“If you want to hate the world, watch the news. If you want to love the world, travel it."
I saw that quote going around about the World Cup coverage. It’s unattributed, but something that everybody seems to nod along to anyway. Unless you’ve been living under a rock the past month, I hope you’ve watched a game or two, or at least been privy to the World Cup goodness across socials and the news.
If you’re at a point in your life when your faith in humanity needs restoring, take part in the World Cup experience.
A smattering of my extended family has been on “tour” across the country to attend games and watch parties. A few weeks ago, I had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to attend the Japan vs. Netherlands game in Dallas, TX, with my Dad, Stepmom, and Uncle.
My Dad (being from Japan) made this experience extra special. The match itself was incredible, with Japan coming back to end the game in a tie. But it was everything else around us that was memorable.
We took refuge in a hotel lobby near the stadium to escape the rain, with a sea of orange (Dutch) and blue (Japan) fans all finding spots to wait it out until the game started. Everyone shared smiles, offered to buy strangers a drink, and small-talked about where everyone was from. The anticipation of the game was electric.
My stepmom talked to a young man from Tokyo while they waited on their drinks at the bar. A few minutes later, the young man came over to our table, introduced himself to us all, and then introduced his Dad. The older man noticed that my stepmom wasn't wearing a jersey and pulled out an extra Japan one for her to keep, apologizing the whole time because it was years old and had a player's name on the back who wasn't even on the roster anymore. The jersey fit perfectly. My Dad and he exchanged contact information and are now email pen pals across the world.
Sarah, her family and the jersey gifters (2nd and 3rd from right)
Actually having tickets to the game was a surprise to my Dad. He just thought we were going to a watch party with other Japan fans for the weekend. My uncle and I were trying to figure out a cool way to tell him, and asked another family we met from Tokyo for a favor. We asked one of the ladies to tell him in Japanese that he was going to the game. He started to tear up before she finished telling him. He hugged her, then us, then everyone started hugging. I’m not sure who was happier, my Dad or the woman let in on our little reveal.
My uncle is on a quiet personal mission for the tournament: taking a photo with as many fans wearing different national jerseys as he can find. I watched him ask a dozen different people, and every single time, the fan lit up when he explained why he wanted a photo. Nobody brushed him off. Not one person said no. A few even asked to see the whole collection or how many he’s gotten so far. It became its own small tradition, one willing stranger at a time.
When I landed back home in New Orleans, I spoke to Dutch and Scottish fans who were taking a few days to travel around the U.S. before heading back to wherever their next game was.
I've lost count of how many times, over the last few weeks, I've heard some version of the same sentence from a visitor: “We were told it would be different here.”
Told America was a disaster.
Told Americans were rude.
Suspicious. Too busy to notice a stranger.
And then they landed and stayed for two weeks instead of five days because the itinerary kept growing. They found people offering up their porches to hang out on, offering rides to their hotel, recommending their favorite taco spots, and opening their actual homes.
Our visitors raved that each state had its own culture and our geography is beautifully varied.
It can be easy to listen to the hot takes or believe the worst about people. About our neighbors, our institutions, our visitors, the rest of the world's opinion of us. The noise builds a compelling case for that kind of thinking if we choose to stop looking for anything else.
What struck me most wasn't the goodwill toward Americans or from Americans. It was the goodwill fans had for one another, no matter which country they were cheering for.
It was the Japanese fans after the game, quietly picking up their own trash with bags they brought, and then the Dutch fans pitching in. Colombian fans hugging a crying Uzbek boy and cheering “Uzbekistan! Uzbekistan!” after Colombia beat his team, just to try and cheer him up. Thousands of Scottish fans partying their faces off in a Boston park, and collecting all their garbage in nearby cans out of respect for the workers who would have to.
Nobody cared who anyone voted for, prayed to, or rooted against. The only thing that mattered was that we'd all shown up to care about the same wonderful thing at the same time. Something bigger than all of us.
I keep coming back to that man and his old Japan jersey, and to the way he apologized as he gave away something that clearly meant a lot to him. He didn't need to do that. He just saw a woman without a jersey and decided that was worth fixing. To somehow make her feel welcome, in her own country, while he was the visitor in hers.
So here's my hot take: if you need proof that people are still fundamentally good to one another, try attending a game or finding a watch party. Stand in a crowd of strangers wearing colors that don't match yours and watch what happens.
At the very least, you’ll attend a hell of a party. At the most, you’ll remember who we really are and reject what the news wants you to believe.
