For the past month and a half, the World Cup has consumed my life. Pretty much every brain cell I possessed was focused on the universe’s greatest sporting event. It was an absolute joy, and I’m genuinely bummed that it’s over.

Before the tournament even started, I wrote that the World Cup is built on dreams. Those dreams are different depending on the nation. Brazil, the five-time champions who entered the tournament in the midst of a 24-year World Cup title drought, hoped to erase the failures of the recent past and reclaim their place atop the footballing world. England believed this might finally be the generation that brought football home after 60 years of waiting. Argentina wanted to give Lionel Messi one more magical ride. Morocco dreamed of proving that 2022 wasn’t a fluke. The United States wanted to show that soccer had truly arrived in America. Every nation arrived with a different story, but every one of them was chasing the exact same ending.

Only one of those dreams came true.

Spain, perhaps not the flashiest team in the tournament, simply suffocated everybody in its path. It wasn’t always filled with spectacular moments. Its journey didn’t always take our breath away. But it was always relentless. The Spanish pressed opponents into mistakes, dominated possession without becoming wasteful and defended with a discipline that bordered on perfection. Outside of a shaky opening match against Cape Verde, nobody ever really looked comfortable against them. Austria couldn’t solve them. Portugal couldn’t solve them. Belgium couldn’t solve them. France, surprisingly, couldn’t solve them. And in the final, neither could Argentina. Messi magic carried the Argentines all the way to the championship match, but even magic has its limits when it’s staring down a team that never lets you breathe.

During the FOX broadcast, Stu Holden said something that perfectly summed up Spain: “The star is the team.”

Sure, Spain has stars. Lamine Yamal is already one of the most electric players on Earth. Rodri remains the best midfielder in football. Nico Williams, Pedri and the rest of that squad could walk into almost any starting XI in the world. But none of them ever felt bigger than the crest on the front of the shirt. They won because they functioned as one complete unit. In a tournament that revolved around individual brilliance, there was something refreshing about watching the best team simply be ... the best team.

Oddly enough, though, Spain probably won’t be what I remember most from this World Cup. Thirty years from now, I don’t think my mind will immediately jump to Spain lifting the trophy in New Jersey. Instead, it’ll jump to the stories.

It’ll jump to Cape Verde nearly shocking Argentina in one of the greatest underdog performances I’ve ever watched. It’ll jump to Mexico nearly throwing England out of the Azteca in the Round of 16. It’ll jump to Norway’s unbelievable tournament, Erling Haaland proudly carrying around that stuffed raccoon, Paraguay stunning Germany, Morocco breaking Dutch hearts on penalties, Jude Bellingham somehow becoming an even bigger superstar than he already was, Argentina roaring back against Egypt, the breathtaking Golden Boot race, Scotland’s Tartan Army taking over cities across America, the United States smashing Paraguay before digging deep to eliminate Bosnia and Herzegovina while playing with 10 men.

Those are the moments that make the World Cup what it is.

Those are the moments that I’ll carry with me forever.

Even the controversies somehow become part of the memories. The Folarin Balogun red card debacle remains, in my opinion, the biggest blemish on this entire tournament. While I still believe that the decision to send Balogun off was incorrect, the process of reinstating his eligibility was suspicious at best. But as time has passed, I’ve found myself thinking less about the whole situation and more about Balogun’s response afterward. He refused to lash out following the red card. He even shook the referee’s hand after the match concluded. His insistence that little kids watching deserved to see somebody handle adversity the right way was awe-inspiring. If there was one player whose reputation skyrocketed throughout this World Cup, it was Balogun’s. He arrived as an excellent striker. He leaves feeling like somebody who should become the face of soccer in the United States for years to come.

There will be plenty of conversations over the coming months about what this tournament means for soccer in America. Will it create new fans? Will kids pick up a ball because they watched Malik Tillman or Balogun this summer? How will MLS benefit from everything? Honestly, I have no clue. Those questions often take years to fully answer.

