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Coming out of the opening weekend of the first World Cup hosted in North America in three decades, two things are clear: With FIFA’s backing, the U.S. government did everything it could to try to screw up this World Cup—and it failed. Despite all of the price gouging, questions about meaningless group phase games in a deeply expanded format, hydration stops that double as antithetical midmatch commercial breaks, and abominable visa denials of key figures by inhospitable American hosts, the vibes are still, somehow, very good.
In spite of ourselves, this World Cup is already doing the one, beautiful thing that the World Cup always manages to do: bring people from every corner of the planet to the same place to share the best possible version of one thing we all deeply love, creating a series of moments that soccer fans will, all of us, always share together.
Cards on the table: I have had a long knack for missing those Big World Cup Moments.
I have been writing about the World Cup for 16 years but have never attended a match. That now includes the United States’ epic 4–1 win over Paraguay in Friday’s home opener, which I had planned to attend—and ultimately missed.
Again, this is not unusual for me. My first World Cup memories are of soccer-obsessed uncles being flabbergasted when Roberto Baggio, the best player on maybe the best team in the world, missed the decisive penalty that cost Italy that trophy to Brazil. That was the most recent time America had hosted a World Cup, and I didn’t watch a single game, not even that epic final.
I only really started to pay attention to the World Cup after working in Paris in 2006 for a sports television network and watching as Zinedine Zidane was sent off for the incomprehensible headbutt heard ’round the world. As a soccer novice, though, I was still missing things, not clocking why everyone around me was so horror-struck—Les Bleues could still win on penalties, right? (Spoiler: They lost to Italy on penalties.) I can still see the smoke wafting off the Arc de Triomphe from premature fireworks and flares that had been lit in the roadway—a ghostly premonition of a trophy that never was.
By 2010, I was actually a legitimate fan, watching with glee as the vuvuzelas blasted halfway across the world. I was also in soccer-mad England during the tournament for a friend’s wedding, the perfect opportunity to celebrate the World Cup. However, instead of watching the greatest moment in U.S. men’s national team history—Landon Donovan’s 91st-minute miracle goal to secure the top spot in their group and a place in the World Cup knockout round—I was watching the turgid English 1–0 victory over Slovenia in a Chuck E. Cheese–style back room of a small-town pub. Viral replays were not yet a thing, so it was days before I finally saw Tim Howard’s desperate heave somehow spark a succession of lightning passes and one final lucky ricochet to the right person in the right spot to achieve group-stage glory for USMNT.
I have been a pretty faithful viewer in the years since, yet still somehow managed to miss some huge moments (France’s 4–3 Round of 16 win over Argentina in 2018, England’s quarterfinal victory over Sweden that same year, and much of Morocco’s glorious 2022 run).
That brings us to this past weekend. I have been anticipating this World Cup for years. Although the astronomical ticket prices and abhorrent FIFA purchase process made it so that I couldn’t get tickets in the initial phases, I ultimately got a press ticket to the U.S. opener against Paraguay in my home city of Los Angeles. It was going to be my first-ever World Cup match.
I was getting ready to head to the stadium Friday morning when one of the only things that could have possibly forced me to miss that match happened—my 3-year-old was hospitalized. He’s doing much better and back home safe, which is why I’m comfortable writing all of this. The friend who held that 2010 World Cup wedding I mentioned earlier, though, summed up how any World Cup fan parent would surely feel: “Glad he’s OK. But I would definitely hold it against him.”
Honestly, all that matters is my son’s health. Also, though: I had been looking forward to this match, this moment, for years.
Goal after goal, celebrity cutaway after celebrity cutaway, that U.S. opener was truly magical—but just last week, that magic had felt uncertain.
One of the biggest soccer fans I know was talking of a boycott after witnessing attorney general probes into FIFA’s bewildering ticketing process. Other L.A. transplant friends who had lived through their home nations breaking into mass hysteria while hosting the Copa wondered, Where the hell is the World Cup?
