To My Fellow World Cup Fans, This Tournament Was For Us

Earlier in June, days before the start of the 2026 World Cup, as I began to walk around the streets of New York in order to get a better sense of the energy that was building towards the tournament, I decided to head to Jackson Heights in Queens. For those who don’t know, the neighborhood is a world within itself. It is a multicultural melting pot, a micro-community where blocks become nations and diasporas tell you who they are through their shop windows or small businesses. It is Colombia, Ecuador, Mexico, India and South Asia, serving you some of the best food you will ever have. It is a place that fully defines my sentiment of how diversity empowers our senses and for the World Cup. The fans are everywhere, proudly representing their people, their national team and cultural habits. My favorite Colombian bakery had a replica of the World Cup at its store window next to an image of Luis Díaz. An Ecuadorian food stall had a poster of the ageless wonder Enner Valencia. Mexican flags were not just on food trucks, they were on sidewalks and lampposts. A store selling replica World Cup shirts showed me a rainbow of what was about to come: a beautiful celebration of the greatest game. A few days later after my trip to Queens, as the World Cup was arriving, I kept walking and talking, meeting different faces and experiences. From a Senegalese chef in Harlem to a Norwegian restaurateur in Soho. From an English owner on the Upper East Side to an Egyptian family-based spot lower down in LES. All of them talked to me, happy and excited, wearing their national team shirts, about their World Cup memories and how the nostalgia of the past connects them to the hope of the present and the joy of seeing their nation on the biggest stage of all. I bumped into a Scottish family, asking me about the best places to find a bagel. I sent them to Leo’s in the financial district, and then we waxed poetically about the wonder of John McGinn. And this was just New York City. Before the tournament had even started. And that’s when I knew that this World Cup would be special. Not because of the extravagancy or the size of the stadiums. Not because of the halftime show or the celebrity sightings. Not because of the merchandise or price of tickets. Not because of VAR — or even the players. This World Cup, quite simply, was special because of you. THROUGHOUT THE TOURNAMENT, across three nations and 16 cities in Mexico, Canada and the United States, fans from all over the world traveled to not just support their team, but to be with one another. Yes, opponents on the pitch are clearly evident in this game, but outside of it — the sentiment was one of family, where sharing each other’s cultural gifts to the world was now becoming a gift to each other. Kansas City welcomed Algeria as one of its own, whilst Norway’s iconic Viking row took over the home field of the New York Mets. More than 50,000 Scottish fans drank Boston dry and this only made them become more connected to the city. The mayor held a welcoming ceremony last week for a traffic cone, which is now a symbolic gesture of appreciation after the Tartan Army faithful placed them on top of Boston statues during its run at the World Cup. Then there was the couple in Arlington, Texas, who created a lemonade stand for fans walking up to the stadium. In the end, supporters from all over the world bought a cup and left messages from around the world, thanking them for the hospitality. I met a Paraguayan family who runs a beautiful restaurant in the Sunnyside neighborhood of Queens where the entire community would come, watch and celebrate its team doing the almost impossible after beating Germany. Or how about Oasis’ “Wonderwall” becoming an anthem of nostalgia for England — sung from all corners of the ancient streets of Mexico City to neon-lit boulevards of Miami. Or how about the Mexican fan I connected with, who was once a server in Cancún, immigrated to the U.S. more than two decades ago and built an empire of restaurants in New Jersey. Or the Colombians in Hackensack, New Jersey. Or the Haitians in Brooklyn, Argentinians in North Miami and South Koreans in Los Angeles. Then we have the thousands of videos of pure joy, the reaction of what it meant to taste ranch dressing for the first time. The casual conversations with strangers. The commitment to learning about one another. It truly restored my faith in humanity. AS MY HERO, ANTHONY BOURDAIN once said, travel and exploration of new places and communities isn’t always graceful or pretty, but the journey changes you, leaving a lasting mark on your heart and consciousness. All of these stories, therefore, much like the Panini stickers on the World Cup album, are collected, restored and remembered for eternity. There is nothing more precious that the World Cup can give you than this: an invitation to an extended family. The fan is the blood and oxygen of a team. Without it, stadiums — as we remember during COVID-19 — have no soul. No reason to exist. But when you see a packed stadium, where voices become one singular wave of energy, it moves you. It makes you appreciate life. And so, beautiful fan, that’s why I dedicate this column to you. Because of you, this World Cup awakened us and made us feel alive. That’s what the World Cup is all about: a celebration of the people and their love for the beautiful game, the beautiful us.