Meredith’s Musings | World Cup Summer
article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE
In early June, the World Cup exploded into my consciousness. Admittedly, I’ve never paid much attention to soccer even though Husband coached the sport for about three years. I know it is the most popular sport in the world, but more so abroad than here in the States. It’s a relatively cheap sport to play, not requiring endless amounts of equipment like football, baseball, or even hockey. But in America, football is King, especially here in the South.
My good friend, whose husband is from Colombia, began mentioning the Cup back in November, when she secured tickets to a match between Portugal and Colombia. A week before the kickoff of the tournament, I noticed a giant poster board with the brackets color-coded in the corner of her living room. In that following conversation, I learned that the tournament lasted six weeks, featured 48 teams/countries, and was being hosted in Canada, America, and Mexico. All the rabid, devoted fans descended on our American cities, an up-close mingling of cultures, something us Americans needed so desperately. My social media feeds were swamped with World Cup content, internationals sampling our American cuisine, falling in love with our colossal portions, free refills, and Waffle House. I remember stories of the players, some who come from war-torn countries and are desperate to root for something, displaying a defiant pride in their homelands. I noted the Cabo Verde goalie, who unlike the multi-millions made by Messi or Ronaldo, works as an electrician. We saw the soccer elite face the garage band teams, and we marveled at all of them. The passion for the sport, from the players, to the coaches, to the bevy of pans is unparalleled.
This friend hosted regular watch parties. Her husband insisted we wear yellow for his beloved home country, tossing a jersey in my lap when I failed to comply. We feasted on Ajiaco Colombiano (chicken and potato soup) and sipped jalapeno margaritas. We questioned the rules and cheered whenever the fans did because we watched the coverage in Spanish. Most of the time, I had no idea what was going on, but I was in it and riveted by the spectacle. It just felt so good to be a part of something collective, in real time, and cheering for something universal. Everybody had their favorite teams, but honestly we all just rooted for fair competition, sportsmanship, underdogs, and pluralism. I felt I got a glimpse of the world without leaving the couch.
Colombia faced Switzerland with 16 teams left in the tournament. After 90 minutes and no goals from either team, the match went to a shootout. Each team is allowed 5 penalty kicks, one player and the goalie (a coin flip if I’ve ever seen one), and whichever team gets the most goals wins. For a sport where little scoring can happen in regulation, the shootout feels like a rocket shot. With four native-born Colombians in the room, I stayed on the margins. Everyone’s body was physically leaning into the wall-mounted TV, as if they could will the soccer goal into the net with the strength of their stance. Fists clenched, eyes wide, and jaws tight, their passion for the win was felt by all of us.
Switzerland prevailed 4-3, and the soaring hope quickly descended into dismay and disbelief. Colombia was so close, yet again. The faces of my native-born friends reflected the intense passion for their home country and love of the sport. I could feel their disappointment in my bones. When I ran into my friend’s husband the next day, I hugged him and told him how much I adored rooting for his home country. He smiled and accepted the sentiment, the lingering disappointment still apparent on his face. On behalf of the “non-soccer fans until a few months ago” (like myself), I’d like to extend a deep gratitude to my friends for welcoming me into their home and into their sport world. It was a privilege just to be in the room. I’ve watched my Husband root for his Kansas City Chiefs in a few Superbowls, and nothing matched the level of fan commitment I witnessed in June and July.
America needed this, the reminder that regardless of origin country or ethnicity or race or GDP, we are all human with a reverence for home. We all want to strive to be the best, to root for the best, and to support others on their respective journeys to become the best. The World Cup is a snapshot of the world we want, where diversity is celebrated and people remain the center of purpose. For a moment, we forgot the lines that so often separate us. We cheered with strangers and celebrated the dreams of people we’d never met. We felt pride in places we may have never visited. And maybe that is what we needed most, to remember how beautiful it is when we truly see one another.
