It all started in Mexico City. My unbridled excitement for this year’s World Cup had carried over from the last one, and I arrived with memories still fresh of what many consider one of the greatest finals in tournament history. Watching Lionel Messi and Kylian Mbappe—two of the biggest sports stars on the planet—go toe-to-toe in 2022, trading blows until a tension-cutting penalty shootout had the entire globe collectively gasping between each spot kick. When the dust settled, the GOAT of international soccer finally claimed his long-awaited World Cup trophy.    But this year’s tournament, with matches scattered across North America, was never just a sporting spectacle. It was a month-long global event that captivated every nation’s identity, culture, and most importantly, attention. For me and millions of others, it latched on like the symbiote to Spider-Man—completely consuming everything in its path.

When you surrender yourself to the World Cup, you realize it isn’t just following games—it’s a full cognitive takeover. You track every storyline: Will France avenge their 2022 loss? Is this Ronaldo’s last dance, his final chance to right the wrongs of World Cups past? Who are the favorites? (I picked the Netherlands as my dark horse – how silly of me).  The moment I landed in Mexico City, I was greeted by a 12-foot replica World Cup trophy at the baggage claim. Outside the airport, searching for my Uber, I found another 12-foot spectacle—a massive World Cup ball surrounded by towering images of stars like Lamine Yamal and Ronaldo. Just like Peter Parker, the symbiote was already beginning to consume me, and it wouldn’t relinquish its grip until the championship final.

You know the names: Mbappe, and of course, the global rivalry that stands as one of the most important in all of human history (no, that isn’t hyperbole), Messi vs. Ronaldo. This existential clash was amplified by the rabid global fandom surrounding Ronaldo, including one of the world’s most popular streamers, iShowSpeed, who served as everyone’s collective World Cup host, working directly with FIFA while wearing his fandom on his sleeve.  While Messi carried his greatness and momentum from the last World Cup, chasing history with every touch, Ronaldo desperately tried to prove he still had it and that his resume could stand beside Messi’s. You could feel the desperation from Ronaldo and his legion of supporters while Messi wowed global audiences on a game-by-game basis. I personally experienced Messi’s first tournament match from three different bars in Mexico City, watching him score a goal at each location to tally an impressive hat trick.

Then came the younger stars. Erling Haaland became a cultural phenomenon—whether he was trying American restaurants or inspiring lookalike contests in New York, he was one of those chosen ones leaping from superstardom to megastardom. And rounding out the wunder- kinds was Lamine Yamal, the teenage FC Barcelona star who might be one of the most talented players to emerge from the club’s heralded academy. He won La Liga and charmed everyone with his adorable toddler brother, often seen wearing sunglasses and playing with Lamine and teammates on the pitch.  One of the key pieces of Lamine’s mythology is a photograph taken 19 years ago featuring a good-but-not-yet-star FC Barcelona player named Messi, bathing the young baby Lamine, who was supposedly selected for this photo from over a thousand other baby auditions. The soccer gods, it seems, have a sense of humor.

While in Mexico City, I also realized how World Cup jerseys constitute an entire culture unto themselves. I’m not just talking about the look and history of these kits, but whether you buy them from retail or a street vendor. From my rough eye-test estimates, roughly 70% of people in Mexico City wore unofficial jerseys. This is part of the global experience—the jerseys are like biker vests to motorcycle gangs, displaying allegiances and ways of life without the knife fights and drug smuggling.

One particular group stood out: the Colombians, who somehow always had a clique of 50 people in every crowd. I liken them to the biggest soccer gang on the block, a wave of yellow, blue, and red cascading all over Roma Norte as if it were the city’s official color scheme. Being there also showed me the comfort of having World Cup games on every day—it was like when your grandma watches her soap operas, comforting and familiar. But you get Messi versus Lamine Yamal in the finals instead of a doctor’s secret relationship with a long-lost friend.

In the midst of superstar mythology and viral kits, two stories received less press: the African nations’ historic performance and the curious case of the FIFA video game license.

Africa made history by having a record 10 teams qualify from the continent, with 9 of those 10 advancing to the round of 32, another historic feat. While many European managers have dismissed African nations, they proved they belonged, even as Cabo Verde pushed defending champion Argentina to the brink in a knockout match, with Argentina barely eking out a 3-2 win.

Meanwhile, FIFA dropped one of the biggest balls in video game and sports tie-in history by not renewing the license for the FIFA game series, now known as FC 26. Instead of producing a proper World Cup version of one of the world’s most popular games, they threw their money behind a World Cup game from Netflix—Netflix! (*Soulja Boy “Drakeee” voice*). Of course, FIFA selling out wasn’t surprising, but missing the opportunity to create a World Cup game that could have captured millions of fans and generated hundreds of millions of dollars seemed like a colossal missed opportunity—not just for revenue, but to provide a solid product for fans wanting to play their country’s matches with full official ceremony and branding instead of a half-baked effort from a streaming giant.

While the North American location was heralded when FIFA announced it, the tournament soon became a burden for its host cities. They faced well-known infrastructure, transportation, and financial headwinds even 60 days out.  But once the tournament began, something beautiful happened: one of America’s most impactful exports: the cultural exchange. This exchange wasn’t just in person between fans; it extended further via social media. The Dutch learned about the beauty of unlimited refills. Koreans discovered the wonders of Houston strip clubs. The Scots delivered beautiful chants and drank bars in Boston dry, solidifying their place in World Cup lore. Also, who could forget the unofficial mascot of the World Cup, the duck wearing the Mexican jersey.

This cultural exchange extended to the pitch as well. France played Daft Punk every time they scored. The now-globally viral Norwegian Row, which I’ve seen replicated at an overwhelming number of events that have nothing to do with soccer, has become ubiquitous. The macro effect of this exchange was felt in both countries I visited, a feeling that we are far more similar than we’d like to admit. Whether it was getting wildly drunk with an opposing country’s fan turned friend because they could knock out your rival in group play, or dancing with a Mexican lady at her dress shop because Mexico scored another goal to cement the win, the connections were real. In a time of hyper-politics and vast socioeconomic division, I can say this: we all just want our country to hold up the World Cup trophy… or at the very least, get out of group play.