Mohamed Salah's beaming face appeared on British television screens. Salah always has the slightly ruffled appearance of a man who has not slept desperately well, but he was in distinctly good cheer.
His Liverpool team had just dismantled Newcastle United to move 3 points clear at the top of the Premier League. He had played wonderfully: scoring two goals, creating one and missing a penalty so as to foster the illusion of drama in what was otherwise a hopelessly one-sided sporting contest.
There was, though, a bittersweet tinge to the jubilation.
That was the last that Liverpool will see of Salah — in the flesh, at least — for several weeks. Immediately after the game, he was scheduled to travel to Egypt's imaginatively titled New Administrative Capital, just outside Cairo, to join his national team's preparations for the Africa Cup of Nations, which begins Jan. 13.
He does not plan to return to Liverpool until the middle of February.
It is natural, of course, that the focus in Britain — and for those who follow the Premier League in general and Liverpool in particular — should be on how Salah's absence might affect an unusually tense title race. (Liverpool will be fine, apparently. «Anyone can play where I play,» Salah said, modestly.
«Anyone can do what I am doing,» he added, pushing his luck a bit.)
In recent years, though, an awareness has seeped in that this approach might be considered just a little parochial.
Europe tends to command soccer's attention, dominating its discourse and setting the parameters of what is considered worthy of attention or praise. Europe, after all, is home to the world's biggest clubs and the world's strongest leagues and the world's best players. Europe is, by pretty much any