Twelve years ago, my son sat at our kitchen table, filling out World Cup soccer brackets, agonizing over every match prediction, guessing which countries would survive the group stage, and forecasting the next champion before the tournament even began.
He changed his mind almost daily, all the way up to the kickoff match.
Even before the first touch of the ball, he could barely contain his excitement. He was somewhere between the edge of his seat and a full Shakira dance routine.
This summer, the 2026 FIFA World Cup comes to North America.
For the first time, the tournament will be hosted by three countries—Canada, Mexico, and the United States. For many Americans, it will be their first chance to witness World Cup culture in person.
And the twelve-year-old who once rolled his eyes at my soccer questions is spending the summer as a Production Quality Control Intern with Men in Blazers Media Network, reviewing podcasts behind the scenes to help tell the stories behind the sport he loves.
(For the record, he still rolls his eyes at my questions.)
It feels like one minute I was driving to practice, getting tutorials on offside rules. The next, my child was helping cover the biggest sporting event in the world.
Flipping through old blog posts on soccer, I realized most of them weren’t really about the sport.
The real story was always about connection.
During the 2014 World Cup, more than thirty text messages bounced back and forth between Rochester and our friends in Granada, Spain with colorful commentary about a single match.
“Look at his haircut.”
“Good to know some players would do well on the swim team.”
The game connected us, but so did the conversation.
A few weeks later, our Spanish friends arrived in Rochester with eleven young soccer players from Granada.
The boys didn’t share much language, but it hardly mattered.
Between Google Translate, a soccer ball, and a willingness to laugh at mistakes, they figured it out.
I remember one exchange in particular.
“You want finish watching the game? Or play mini soccer?”
The answer was obvious.
The following year, several local families traveled to Granada together while our boys trained with the youth academy there.
I remember hearing “¡Aquí! ¡Aquí!” shouted repeatedly during practice.
Here. Here.
The coaches emphasized keeping the ball, protecting the ball, moving into space, and playing with confidence. The language was different, but the game felt familiar.
Outside the training grounds, we wandered narrow streets, shared tapas, watched flamenco, and visited an olive farm in the Andalusian countryside. The boys complained about having to sit through classes at a Spanish secondary school, while the adults were fascinated by everything.
Soccer opened doors far beyond the pitch.
It led to travel, friendship, and the chance to experience another culture firsthand. For five teenage boys immersed in fútbol, it was everything.
What stayed with me wasn’t a particular match or drill.
It was the realization that soccer was creating opportunities for all of us to see the world a little differently.
Football has a way of shortening distances.
Between countries.
Between languages.
Between generations.
Back in 2014, I thought I was writing about World Cup soccer.
Looking back, I was writing about a boy making memories, sharing experiences, paying attention, asking questions, and finding common ground.
And a game that once felt like a summer obsession became part of a much larger story.
Somehow, between then and now, that boy grew up.
The game is still the same.
The story keeps unfolding.
P.S. If you’re new to the tournament, one of the best resources is Men in Blazers (100% biased!). Their coverage feels more like storytelling than sports analysis, with a focus on culture, history, travel, and the people who make the game meaningful. Their World Cup city guides are worth exploring, even if you’re only casually curious about soccer.
Sometimes the Raw Edges Are the Point