What I do know is this: For a month and a half, the world’s game descended upon the United States, and people paid attention.

Maybe they watched every match. Maybe they only tuned in for the United States. Maybe they spent the entire tournament arguing about offside and VAR. That’s OK. They still watched. They still cared. For a few wonderful weeks, soccer dominated conversations around the country in a way that it almost never does outside of a World Cup. That counts for something.

As for me, I’m sticking around.

Soccer has become an integral part of my life over the past five years, especially the last three. Saturday mornings begin with the Premier League. Midweek afternoons belong to the Champions League, which I firmly believe is the second-greatest sporting tournament in the world behind only the World Cup itself. Every season introduces new stories, new rivalries and new reasons to fall in love with the sport all over again. This tournament didn’t create that passion for me. It simply reminded me why it exists.

And here’s the fun part: The stories aren’t over.

In just a few weeks, many of the players who became household names across America during this World Cup will return to their clubs. Arsenal will try to defend its Premier League title. Real Madrid will once again chase European glory. Barcelona will look to reclaim its place atop Spain. Bayern Munich, Inter Milan, Manchester City and Paris Saint-Germain will all have stories worth following. Lamine Yamal will continue dazzling defenders for Barcelona. Jude Bellingham will still be Jude Bellingham. Kylian Mbappé will keep doing ridiculous things. Erling Haaland will keep scoring goals that defy logic. The World Cup might be over, but the players who made it unforgettable aren’t going anywhere.

If this tournament introduced you to those players for the very first time, don’t let that be where your journey ends.

Because if the past month and a half proved anything, it’s that this sport has an endless supply of stories waiting to be told.

As I stood in front of the television wearing the same outfit — a gray shirt with an American flag and Tottenham Hotspur pajama pants — that I’d worn for all four of the United States’ previous World Cup matches, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been here before. Four years ago, the USMNT fell out of the 2022 World Cup in Qatar to the Netherlands in what was a fairly miserable effort. Four years later, the team that had captured the hearts and minds of millions of Americans nationwide had, for seemingly the billionth time, crashed and burned in the Round of 16.

All credit to Belgium. It was evident they took the Folarin Balogun reinstatement as a personal affront. They were quicker to every ball, crisper with every pass and better at finishing their chances. There was never a moment where it appeared they weren’t in control. Even when Malik Tillman, who emerged as one of the best things about this tournament for the United States, tied the game midway through the first half, Belgium had an immediate response. It felt like every time the Americans showed the slightest bit of life, the Red Devils immediately snuffed it out. By the end of the night, there wasn’t much left to analyze other than a team that was simply second-best in every facet of the game.

For three weeks, it appeared the United States had turned a corner when it came to performing at the international level. Mauricio Pochettino had unlocked a swagger, a hunger that this program hadn’t shown in years. Even the Balogun red card against Bosnia and Herzegovina in the Round of 32 couldn’t stop the mojo. And when Balogun was subsequently reinstated just 36 hours before the match against Belgium, it looked like the universe wanted the United States’ journey to continue. Maybe destiny had finally decided to throw American soccer a bone.

But sometimes dreams, however amazing they might be, are just dreams. Sometimes reality is harsh. Sometimes the lights are simply too bright.

It’s hard to analyze the United States’ performance at this World Cup because two things can be true at the same time. On one hand, this was a fantastic improvement over what had been a lackluster cycle since 2022. The team looked more dangerous. More confident. More willing to take the game to its opponent rather than simply survive. For the first time in a long time, there was a genuine feeling that this program was building toward something meaningful. But the exit was so disastrous and so embarrassing that it almost wipes away all of that goodwill. The USMNT needed a trip to the quarterfinals to make this run feel undeniably different from the previous ones. This program had reached the Round of 16 before. That wasn’t uncharted territory. It was the next step that would’ve sent everybody to the moon.

