Photo: Mattia Ozbot/Getty Images
In the weeks leading up to the World Cup, football pundits in England endlessly discussed who should start as their No. 10: Morgan Rogers or Jude Bellingham. On its face, this was an absurd debate. Rogers, who was key to Aston Villa’s top-four finish, is undoubtedly an excellent footballer. But Bellingham is one of the best players in the world.
He made his professional debut for Birmingham City at the age of 16. When he left a year later, such was the teenager’s impact that the club retired his jersey. Bellingham lasted at his second club, Borussia Dortmund, only three years before Real Madrid came knocking. He had a fairy-tale first season there, playing an instrumental role in their Champions League victory. This World Cup marks his fourth major international tournament with England. He’s still only 23.
In truth, I don’t have enough room to list all his accolades here. Anyway, none of them do him justice. To understand just how exceptional Bellingham is, you need only to watch him for a few minutes. He’s an intense, mesmerizing presence on the pitch — imperial in defense and fearless in attack, a proper, old-school, box-to-box midfielder who runs relentlessly every minute of the game. The first time I saw him play I stopped following the ball and just watched him.
Nonetheless, his place on the England team this tournament wasn’t secure. Despite (because of?) his accomplishments and prodigious talent, rumors started to swirl around Bellingham. He had an attitude problem; he liked a night out a little too much; he was too harsh on his teammates; he was a bit of a bully; he was intolerably arrogant; his fame had gone to his head. (Proof: This Skims ad, featuring a topless, flawless Bellingham doing kick-ups as he gives the camera a hot-blooded stare.) If you need a reason to dislike him, you could take your pick.
Last summer, Thomas Tuchel, the hard-nosed German manager of England (an unthinkable concept not so long ago), added fuel to the fire when he discussed Bellingham in a long interview. Tuchel said a lot, much positive, but the press did as the press does and ran with a single adjective that he used to describe Bellingham: repulsive. (Full context: This is how Tuchel’s mother feels, the manager explained, when she watched the Englishman.) Tuchel, not exactly the apologizing kind, had to backtrack.
Still, he refused to publicly guarantee the global superstar a starting spot on his team. Was this genuine ambivalence, a tactic to show who was boss, or genius player management? It’s hard to say. Tuchel managed to keep the country in suspense until the lineup for the first game was announced: Bellingham was in. Less than two weeks later, it seems the entire country has realized they would be lost without him.
In their first game, against Croatia, Jude was in the mood. In the 47th minute, he claimed a ball that seemed destined for the winger Noni Madueke and drove single-mindedly down the right flank. A few seconds later, he buried it in the back of the net from an acute angle. He strode toward the crowd, unsmiling, and stared at it: Which of you doubted me? More fool you.
After the final whistle, the score 4-2, the England fans serenaded their No. 10 with a rousing rendition of “Hey Jude.” The song moved the young man to tears. In a post-match interview, a reporter asked if he was playing with extra motivation. He replied, “I think I’ve got a little bit of a chip on my shoulder, haven’t I?” Who could blame him?
The party didn’t last long. England returned to typical form, playing a soulless second match against Ghana. No one covered themselves in glory in the nil-nil draw, but Bellingham won man of the match. In their third and final group game, against Panama, England started laboriously once again. The English players looked bereft of inspiration. In the second half, Bellingham decided enough was enough and took the reins. He scored the first goal, assisted Harry Kane on the second, and secured England’s spot at the top of the group.
I kept replaying his goal against Panama in my mind. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was all him: strength, intuition, sheer determination. As Bukayo Saka prepared to take a corner, Bellingham was engaged in a wrestling match with the Panamanian defender. When the ball arrived in the box, he contorted his leg around his opponent and got a toe to it. It was as if he had willed the goal into existence.
Now the same pundits who, mere weeks ago, were debating whether he deserved his place were falling over themselves to correct the record. He wasn’t arrogant, they all now agreed: He was confident. Gary Lineker, England’s all-time top goal scorer until Kane snatched the mantle with the second goal against Panama, called Bellingham a “mentality monster”. Ian Wright, another prolific goal scorer for England, called him a big-game player. Gary Neville, the most ubiquitous of the player turned pundit class, put it bluntly: “We spent the last four months debating on Jude Bellingham or Morgan Rogers. The debate is over.”
Harry Kane, not a man known for his eloquence, outdid the professionals. Bellingham, the captain said, was playing “with the bit between his teeth.” The idiom captured Bellingham’s essence: willful, tenacious, barely bridled. Bellingham’s performance at this World Cup so far is a testament to what statistics can’t see. It’s not the numbers that matter, he has reminded us. It’s the look in his eyes.
Why did anyone question Bellingham? This is a boring question with a boring answer: Football fans need something to talk about. But there is a more interesting question we could ask: What explains the sudden, collective embrace of Jude? Why now, and why with this much fervor? It is not only that Bellingham’s talent is too much to deny, that his performances have silenced the doubters. Sports fans are, above all, irrational creatures; their behavior is never explained simply by what happens on the pitch.
The day before England played their second group game, Keir Starmer announced his resignation as prime minister. The end of limp Sir Keir was inevitable; post-Brexit, there has been growing anxiety that Britain is ungovernable and its leadership class devoid of both vision and conviction. Andy Burnham, the man set to be the country’s seventh head of state in less than a decade, seemed to concur. “Westminster is broken,” he announced in his first major speech after Starmer’s resignation. (This was an unnerving echo of the old Conservative slogan “Britain is Broken.”) The brutally underfunded NHS is frequently failing to provide basic services, people have been mired in a cost-of-living crisis, almost a quarter of the country’s children are growing up in poverty, and the latest heat wave brought the country to a standstill last week. Earlier this month, The Atlantic reported that Britain has become as poor as Mississippi. It is a rudderless country, crying for direction.
For the next few weeks, it will be effectively without a leader. It is no wonder, then, that the English are so desperate to crown one. With Jude Bellingham, the temptation is overwhelming. No one can agree who should be living at No. 10, but at least the country is united around who should wear the No. 10. This solves none of the real problems, but it sure feels good.
Each time Bellingham scores a goal, he strides to face his screaming fans, stands still, and stretches his arms out wide. Worship me, the pose demands. The country is now only too willing to oblige. The footballer offers the English what they haven’t been able to find: a man who is ready to put the country on his back, who will do what it takes to succeed. Here, finally, is a man with conviction in his ability to play savior. All hail, King Jude.
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