I wanted to ignore the World Cup this year. With the way our country is right now, how could it be anything but a disaster? We treated the Iranian team like enemy combatants by having them stay in Tijuana, Mexico even though their matches were in the US. A well-respected referee was denied a visa. There was talk of ICE agents patrolling stadiums. And that decaying octogenarian creep insisted he wanted to be the one to present the trophy. (Mexico and Canada are cohosting this year’s tournament. Shouldn’t President Claudia Sheinbaum and Prime Minister Mark Carney be there too?) With our global reputation already in tatters, a World Cup fiasco would demolish it even more.
But something different happened. The world came here and partied.
They taught us how to do the “Links Rechts” dance. And row up an escalator. They drank downtown Boston dry and sang “Take Me Home Country Roads” at Fenway Park. They fell in love with Waffle House, unlimited drink refills, our wide variety of Oreo flavors, and ranch dressing. Mostly, we cheered, drank, danced, and enjoyed each other’s company.
I had that experience before when the Olympics were in Los Angeles in 1984. My brother and I went to a basketball game. My brother hung out with Yugoslav fans as their country played. He had a lot of fun with them. They were chanting, joking around, drinking, and generally enjoying themselves. I met a Chilean cycling coach. He didn’t know much English, and I was rusty with my Spanish. Still, we were able to piece together a conversation.
But with this World Cup, the joyful mingling of cultures is being recorded live in 4K and pumped to screens around the world. Social media dubbed the World Cup, “The Great American Sleepover.” The happiness overcame the usual propaganda and rage bait. Doomscrolling turned into joyscrolling.
The world also helped us rediscover something about ourselves that we had forgotten. We are not our government. We don’t have to separate and isolate ourselves based on who we voted for in the last election. We can put down our phones, go outside, and open ourselves to new people and new experiences. The world is brighter, warmer, tastier, and happier than the algorithm-driven AI-generated prison cells we enclosed ourselves in.
And there’s the joy of soccer/football itself. It’s a sport of constant motion, thrilling goals, and painful near-misses. It’s 90 minutes of sustained passion. It’s also a sport that’s open to everyone. My granddaughter played in a soccer tournament with other special needs students at her middle school earlier this year.
The World Cup didn’t need the United States, but we sure needed the World Cup. It reminds us of who we truly are—generous, friendly, fun-loving, curious, and welcoming—and we are at our best when we’re our most inclusive.
Here’s looking forward to what “The Great American Sleepover” brings next, and I now look forward to the Olympics coming here in 2028.
