Association Football. Soccer. Joga Bonito. I first put on footy boots when my mom still had to tie them — extra tight and double-knotted. I ran the left midfield and wing through my teens, minded the net in my 20’s in rec leagues. My 30s have found me in supporters’ clubs or the stands, breath reserved for songs rather than sprints. For as long as I can remember, I have lived for the game, and now as 40 approaches with ankles that ache as they relive the hard tackles I see on my screens, I can finally see the most important thing about the beautiful game — not the final scores, but rather everything else.
The World Cup came to the U.S., right to my doorstep. Local news coverage, flags of every nation hanging from homes and shops, fans young and old packed shoulder-to-shoulder into the impossible moment between ecstasy and despair that every game brings — it was everywhere. Now, with the perspective of age and a career creating events and engagements, I realize what the World Cup really is. The World Cup is experience, maximized. Every four years, it is sound, color, action, culture, a competition for players and fans, and a country-wide expo with networking, sales, and most importantly, joy. It is an audience as wide and diverse as the whole world — because it is the whole world. We join in celebrations for nations we barely knew existed, the arrival of foreign fans in our everyday lives, who are experiencing the U.S. that doesn’t make international headlines. We learn others’ histories — stories of conflict, strife, perseverance, and redemption, and why Lumumba Vea stands motionless for 90 minutes, hand raised in silent tribute. For those few weeks, we share with the world through stories, songs, and joy, from the first kickoff to the final whistle. World champions or eliminated in the group stage, we are here for all of it, together.
The World Cup shows us what is possible when we gather, barriers broken down by the overwhelming power of humanity’s desire to celebrate. We hear the stories of how war, poverty, and hardship provided the spark that drove players to excellence on the world stage and how they have reached back to lift entire nations. When Cabo Verde surprised everyone and advanced to the knockout rounds — only to draw Messi and Argentina — they took our hearts and gave us a game to remember forever, scoreline be damned. In fußball, there’s always the unlikely story, holding onto a glimmer of hope for as long as the ball is in play. That is why the World’s Game is inherently revolutionary — when the skies darken with high-cost camps and tactical systems built only for ROI, there will always be a kid from the arrondissements, favelas, or barrio, from a refugee camp or juggling alone in a dirt field, shining with the light of the beautiful game and kicking back against the clouds. It is a game where on the field for 90 minutes, everyone is equal, and there’s always space for creativity, always a chance. It’s the joy in the game that lights the way, the verve and flair that catches our eyes, the hope and purpose that fills our hearts and drives us forward long after the final kick of the ball, far from any stadium.
Eventually, we all go home. We take off the jerseys and go back to the tasks that run the world for the next four years. But for those of us lucky enough to work in events, we don’t just wait; we draw inspiration from the colors and sounds that surrounded us, from the intensity and emotion we saw on the field and in the stands, from the bonding between strangers as we shared goals, victories, and defeats. We begin our searches for the next creative star, the next unlikely story to bring joy to audiences. We listen to the new voices and stories, amplified on the world’s stage, and welcome them to join us. We can ride this wave to new shores and watch the ripples from this Cup in the culture for years to come. People coming together — not the games or the sponsors or the luxury boxes — made it great. The energy, the joy, the creativity — we can hold space for these things in our own daily work. We can give our all to our own events, to our own industries, to our own futures and legacies, just as the players and fans did this summer. Players retire, trophies tarnish, exhibits get packed and shipped home — but the shared joy and passion, the lessons and the legends: they live forever.