Belgium had other ideas. Several of its players admitted after the match that Balogun’s reinstatement served as extra motivation in a game that otherwise lacked much external fuel for the Red Devils. While that certainly wasn’t the sole reason the United States couldn’t keep up with Belgium, I don’t think it can be completely discounted, either. Sports are emotional, and if Belgium genuinely believed FIFA had handed the Americans an unfair advantage, that’s something that can absolutely sharpen a team’s focus. One has to wonder whether Balogun sitting out the match, as originally intended prior to FIFA’s intervention, changes anything. Maybe the United States still loses. Belgium was the better side regardless, after all. But maybe it loses with a little more dignity than whatever the heck that was.

I am still so frazzled by all of this, if you couldn’t tell. It would’ve been perfectly fine if the United States had lost in a competitive match. That happens. Belgium, despite being in what I believe are the twilight years of its golden generation, is still one of the 10 best national teams on the planet. It has world-class players all over the field and enough quality to beat just about anybody when it’s clicking on all cylinders. Losing to Belgium isn’t embarrassing. Going out in the fashion the United States did is. That’s the part that’s going to sting for a long time, especially after FIFA gift-wrapped the team’s star striker back onto the field for some bizarre reason. In other words, the United States was handed a freebie by FIFA and the universe and simply couldn’t take advantage.

Quite frankly, everything and everybody sucked. Sergiño Dest was terrible. Tim Ream was especially abhorrent on the back end. Matt Freese’s error that resulted in Belgium’s third goal was perhaps the most demoralizing moment of my soccer-watching life because any lingering hope that the Americans could somehow find their way back into the game disappeared the second that ball crossed the line. Christian Pulisic, the face of this USMNT and, according to virtually every media outlet on Earth, the team’s best player, was arguably the worst player on the field. It was the type of collective performance that makes an entire nation want to crawl into a hole and avoid talking about soccer for the next four years.

Let’s talk about Pulisic for a moment because he deserves his own conversation. Outside of a tantalizing first 45 minutes against Paraguay in the tournament opener, the AC Milan winger looked average at best and downright poor at worst. He was dealing with an injury for most of the World Cup, sure, but that’s also been the book on Pulisic throughout much of his career. He just struggles to stay on the field. That’s unfortunate, but it’s also reality. When the United States needed its biggest star to put together the performance of his life in the biggest match this generation of American players has ever experienced, it simply didn’t happen. Whether it was because of injury, poor form or some combination of the two really doesn’t matter in the end. The United States needed Christian Pulisic to be the “LeBron James of soccer.” Instead, he looked a lot more like Anthony Bennett.

So, was this a positive World Cup for the United States? I honestly think the answer is still yes, even after everything that happened Monday night. The game is undoubtedly going to grow in popularity because of this tournament being played on American soil. Millions of people who never would’ve watched a soccer match before have now experienced the drama, the passion and the chaos that make the World Cup unlike anything else in sports.

There have been so many incredible stories throughout the past month. Lionel Messi battling Kylian Mbappé atop the Golden Boot race. Erling Haaland finally getting his moment with Norway. Cape Verde stunning the world against the likes of Spain and Argentina. This tournament has had everything, and the United States managed to become one of those stories for a little while, too. The 4-1 win over Paraguay was one of the best sporting moments of my life. So was the 2-0 victory over Australia a week later. Beating Bosnia and Herzegovina the way they did was genuinely uplifting and only made me love this sport even more than I already did.

But losing 4-1 to Belgium, the same nation that ended the United States’ hopes and dreams back in 2014, was such a gut punch that it overshadows almost everything that came before it. Few people are going to remember that Paraguay game now. Even fewer will remember Australia. All people are going to remember from this World Cup run are three things: Balogun’s controversial red card against Bosnia and Herzegovina, FIFA’s bizarre decision to reinstate him for the Round of 16, and then the absolute wet fart of a performance the United States delivered against Belgium. Fair or unfair, that’s the type of stuff history tends to remember.

