Growing up, football was never on my radar. I dismissed it as a “boy’s hobby,” both in watching and playing. As a teenager, my indifference turned into outright disdain. I vividly recall being thirteen or fourteen when classmates jubilantly celebrated their team’s victory. Their shouts of “WE WON!” felt pointless to me, and I snidely retorted, “Your team won. You didn’t do anything.”
That teenage self-righteousness was palpable during a Year 10 debate, where I championed higher pay for nurses over Premier League footballers. To 15-year-old me, it was obvious: nurses save lives, footballers just score goals.
Now, as an adult of 27 years, I’ve shed that bias. While football never truly captivated me before, this year—right before the World Cup—I’ve decided to become a fan. Not just any fan, but a devoted one. Joining an office sweepstakes, whichever team I draw, I’ll wholeheartedly support them.
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If it’s Germany, I’ll turn up at the pub clad in lederhosen with schnitzel and beer in hand. Draw Panama, and you’ll find me painting red and blue stars on my face, joyfully singing their national anthem—off-key, no doubt. Get Curaçao, and I’ll spend time learning about this small Caribbean nation I admittedly know little about.
While I secretly hope to avoid England—the birthplace of football but long starved of World Cup glory—maybe, just maybe, this is our year. England’s overdue for a win, and frankly, so is the nation. After years of hearing about “Broken Britain,” and tough times overshadowed by global turmoil, a World Cup victory would lift spirits incredibly.
Smaller countries find triumph, too. A Croatian friend reminds me of 2018, when Croatia nearly clinched the title. Their hero’s welcome in Zagreb was a celebration of pride, not disappointment.
Regardless of which team ultimately wins, this World Cup promises days filled with good company, cold cider, and the thrill of shared excitement. Sometimes, it’s not about the trophy but the joy in the journey—and that’s what I’m ready to embrace.