The Champions League final between Paris Saint-Germain and Arsenal will unfold under the lights of Budapest's Puskas Arena, a venue and a city steeped in football lore. Yet while the stage is set for a tactical masterclass, the fixture also casts a harsh light on a competition that has become an exclusive club, denying smaller nations a seat at the top table.
Both finalists arrive as the deserving final pair, according to Philipp Lahm. Under Luis Enrique, PSG have transformed from a collection of individuals into a cohesive unit, capable of pressing and passing with synchronised precision. Khvicha Kvaratskhelia embodies this shift—a winger equally ferocious in attack and diligent in defensive transitions. The Parisians are vying to become just the second club after Real Madrid to defend the European title in the Champions League era.
Arsenal’s rise under Mikel Arteta mirrors that discipline. Without the galaxy of stars that once defined them, the Gunners rely on an almost machine-like organization. Having conceded a mere six goals in 14 Champions League matches and suffering no defeats, their defensive solidity is the bedrock of a team that just ended a two-decade long league title drought. Arteta’s six-year project has finally delivered a Premier League trophy, but a first European Cup remains the elusive prize.
Lahm contrasts these two with Bayern Munich, whose high-risk man-marking under Vincent Kompany represents a throwback approach. While chaotic and entertaining, it proved brittle—the Germans leaked 20 goals in the competition. PSG, after an initial shock in the group stage, exploited the gaps ruthlessly in the semifinal, while Arsenal handled the Bavarians with a composed 3-1 group win. The lesson: organizational mastery outlasts idiosyncrasy.
The column also tips a cap to Diego Simeone, the perennial nearly-man of European football. For a decade and a half, the Atlético Madrid coach has pushed a financial boulder uphill, consistently overachieving with inferior means. Lahm draws a mythical parallel, calling him a “Sisyphus” who deserves a crowning achievement, lamenting another semifinal exit.
The choice of Budapest as host city carries symbolic weight. Hungary’s recent political recalibration toward European solidarity lends a hopeful backdrop to the spectacle. Lahm cites Hungarian author Gábor Schein’s description of post-election celebration—car horns, fireworks, shared embraces—and suggests the final could amplify such communal joy, even as the nation’s own clubs remain locked out of the party.
Hungary’s footballing pedigree is undeniable. The Golden Team of Ferenc Puskas and Nandor Hidegkuti captivated the world, reaching two World Cup finals and recording the tournament’s biggest ever victory, a 10-1 demolition of El Salvador in 1982. A century ago, Danube football laid the groundwork for the Spanish style. Coaches like Béla Guttmann and Pál Csernai exported tactical innovations across Europe. Yet today, clubs like MTK Budapest, once capable of thrashing Bayern Munich 7-1, are mere footnotes.
The brutal reality is that the Champions League functions as a gated community. Since Porto’s shock triumph in 2004, only clubs from Spain, Italy, Germany, France, and England have lifted the trophy. The financial chasm is rooted in a simple geographical accident: leagues in smaller nations lack the domestic competitiveness to retain talent. Historic giants Benfica and Ajax, no matter how shrewdly managed, cannot bridge the population and revenue gaps. Budapest, Vienna, Prague, Glasgow—all home to football-passionate metropolises—remain spectators.
Lahm argues this closed shop is politically untenable. “Europe is about participation, about equal opportunities,” he writes, while acknowledging the predictable resistance from those who profit from the status quo. The comparison with the Eurovision Song Contest, won by nine different countries in as many years, serves as a stinging indictment of football’s concentration of power. The problem, he insists, must finally be confronted.
As the final whistle approaches on Saturday, the football on display will be state-of-the-art. But the backdrop of Budapest’s historic stadium will also echo with an older, more inclusive vision of the European game—one that its current rulers seem reluctant to restore. The spectacle, however magnificent, cannot mask the tournament’s fundamental inequality.
Based on reporting from The Guardian.