In the end, everything remains the same. The United States is out in the Round of 16 of the World Cup once again. The program has unquestionably taken steps forward, but it still has a long way to go before it can seriously dream about winning this tournament. Maybe that day is coming in the distant future. Maybe these past three weeks were the first real signs that American soccer is finally starting to mature into something somewhat capable of competing with the world’s elite. I certainly hope so.

For now, though, I’m left trying to process another Round of 16 exit, wondering what could’ve been had things broken just a little differently, and preparing myself for another emotionally exhausting season of watching Tottenham Hotspur.

The universe is cruel sometimes.

More World Cup

Let’s get this out of the way: FIFA is a corrupt organization, and it has been for a long time.

It often does things that are, at best, questionable and, at worst, filled to the brim with scandal. That’s just the way of the footballing world, and we’ve all, to some degree, come to accept it. Furthermore, Gianni Infantino’s tenure as FIFA president has been, to put it lightly, a mess. Ever wonder why Qatar and Saudi Arabia are hosting World Cups? Or why hydration breaks exist? Look no further than Infantino. He has shown time and time again that he’ll do just about anything to further his own interests alongside those he calls friends.

So, when FIFA inexplicably suspended Folarin Balogun’s automatic one-game suspension following his controversial red card in the United States’ 2-0 Round of 32 victory over Bosnia and Herzegovina, the public was right to raise its eyebrows.

This has happened only once before in World Cup history. Brazilian legend Garrincha was sent off in the 1962 World Cup semifinal against Chile but was ultimately allowed to play in the final, which Brazil won. That was more than six decades ago. It seemed like an awfully strange time for FIFA to dust off that precedent.

Let’s get another thing clear: Balogun’s foul against Bosnia and Herzegovina probably shouldn’t have been a red card in the first place.

The Video Assistant Referee (VAR), alongside the referee on the field, appeared to utilize slow-motion replay to determine that Balogun should be sent off. That is a violation of VAR’s own protocol. Slow motion is intended to help officials determine the point of contact on factual decisions, not the intensity of a challenge. For subjective decisions such as serious foul play, officials are instructed to evaluate the incident primarily at normal speed because slow motion can make challenges appear more deliberate and severe than they actually were in real time.

In other words, there is a legitimate argument that the process leading to Balogun’s red card was flawed from the beginning.

And then FIFA entered the arena.

FIFA’s Disciplinary Committee cited Article 27, which essentially gives the organization broad authority to suspend or modify disciplinary sanctions when it deems appropriate (aka whenever the heck it wants). The same article had already been invoked before the tournament to ensure that Cristiano Ronaldo would remain eligible for Portugal’s opening two group-stage matches.

Viewed strictly through that lens, FIFA ruling Balogun eligible again isn’t all that remarkable. Weird? Sure! But an outrage? Not really. There is at least some precedent through Ronaldo’s case, and the committee appears to have acted within the letter of its own regulations.

The problem isn’t necessarily that FIFA reached this conclusion. The problem is that FIFA never explained how it reached this conclusion.

To date, there has been no written or oral explanation as to why the Disciplinary Committee believed this specific suspension warranted intervention while countless others throughout World Cup history have not. If Article 27 exists for extraordinary circumstances, surely this qualifies as a situation that deserves an extraordinary explanation.

Instead, everyone has been left to endlessly speculate.

As a hardcore supporter of the USMNT, I think that’s flat-out fishy.

Add in the fact that the White House made a direct call to Infantino, and the waters become even muddier.

Let’s give everybody the benefit of the doubt here, though.

Let’s assume FIFA acted completely independently and that any outside pressure from political figures played no role whatsoever in determining Balogun’s eligibility. That’s entirely possible. If that’s what happened, then fine. But if that’s the case, why won’t FIFA simply tell us why Balogun’s case deserved this type of result? More importantly, why won’t it tell Belgium?

Belgium has every right to be upset about this decision. Imagine preparing for the biggest match of your tournament under the assumption that your opponent’s starting striker is suspended, only to learn 36 hours before kickoff that FIFA has reversed course. Whether Balogun deserved to miss the match isn’t really the point. Belgium deserved to know why the governing body suddenly decided that one of the most rigid disciplinary rules in the sport no longer applied.

