Forty days disappear quickly.
The final day in America was spent on land, at sea and in the sky, as if the journey wanted one last reminder of how vast the country really is. The morning began with a short bus ride, then a hop on New York’s famous subway to the Whitehall Terminal. From there, like hundreds of budget-conscious tourists every hour, the Diary boarded the Staten Island Ferry. Why pay USD26 to sail to Liberty Island when New York offers a free alternative?
The trick is wonderfully simple. Stand on the starboard side while leaving Manhattan and Lady Liberty remains alongside for almost 15 minutes. On the return journey, switch sides and enjoy another quarter of an hour with America’s most recognisable landmark. The ferry was packed beyond comfort, but almost nobody was travelling to Staten Island. The moment the boat docked, passengers simply walked off, joined the queue for the next ferry, and repeated the journey in reverse.
The Statue of Liberty deserved far more than a passing glance. Standing serenely against the choppy waters of New York Harbor, it has watched generations arrive with dreams far larger than their luggage. Even amid the elbows, cameras and selfie sticks, it retained a dignity that photographs cannot capture.
Then it was time to hurry. After forty unforgettable days chasing football across North America, the flight to Delhi was waiting.
The previous day had provided one final reminder that football rarely follows the script.
After a tournament overflowing with spectacular goals and dramatic comebacks, the World Cup final became its complete opposite. Spain slowly suffocated Argentina with possession, relentless pressing and immaculate organisation before Ferran Torres finally settled the contest in the 106th minute. There were no fireworks, only the gradual tightening of Spain’s grip until the defending champions could no longer breathe.
Getting inside the MetLife Stadium proved almost as exhausting as the match itself.
With President Donald Trump attending, the United States Secret Service had assumed control of security. The queue stretched for nearly an hour. Every backpack, every camera body and every lens was examined with extraordinary care, as though each of us posed a national security threat.
Once inside, in a city that had overwhelmingly voted against Trump in the 2024 election, the President was loudly booed every time his image appeared on the giant screens. The jeers grew louder still when he walked alongside his friend, FIFA president Gianni Infantino, for the presentation ceremony.
The working conditions hardly helped. A 3 p.m. kick-off left the media tribune baking beneath the afternoon sun. With no roof overhead, laptop screens disappeared beneath the glare. Yet the Diary took some comfort from the fact that everyone around him shared the misery, including veteran football correspondents from two of England’s biggest newspapers, who were muttering exactly the same complaints.
Argentina, sore after surrendering its title, skipped the mandatory mixed-zone media duties, leaving journalists staring at empty word documents as they searched for enough copy to fill the next day’s pages. Spain’s players, by contrast, arrived gracious and composed, speaking warmly about their beaten opponents. Their celebrations, too, felt restrained compared with the euphoric scenes witnessed after the final in Doha four years earlier.
Sweet marathon: The tasting room at Atlanta’s World of Coca-Cola lets visitors sample more than 100 beverages from across the globe, turning curiosity into an exercise in sugar-fuelled endurance. | Photo Credit: Getty Images
Earlier in the trip, in Atlanta ahead of Argentina’s semifinal against England, rest days had finally allowed football to loosen its grip. The Jimmy Carter Presidential Library offered a thoughtful glimpse into a very different America, while the World of Coca-Cola showcased one of its most recognisable exports.
Sampling more than 100 soft drinks from around the world sounds like harmless fun. It isn’t. By the end, the Diary was thoroughly sugar-drunk. India’s Thums Up held its own, but Jamaica Y Nada from Mexico and a surprisingly refreshing Cucumber Sprite from Romania emerged as unexpected favourites. Beverly, from Italy, a bitter non-alcoholic aperitif, and Stoney Tangawiz, a fiery, peppery ginger beer from Tanzania, were not to the Diary’s liking.
Around the tasting stations, children dashed excitedly from fountain to fountain, endlessly refilling their cups. The sticky, cola-soaked floor barely slowed them down, but thankfully the restrooms were close by. Long after returning to the hotel, with sleep refusing to arrive after an industrial quantity of sugar, the Diary found himself feeling genuinely sympathetic for their exhausted parents.
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Published on Jul 24, 2026