Caracas Chronicles

Every time we talk about Venezuelan football, we do so assuming there are broken dreams and drama involved. This time around it’s the most “life-and-death” we’ve ever been, so read along.

Nothing has consumed Venezuelan sports more than making it to the upcoming World Cup, to the point that we’d consider it a win if we make it via the International Qualifiers… a sort of playoff we’d have to play because we’d be the 7th best in Conmebol—out of 10 competing nations. 

Instead of gaining direct access, Venezuela would have to play a round consisting of five other nations from North America, Africa, Oceania, and Asia, in order to then be one of the two last teams qualified to the jointly-organized 2026 World Cup.

No matter how you look at it, this is second serves and it is the consequence of a terrible way of approaching the World Cup Qualifiers. Six of 10 South Americans will go through and we’ll be left with the job of making sure Conmebol adds a 7th berth to the final tally of qualified countries for the first time in history.

Previously, Conmebol accounted for fourth direct berths and a fifth could make it via a double-header playoff against a team in a similar condition from North America or Oceania, depending on the World Cup in question.

The fact we’re happy to fight for a new spot in the World Cup is proof enough: they’re happy being a mediocre bunch that MAYBE makes it, but could easily blow their best shot in history.

If we were the Venezuela of 20-30 years ago, this would be a god-sent opportunity. But the fact is that we aren’t, and, not just the 7th place, but the 6th (our best-ever performance so far, and currently a direct spot in the next edition), should be the discussion. However, the Vinotinto’s performances since that 4–0 loss away to Bolivia have been well below par. A few personalities are spared and have done much better than the rest, such as national team captain and legend Salomón Rondón, goalkeeper Rafa Romo, and breakout defender Jon Aramburu.

We have the talent, the fanaticada, even the players in the right clubs doing the right things, for us to be proud of our fútbol and make it count when it matters the most. 

But, why isn’t that the case?

Beside the obvious problem of how to manage these individuals, whose club careers look like isolated triumphs in the context of a national objective, there is also the fact that we can’t understand how to turn the rising popularity of football inside the country into a nationwide success. It’s not just about getting rid of our underachieving status and finally qualifying for the World Cup. It’s about nurturing the culture and infrastructure around Venezuelan football from the youth levels to the Vinotinto dressing room, and capitalizing on such popularity beyond lavish, sketchy exhibition tournaments in Caracas. A popularity that has only grown since the start of this century, especially after canon events like the Centenariazo in Uruguay (2004), when we trashed a major national team for the first time.

Venezuela, for the fourth time in the past 5 Eliminatorias, is about to be one point too short or a game too poor, to not make it to their first World Cup ever.

In part, it’s the fault of this “bronze medal,” peor es nada culture, where we cheer and clap on anything minor that allows us to clap. The fact that we cheer for these things, because there’s nothing else to cheer for, sort of retroactively feeds back into this hindered mindset.

We lost perspective, and we honestly believe that we are worthy of top-notch headlines for a substantially mediocre team that doesn’t have any carry-through.

A football system as corrupted and manipulated as ours will never be able to produce tangible results. Our domestic league is a laughable affair, our players fully adjusted to a substantially lower level of football, our agents prefer a quick sell to developing talent, our youth systems kill the hen in the hunt for the golden eggs…

Rotten eggs across all baskets

Our football is broken and in a truly worrisome state. It’s impossible to be happy about Venezuelan football if you support the Liga FutVe.

As long as that’s the case, our Vinotinto ambitions will suffer.

The fact we’re happy to fight for a new spot in the World Cup is proof enough: they’re happy being a mediocre bunch that MAYBE makes it, but could easily blow their best shot in history.

Then there’s the logical, footballing, problem: We squandered our best start to a Qualifier in history by reverting from eye-catching, result-obtaining, fan-adored attacking pacey football, to a culilloball where all our worst attributes came afloat. 

Fernando ‘Bocha’ Batista imploded a successful brand for whatever reason that isn’t yet easy to explain to bystanders. Our most talented and most in-form players settled for being benchwarmers, unnecessary risks with freshly recovered players meant longer injury spells. 

Now we’re here, hoping to get a win somehow and that Bolivia doesn’t beat Colombia or Brazil. Pendiendo de un hilo… de nuevo, como vaina rara.

And most importantly: The crowd grew restless and bored. Sure, the Monumental is packed every game, but yawns and gasps replaced cheers and joy.

Now we face Argentina in Buenos Aires and Colombia at home. Our duty is to beat two World Cup-versed nations, plus expect Bolivia to lose at least one of two games. Silly business, taking all things into consideration.

We’ve condemned ourselves to wait on others and, if lucky, plan a match against an African powerhouse like Senegal or Cameroon, spark an already tense relation with a likely CONCACAF qualified team, Trinidad & Tobago, or face absolute shame by being knocked out by New Caledonia.

Imagínate tú: NUEVA CALEDONIA mundialista before la Vinotinto.

For as painfully humbling this is, we’ve opted to go through this route, because this is the consequence of a deeply meditated plan by Bocha Batista et al. 

This team could have made the World Cup on the first try, but it was too remote to ask for a coach “un par de bolas bien puestas” and a national team willing to subvert mediocrity, rather than a passive kick-and-rush approach.

Now we’re here, hoping to get a win somehow and that Bolivia doesn’t beat Colombia or Brazil. Pendiendo de un hilo… de nuevo, como vaina rara.