That explanation has yet to come.

Instead, FIFA merely cited Article 27 and moved on, leaving everyone else to fill in the blanks. That’s an incredibly strange way to handle a decision of this magnitude. If there is a legitimate legal or procedural justification — and there very well may be — why not share it? Why not explain exactly what made this case different from the countless controversial red cards that have resulted in automatic suspensions over the decades?

Transparency benefits everyone here. It benefits the United States because it eliminates the whispers that FIFA bent the rules to help the tournament hosts. It benefits Belgium because it allows its players, coaches and supporters to understand why the decision was made, even if they ultimately disagree with it. More importantly, it benefits FIFA because the organization so desperately needs credibility whenever it exercises broad discretionary powers.

Instead, FIFA chose silence.

And it’s that silence that makes this feel so uncomfortable.

As a U.S. supporter, I’m thrilled Balogun gets to play against Belgium. I also happen to believe the original red card was incorrect. Those two things can both be true. But they don’t erase the fact that Belgium has every right to ask questions, and it has every right to expect answers from the organization running the world’s biggest sporting event.

Football has always operated with certain hard-and-fast rules, and an automatic one-match suspension after a red card has long been one of them. There have been controversial dismissals before. There have been players who missed massive matches because referees got it wrong. There have even been World Cups decided by officiating mistakes that were never corrected after the fact. Fair or unfair, that’s just sports sometimes.

That’s why this decision feels so unusual. It’s not that FIFA reached a result that many people agree with. It’s that it reached that result through a process it has almost never used before and then declined to explain why.

If FIFA believes it got this one right, then it should have no problem showing everyone how it reached that conclusion.

Unfortunately, it has allowed speculation to replace transparency.

Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. I genuinely hope there is. Until FIFA decides to share it, though, the controversy isn’t going anywhere.

And honestly, that’s entirely its own doing.

Go, go USA.

The United States plays Bosnia and Herzegovina tonight at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, and I could not be more nervous.

The group stage was one thing. Those matches brought a level of anxiety that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. But the knockout rounds are a completely different animal. There are no second chances anymore. Win and you keep dreaming. Lose and it’s all over.

On paper, the United States is the better team. The FIFA rankings — which should always be taken with an extra grain of salt — say the Americans are comfortably ahead of Bosnia and Herzegovina. The talent is there. The depth appears to be there, too. The manager is certainly there. Everything points toward the United States moving on.

But games aren’t played on paper. (Have I said that before?)

They’re played on grass by actual human beings who are capable of producing moments of absolute genius just as easily as they are capable of making mistakes that leave you staring blankly at your television wondering what in the world just happened.

That’s why I think there are really two ways to look at tonight’s match. There’s the emotional side, and then there’s the tactical side. The emotional side says this game is a lot more even than people might like to think. Both nations are playing in the biggest match in their modern soccer history. For Bosnia and Herzegovina, simply reaching this stage is unprecedented. Never before has the country advanced to the knockout rounds of a World Cup, and now it’s one victory away from a place in the Round of 16. History is staring the Bosnians directly in the face, and teams with nothing to lose can be awfully dangerous.

The United States is carrying a different type of pressure. The World Cup is being played on home soil in front of millions of Americans who desperately want to believe this program has finally turned the corner. Mauricio Pochettino has changed the mood surrounding this team in just a matter of weeks, and now his players have an opportunity to validate all of that optimism. Win tonight and suddenly the quarterfinals don’t seem so far away. The dream begins to feel tangible. People start convincing themselves that maybe this really is the generation that can do something no American team has ever done before. That’s the magic of the World Cup. Hope snowballs into belief faster than at any other sporting event.