That’s not to mention the horror of witnessing our nation’s despicable immigration-enforcement apparatus turned againstathletes, referees, and spectatorsinmortifying and tragic fashion.
Just last week, thinkpiece after thinkpiece asked: Would this be the World Cup that finally killed the vibe?
Well, the horrible things mentioned are still with us. But now so are the games. And from the first kick, the vibes are alive and well, despite it all.
Even if the soccer wasn’t very good, Thursday’s opening match at the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City was pure joy, with seeminglyall of Mexico, includingthis duck, celebrating the team’s 2–0 defeat of South Africa in the rain andMexican Americanspacking U.S. stadiums with delight. (We shouldn’t forget about these debilitated South African presenters and these two very happy posters.)
The second game, South Korea’s 2–1 victory over the Czech Republic in Guadalajara, though more sparsely attended, madeforbetter soccerandequallygoodmemes.
Then, on Friday, there was that U.S. game, which I don’t much want to get into, but just to say: This team could do some damage.
All through the weekend, there was more and more. Qatar’s ridiculous stoppage-time equalizer against Switzerland to earn the nation’s first World Cup point. The Tartan Army’s beer-fueleddescenton Boston for Scotland’s first World Cup win in nearly 40 years, followed by afull-on takeover of Fenway Park. Tiny Curaçao’s first-ever World Cup goal and inspirational tarmac dancing. The Dutch Orange Army’s apparent takeover of Dallas only to run into Japan’s 89th-minute equalizer in a 2–2 thriller. The Ivory Coast’s miraculous last-minute upset victory in a Philadelphia stadium overflowing with Ecuador fans. The cross-pollination of celebrating Brazil and Knicks fans.
What did Monday morning bring us? Just Cabo Verde, a nation of half a million making its World Cup debut, pulling off a miraculous 0–0 draw against tournament favorite Spain thanks to an all-time performance by its 40-year-old goalkeeper. (Yes, the vibes are good.)
There were, of course, more reminders of how this game can and does bring human beings together, despite the greed and hate that tries to keep us apart. Over the next month-plus, there will be so many more such reminders and so much more joy.
I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Continue reading...
In spite of ourselves, this World Cup is already doing the one, beautiful thing that the World Cup always manages to do: bring people from every corner of the planet to the same place to share the best possible version of one thing we all deeply love, creating a series of moments that soccer fans will, all of us, always share together.
Cards on the table: I have had a long knack for missing those Big World Cup Moments.
I have been writing about the World Cup for 16 years but have never attended a match. That now includes the United States’ epic 4–1 win over Paraguay in Friday’s home opener, which I had planned to attend—and ultimately missed.
Again, this is not unusual for me. My first World Cup memories are of soccer-obsessed uncles being flabbergasted when Roberto Baggio, the best player on maybe the best team in the world, missed the decisive penalty that cost Italy that trophy to Brazil. That was the most recent time America had hosted a World Cup, and I didn’t watch a single game, not even that epic final.
I only really started to pay attention to the World Cup after working in Paris in 2006 for a sports television network and watching as Zinedine Zidane was sent off for the incomprehensible headbutt heard ’round the world. As a soccer novice, though, I was still missing things, not clocking why everyone around me was so horror-struck—Les Bleues could still win on penalties, right? (Spoiler: They lost to Italy on penalties.) I can still see the smoke wafting off the Arc de Triomphe from premature fireworks and flares that had been lit in the roadway—a ghostly premonition of a trophy that never was.
By 2010, I was actually a legitimate fan, watching with glee as the vuvuzelas blasted halfway across the world. I was also in soccer-mad England during the tournament for a friend’s wedding, the perfect opportunity to celebrate the World Cup. However, instead of watching the greatest moment in U.S. men’s national team history—Landon Donovan’s 91st-minute miracle goal to secure the top spot in their group and a place in the World Cup knockout round—I was watching the turgid English 1–0 victory over Slovenia in a Chuck E. Cheese–style back room of a small-town pub. Viral replays were not yet a thing, so it was days before I finally saw Tim Howard’s desperate heave somehow spark a succession of lightning passes and one final lucky ricochet to the right person in the right spot to achieve group-stage glory for USMNT.
