Messi in America, Part One: Axes, Margaritas & a Long-Delayed Dream in New England

I’m in a place where people pay to throw axes at walls.

Above, there’s a sprawling American-style bar, about the size of a full restaurant. Tonight’s special? A “Messi Mango Margarita,” in case you were wondering.

April, the graceful server with a dual degree in psychology and social work, floats between deep and casual conversation with elegance. I order a pizza, partly hungry, mostly not to waste her time - apparently it's worth every cent.

On my way in, a memory strikes: an odd call with my Jewish mother. She’s worried, understandably so, about the famously tough attitude of Massachusetts locals. She had overheard me on the phone dealing with two garages while trying to get a quote for tires. I was verbally attacked, seemingly out of nowhere. That, combined with my mother’s anxious reaction, left me unsettled with a touch of injustice.

That scene, paired with last night’s intimate Torah class over Chinese food with a group of thoughtful young Jews, sets an oddly fitting backdrop for what I’m about to witness: Leo Messi in North America.

The migration of aging football royalty to America isn't new. Beckham. Zlatan. Pirlo. Lampard. Rooney. Busquets. Now Messi. The trend is established, but the pricing? In true American fashion, outrageous.

$115 for a decent ticket to a domestic league match. A small scandal. Without Messi, it’d be 90% less.

Outside, the vibe is pure American sports carnival, too much for some, just right for others. But tonight, for me, this is about catharsis.

Nine years ago, I was supposed to see Messi, Neymar, and Suárez play Valencia in the Copa del Rey semifinal at Camp Nou. A legendary 6–1 match.

But when I arrived and opened my bag, my ticket was gone. Vanished. I rode my bike frantically up and down Las Ramblas, hoping I’d dropped it somewhere. It was a gift from my ex, just before her flight. The moment slipped through my fingers.

Tonight redeems that moment, almost. Two-thirds of the legendary MSN trio will be on the pitch. That pure, terrifying triangle that stunned European football for seasons.

One of the comforting things about watching Messi live, perhaps the most comforting, is knowing he’ll give it everything, just as he always has. Maybe more now, as his career is nearing its end.

His move from France to the U.S. still sparks the imagination. A journey that bridges continents and cultures. The greatest team-sport athlete of all time, showing the New World the secrets of the beautiful game.

At first, the move seemed odd. Now, it’s clear to the skeptical Massholes, to MLS accountants, and to everyone in between:

In this country where people throw axes at plywood walls for fun, there are also people who, despite having tasted all of America’s cultural richness, still crave one thing—live art on the pitch.

And so, here I am, in the home stadium of the greatest American football player of all time (Tom Brady), for my own personal closure.

To finally see Messi.

In New England.

Because after teaching the English how to play football, It’s time he teaches the Americans too.

And now - Kickoff.