Fortunately for the Americans, the tactical matchup points in their favor. Bosnia and Herzegovina is almost certainly going to defend deep, sit in a low block and dare the United States to find a way through. It’ll gladly surrender possession if it means creating opportunities on the counterattack. That’s been the blueprint for underdogs throughout this tournament, and we’ve already seen just how effective it can be. Spain couldn’t solve Cape Verde. Portugal struggled to maneuver around DR Congo. England had similar problems against Ghana. Germany spent 120 frustrating minutes trying to break down Paraguay before crashing out on penalties. These defensive setups are designed to frustrate favorites until frustration evolves into panic.

The encouraging news is that the United States has already shown it knows how to navigate those tricky waters. Paraguay tried something similar in the tournament opener. 4-1, United States. Australia wasn’t much different a week later. 2-0, United States. Pochettino’s pressing system is built to overwhelm teams that want to sit back by forcing turnovers high up the field and preventing opponents from ever getting too comfortable. If the Americans play to their standard, chances are going to come. The biggest key is making sure one of those chances finds the back of the net early.

Nothing destroys a defensive game plan faster than conceding in the opening stages of a match. An early American goal would force Bosnia and Herzegovina to abandon the low block and chase the game, creating exactly the type of open spaces that Christian Pulisic, Folarin Balogun and Weston McKennie thrive in. On the flip side, if the scoreboard still reads 0-0 at halftime — or worse, Bosnia has found a goal on the counterattack — the pressure inside Levi’s Stadium will become almost unbearable. Low blocks become more effective and more difficult to break the longer they’re allowed to survive, and every missed opportunity chips away at a team’s confidence. That’s why the opening 20 or 30 minutes feel so important tonight.

Thankfully, quick starts have become something of a trademark for this American team. The United States scored within the first 10 minutes in all three of its group-stage matches, immediately putting opponents on the back foot and allowing Pochettino’s style to dictate the rest of the contest. If the United States can do that one more time, it will put itself in an excellent position to keep this World Cup journey alive.

More than anything, though, I’m just grateful we get to experience a night like this. A World Cup on home soil. A United States team that genuinely believes it can accomplish something special. Tens of thousands of supporters packing Levi’s Stadium while millions more watch from around the country hoping to witness another step forward for American soccer. This is the type of occasion fans wait years to experience, and now it’s finally here.

I just hope the ride doesn’t end tonight.

More World Cup

I entered Monday night’s match between Morocco and the Netherlands with one objective in mind: watch the Dutch go out and take what was theirs.

What do I mean by that? I wanted to see the Netherlands finally announce itself as one of the favorites to win this World Cup. Beat Morocco and the Oranje were staring at a golden opportunity. A trip to the quarterfinals was almost certainly waiting – taking down Canada in the Round of 16 wouldn’t have been a tricky proposition – and from there, who knows? Every World Cup champion needs a moment where it grabs the tournament by the throat and tells everybody else, “We’re here.” I thought this would be that moment for the Dutch.

Now, don’t get it twisted. Beating Morocco is no easy endeavor. The Moroccans are one of the best teams in Africa, if not the world. Fueled by a diaspora community that’s transfored the way the country views its national team, Morocco has followed its remarkable run to the 2022 semifinals by putting together another outstanding World Cup. They’re young, talented and incredibly well organized. Still, even with all of that in mind, I thought the Netherlands were the better team. At least on paper, I believed the Dutch had enough quality to dictate the match rather than spend the evening reacting to it.

But games aren’t played on paper.

Morocco revolves around Achraf Hakimi. He’s one of the best players in the world and the heartbeat of almost everything the Atlas Lions do. Slow him down and you dramatically increase your chances of winning. That part of Ronald Koeman’s game plan made perfect sense.

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Germany 7, Brazil 1.

That’s the score of the first soccer game I remember watching in its entirety. While the match itself happened on July 8, 2014, I actually laid my eyes upon it a year later when it was replayed on some network prior to the 2015 FIFA Women’s World Cup final. The timing of the viewing doesn’t really matter. All that does is the impression I was given. As somebody who was just beginning to discover this wonderful sport, Germany didn’t simply look like the best team in the world. It looked unbeatable. It looked like a dynasty that would spend the next decade-plus collecting trophies like a child collects coins.

