moroccan monarchy wants a trophy to validate its investment; Senegal wants to maintain its grip on a narrative of dominance that exists solely within the vacuum of a grass rectangle. It is a battle of 'Lions' that will ultimately be decided by which group of millionaires, most of whom spend their working weeks in the plush training grounds of London or Paris, can better endure the Moroccan heat.

To the performative Left, AFCON is a sacred rite of 'African excellence,' a phrase repeated with such nauseating frequency that it has lost all meaning. They will tweet about the beauty of the Moroccan architecture and the 'soul' of the game, willfully ignoring the fact that this is a multi-million dollar commercial engine greased by the same corporate entities they claim to despise during the work week. To the moronic Right, the tournament is either an invisible non-entity or a source of irritation—a reminder that the world exists outside their gated communities and that 'their' clubs’ players are being 'stolen' for a mid-season competition in a place they couldn't find on a map if their lives depended on it. Both sides are, as usual, spectacularly wrong. AFCON isn't a triumph of the spirit, nor is it a logistical nuisance; it is a mirrors-and-smoke show designed to funnel betting revenue into the pockets of offshore gambling syndicates while the peasantry cheers for a flag they can’t afford to fly.

There is something deeply pathetic about the '35th' edition of anything. It suggests a lack of imagination, a stubborn refusal to let a concept die even after it has been milked dry of any original utility. The BBC’s guide treats this as a milestone, but it’s actually an indictment. We have done this thirty-four times before. We have seen the goals, the yellow cards, the corrupt refereeing scandals, and the inevitable sight of a politician in a bespoke suit handing a trophy to a man who would rather be back in a Premier League locker room. The 'all you need to know' aspect of the coverage is a list of stadiums and kick-off times, as if the physical location of the spectacle somehow imbues it with a deeper truth. It doesn't. Whether the ball is kicked in Casablanca or Dakar, the result is a temporary spike in dopamine followed by the realization that your rent is still due and the planet is still melting.

As Morocco faces Senegal, the narrative will be one of 'clashing titans.' In reality, it is a clash of branding. Morocco is the 'modern' face of the continent, hosting the party to prove they can play with the big boys of the FIFA elite. Senegal is the 'established' power, a team built on the backs of an export economy—that export being human athletic talent. The fans will scream, the commentators will reach for increasingly strained metaphors about heart and grit, and the 'Lions' will fight for a gold-plated cup that will eventually sit in a glass case in a government building while the actual people of these nations continue to struggle under the weight of systemic incompetence. It is the ultimate bread and circuses routine, updated for the digital age with high-definition slow-motion replays of the misery.

In the end, the 2025 AFCON final will conclude, a winner will be crowned, and the BBC will produce another article summarizing 'what we learned.' What we will have learned is that human beings are remarkably easy to entertain if you give them a ball and a tribal affiliation. We will have learned that Morocco is very good at building stadiums and that Senegal is very good at producing athletes. Beyond that, there is nothing. No progress, no change, just the 36th edition looming on the horizon like a recurring fever dream. Enjoy the final, if you can stomach the irony. I’ll be here, waiting for the inevitable moment when the lights go out and we all realize we’ve spent our lives watching a game that has no ending and no point.