They are both global storytelling festivals.
The competition is the stage; the real drama is the people watching it.
The World Cup and Eurovision create temporary maps of affection and resentment. For a few weeks, people rediscover who they feel close to, who they instinctively oppose, and which old stories are still alive.
The arguments around Eurovision can be more revealing than the winning song. They show what a country cares about, what irritates it, and how it sees its place in the wider world. The fascinating part is watching a country say, in effect: “This is how we want the world to see us this year.”
The World Cup does something similar on a global scale.
When people talk about Eurovision, they often talk about the songs. When people talk about the World Cup, they talk about the football. What fascinates me is what happens before either competition begins.
Long before a ball is kicked or a song is sung, countries start telling stories about themselves.
Every Eurovision act is, in some way, a national introduction. Some countries present themselves as modern and sophisticated. Others embrace humour, eccentricity, tradition, rebellion or nostalgia. The songs matter, but so does the message behind them.
The same thing happens at the World Cup.
This year, Norway told a story.
Before the tournament had even properly begun, the Norwegian team posed dressed as Vikings. Some people immediately saw colonisers and raiders. Yet that is not how much of the world sees the Vikings. For many people, the Vikings represent curiosity, courage and the willingness to leave the familiar behind.
The people who sailed west from Scandinavia were not living in a land of endless abundance. They survived in a harsh climate with short growing seasons. They looked beyond the horizon and wondered what else was out there.
That image still resonates today.
Norway took that story and turned it into a simple act: rowing.
Suddenly people everywhere were rowing for Norway. They dropped to the floor in offices, schools, gyms and living rooms. Nursing home residents turned their exercises into rowing sessions. People who had never met a Norwegian in their lives found themselves taking part in a small national ritual.
The rowing was not really about football.
It was a story about a small country setting out into the unknown and inviting others to come along for the journey.
The image was simple and irresistible: a small nation climbing into the boat together and rowing out to take on the world.
Norway was rowing for gold.
I don’t even watch the matches, but it was almost impossible to miss. My social media feeds filled with Erling Haaland videos. There were clips of his goals, his interviews, his larger-than-life presence and his peculiar sense of humour. I even found myself watching videos of his sister affectionately mimicking him. Her impressions were funny precisely because they were so warm. She seemed to know exactly which details made him recognisably himself.
That’s how these tournaments escape the boundaries of sport. The players become characters, their families become part of the narrative, and the supporters create rituals that travel far beyond the stadium.
You don’t need to watch ninety minutes of football to become aware that something is happening.
The same thing happened at Eurovision.
Bulgaria did not simply send a song. It sent an idea.
Before Eurovision, Bangaranga was a catchy pop song. On stage it became something else. The choreography, movement and visual storytelling brought the song fully to life. I found myself completely hypnotised by it.
The word itself is unusual, but DARA used it to express something universal: finding your inner strength, letting go of fear and having the courage to be yourself. The performance transformed that message into something you could feel rather than merely hear.
Bulgaria went on to win Eurovision for the first time, but by then the story had already connected with people.
That is what these competitions are really about.
Countries do not simply send football teams and songs. They send stories about themselves.
This year, Norway’s story was rowing towards the horizon. Bulgaria’s story was finding the courage to become yourself.
One invited people to pick up an oar. The other invited people to let go of fear.
The competition gave them a stage. The stories are what people will remember.
Years from now, most people will not remember every result. What they will remember are the stories.
This year, Norway’s story got people rowing.
A small country told a story about itself, and the world decided it liked the story.
Involution Labs 