I have been a pretty faithful viewer in the years since, yet still somehow managed to miss some huge moments (France’s 4–3 Round of 16 win over Argentina in 2018, England’s quarterfinal victory over Sweden that same year, and much of Morocco’s glorious 2022 run).
That brings us to this past weekend. I have been anticipating this World Cup for years. Although the astronomical ticket prices and abhorrent FIFA purchase process made it so that I couldn’t get tickets in the initial phases, I ultimately got a press ticket to the U.S. opener against Paraguay in my home city of Los Angeles. It was going to be my first-ever World Cup match.
I was getting ready to head to the stadium Friday morning when one of the only things that could have possibly forced me to miss that match happened—my 3-year-old was hospitalized. He’s doing much better and back home safe, which is why I’m comfortable writing all of this. The friend who held that 2010 World Cup wedding I mentioned earlier, though, summed up how any World Cup fan parent would surely feel: “Glad he’s OK. But I would definitely hold it against him.”
Honestly, all that matters is my son’s health. Also, though: I had been looking forward to this match, this moment, for years.
Goal after goal, celebrity cutaway after celebrity cutaway, that U.S. opener was truly magical—but just last week, that magic had felt uncertain.
One of the biggest soccer fans I know was talking of a boycott after witnessing attorney general probes into FIFA’s bewildering ticketing process. Other L.A. transplant friends who had lived through their home nations breaking into mass hysteria while hosting the Copa wondered, Where the hell is the World Cup?
That’s not to mention the horror of witnessing our nation’s despicable immigration-enforcement apparatus turned againstathletes, referees, and spectatorsinmortifying and tragic fashion.
Just last week, thinkpiece after thinkpiece asked: Would this be the World Cup that finally killed the vibe?
Well, the horrible things mentioned are still with us. But now so are the games. And from the first kick, the vibes are alive and well, despite it all.
Even if the soccer wasn’t very good, Thursday’s opening match at the Azteca Stadium in Mexico City was pure joy, with seeminglyall of Mexico, includingthis duck, celebrating the team’s 2–0 defeat of South Africa in the rain andMexican Americanspacking U.S. stadiums with delight. (We shouldn’t forget about these debilitated South African presenters and these two very happy posters.)
The second game, South Korea’s 2–1 victory over the Czech Republic in Guadalajara, though more sparsely attended, madeforbetter soccerandequallygoodmemes.
Then, on Friday, there was that U.S. game, which I don’t much want to get into, but just to say: This team could do some damage.
All through the weekend, there was more and more. Qatar’s ridiculous stoppage-time equalizer against Switzerland to earn the nation’s first World Cup point. The Tartan Army’s beer-fueleddescenton Boston for Scotland’s first World Cup win in nearly 40 years, followed by afull-on takeover of Fenway Park. Tiny Curaçao’s first-ever World Cup goal and inspirational tarmac dancing. The Dutch Orange Army’s apparent takeover of Dallas only to run into Japan’s 89th-minute equalizer in a 2–2 thriller. The Ivory Coast’s miraculous last-minute upset victory in a Philadelphia stadium overflowing with Ecuador fans. The cross-pollination of celebrating Brazil and Knicks fans.
What did Monday morning bring us? Just Cabo Verde, a nation of half a million making its World Cup debut, pulling off a miraculous 0–0 draw against tournament favorite Spain thanks to an all-time performance by its 40-year-old goalkeeper. (Yes, the vibes are good.)
There were, of course, more reminders of how this game can and does bring human beings together, despite the greed and hate that tries to keep us apart. Over the next month-plus, there will be so many more such reminders and so much more joy.
I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Continue reading...