For those unfamiliar, the infamous Mineiraço — as the match is called in Brazil — occurred during the 2014 FIFA World Cup in Brazil. The two world powers met in the semifinals in Belo Horizonte with more than 58,000 people in the stands spurring them on. If Brazil could find a way to win, then its hopes and dreams of capturing a sixth star on home soil remained alive. If Germany won, those dreams would be crushed.

What none of us knew at kickoff was just how thoroughly those dreams would be obliterated.

Goal after goal after goal flew into the back of the net for the Germans. In the span of six minutes during the first half, Germany scored four times, with Toni Kroos netting two while Miroslav Klose and Sami Khedira added the others. It wasn’t merely a defeat — it was a national embarrassment for Brazil and a coming-out party for Germany.

Several days later, Mario Götze’s extra-time winner against Argentina delivered Germany its fourth World Cup title. At that exact moment, there was nothing German football could do wrong. The squad was filled to the brim with superstars. Its youth system was the envy of the footballing world. Years and years of future success seemed preordained from the stars above. It appeared as if Germany had permanently planted its flag atop the footballing mountain.

Then the story turned.

The 2016 European Championship ended with a respectable semifinal defeat to host nation France. It was disappointing, but hardly alarming. Germany was still Germany. Then came the 2018 FIFA World Cup in Russia. Placed in a group with Sweden, Mexico and South Korea, the Germans looked primed for another deep run. Instead, they stumbled to a shocking defeat against Mexico before crashing out of the tournament with an even more stunning 2-0 loss to South Korea. I remember sitting there completely dumbfounded. The last time I’d really watched Germany play, it was dismantling Brazil 7-1. Now it couldn’t even survive the group stage.

Things never really recovered. Germany reached the Round of 16 at Euro 2020 before falling to England. The 2022 FIFA World Cup in Qatar brought another painful group-stage exit after a loss to Japan ultimately proved too much to overcome. And while 2026 is technically an improvement because Germany actually escaped the group, it somehow feels like another step backward. Outside of a 7-1 demolition (throwback) of Curaçao and a narrow 2-1 victory over Côte d’Ivoire, Germany looked pedestrian throughout this tournament. Even in victory, it never felt worlds above its opposition. In the end, the warning signs were there all along.

Look, Paraguay should’ve been a layup. The Paraguayans had shown some teeth during qualifying, but they also got whooped 4-1 by the United States earlier in this tournament. Germany controlled 76% possession, outshot Paraguay six shots on target to three and held a 1.57-0.35 expected-goals advantage. Orlando Gill stood on his head in goal, making six saves, while Paraguay waited patiently for its chance. It finally came in the 42nd minute when Julio Enciso finished off a perfect counterattack. Kai Havertz brought Germany level nine minutes into the second half, but the breakthrough never truly arrived.

Well ... kind of.

Germany thought it had won the match in extra time before the goal was wiped away because of what the referee — with a VAR assist — ruled was a foul on the goalkeeper. (Germans far and wide will argue that it wasn’t a foul until the day they die.) Was it a foul? Probably. Does that sort of incidental contact usually get called? Not from what I watched in the Premier League this past season. If that same referee had officiated Arsenal all year, I’m fairly convinced the Gunners would’ve finished fourth instead of first. (I’m just jesting and am totally not salty.) Anyway, the goal came off the board, and the match drifted toward penalties, shifting all the pressure entirely onto Germany.

The drama that unfolded from there was magnificent. When Kai Havertz missed his first penalty, putting Germany in a hole straight from the jump, I gasped. I did the same when Paraguay somehow squandered two separate opportunities to put the shootout away. Then came perhaps the defining image of Germany’s tournament. Jonathan Tah, who reportedly only stepped forward because nobody else wanted the responsibility despite the fact that he’d never taken a penalty in a competitive match, launched his effort somewhere into the upper deck of Gillette Stadium. Moments later, Alan Cantero calmly buried the winner to hand Paraguay arguably the greatest victory in its footballing history while Germany walked off the field in shame.

