The World Cup is coming to America in 2026.
I had to read that sentence three times before it sank in. Because the last time those words were true, I was nine years old, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in my parents’ living room, watching grainy footage of players I couldn’t pronounce running around in the summer heat.
1994.
A Kid in the Crowd
I didn’t really understand soccer back then. I was a basketball kid, a baseball kid — soccer was that sport we played at recess when someone forgot to bring a football. But something about the World Cup was different.
Maybe it was the way my dad suddenly cared about a sport he’d never mentioned before. Maybe it was the flags everywhere, the international feel of it all, the sense that the whole world was watching something happening in our country. Maybe it was just the excuse to stay up late on school nights.
Whatever it was, I was hooked.
I remember Alexi Lalas and his ridiculous red beard. I remember the shootout against Brazil — the heartbreak when we lost. I remember my dad explaining offsides to me for the tenth time and me still not getting it.
But mostly, I remember the feeling. The excitement. The sense that something special was happening, and I was alive to see it.
Thirty-Two Years Later
Now it’s 2026, and I’m sitting on a different couch in a different house in a different state. But this time, there’s a three-year-old on my lap asking why the “running guys” keep falling down.
This time, I’m the dad.
And honestly? It’s hitting me harder than I expected.
Life’s Weird Symmetry
Kayden is almost the same age I was in ’94. He won’t remember most of this World Cup — just like I barely remember the actual games from back then. But he’ll remember the feeling. The flags. The late nights. Dad getting way too invested in something he barely understands.
(Because let’s be real — I still don’t fully get offsides. I’ve accepted this about myself.)
He’ll remember that summer when the whole world came to our country, and his dad was inexplicably emotional about grown men kicking a ball around.
The Part That Gets Me
Here’s what I keep thinking about:
In 1994, my dad sat with me and tried to explain a sport he didn’t really follow, just so we could experience something together.
In 2026, I’m doing the same thing with my son.
And someday — maybe 2058, maybe later — Kayden might do the same thing with his kids. He’ll tell them about the summer of 2026, about watching with his dad, about the time the World Cup came to America and everything felt possible.
That’s the thing about these big moments. They’re not really about the sport. They’re about the people you share them with. The memories you build. The traditions you accidentally start.
We’re Going
I haven’t told Kayden yet, but I’m working on getting us tickets to a game. I don’t care if it’s in the group stage. I don’t care if it’s two countries I’ve never heard of. I want him to be there. In the stadium. Part of history.
Because in 1994, my dad couldn’t afford to take me to a game. He wanted to — I found out years later that he’d looked into tickets but couldn’t make the numbers work.
So this one’s for him, too.
Full Circle
Life has a way of coming around again, doesn’t it?
Same tournament. Same country. Same summer excitement. But everything else is different — and somehow exactly the same.
I’m not that nine-year-old on the carpet anymore. I’m the dad now, trying to explain offsides, staying up too late, getting emotional about something I can’t quite articulate.
And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
See you this summer, World Cup.
We’ve been waiting 32 years.
Anyone else feeling the ’94 nostalgia? Drop your memories in the comments — I want to hear what you remember from that summer.