“What happened to German football?” is the question everybody will be asking today, and the honest answer is that it’s complicated. This feels like a team stuck between generations, one that’s filled with technically gifted players but lacks an identity. Julian Nagelsmann spent much of the tournament facing criticism from some of Germany’s biggest football voices, and that couldn’t have helped the confidence in the dressing room, either. Rory Smith put it better than I ever could when he observed that Germany’s youth system “produces loads and loads and loads of the same players. They produce nothing but neat, technically good midfielders... They have no cutting edge.” Watching this team over the past three weeks, it’s hard to argue with that assessment.

Germany still has outstanding players. Jamal Musiala is brilliant. Florian Wirtz is brilliant. Kai Havertz has had brilliant moments throughout his career, too. But when the lights shine their brightest, something just seems to shrivel. France has Kylian Mbappé. Spain has Lamine Yamal. England has Harry Kane and Jude Bellingham. Argentina has Lionel Messi. Heck, Paraguay has Julio Enciso. Germany, despite all of its talent and a population of more than 84 million people, doesn’t seem to have that difference-maker anymore.

When I watched Germany dismantle Brazil all those years ago, I thought I was watching the birth of football’s next great dynasty. Looking back now, I was unknowingly watching the end of one.

The knockout rounds of the World Cup are finally here.

No more trifling around in the group stage wondering what the stakes are. No more scenarios involving goal differential, disciplinary points or pulling out a calculator to determine who needs what. The stakes are now crystal clear: win and advance. Lose, and your hopes and dreams of making history are done and dusted.

There’s something wonderful about the group stage that no other sporting event can quite replicate. It’s where the groundwork for the tournament is laid and where fans are introduced to teams they may have never watched before. It’s where a nation like Cape Verde suddenly captures the imagination of the entire world or where Norway transforms from an intriguing outsider into a legitimate contender. Supporters learn the players, adopt second-favorite teams and fall in love with stories they never expected to care about. The World Cup becomes less of a tournament and more of a global festival, with people from every corner of the planet gathering in one place. This summer, that place just so happens to be Canada, Mexico and the United States.

And that festival isn’t over. Not even close. But there’s certainly a different feeling in the air now.

The music is still playing. The supporters are (hopefully) still singing. The streets are still packed to the brim with jerseys from every imaginable nation. Yet the tension has become almost impossible to ignore because everybody knows one simple truth: One mistake can end everything. One poor clearance, one defensive lapse or one missed penalty can spell the doom of hopes and dreams a lifetime in the making. Ninety wonderful minutes — or perhaps 120 — can determine whether a country celebrates in the streets or spends the flight home wondering what might have been.

That, my friends, is knockout football.

For Americans, the closest touchpoint is probably March Madness. College basketball spends months building toward a tournament where one bad afternoon can erase an entire season’s worth of work and one good afternoon can create memories that last forever. The World Cup operates the same way. A nation can dominate qualifying, breeze through the group stage and look every bit like a future champion only to watch everything come crashing down because of one misplaced pass or one perfectly delivered corner kick. That’s what makes this stage of the tournament so exhilarating and, at the very same time, so terrifying.

This year’s edition carries an extra layer of intrigue because of the expanded field. For the first time ever, 32 teams have reached the knockout rounds. I’ll admit that I wasn’t entirely sure how this new format would play out. Would it water down the competition? Would the extra round simply delay the inevitable arrival of the traditional powers?

While the sample size is admittedly small, the answer has been a resounding no. If anything, it’s made the tournament even better!

Canada and South Africa started the Round of 32 with a battle that required a stoppage-time winner from the hosts just to survive. It sent the entire nation of Canada into joyous hysterics, while Bafana Bafana saw a magical run come to a heartbreaking conclusion. It was dramatic, emotional and exactly what the World Cup is supposed to be. Everything mattered because everything was on the line.

The knockout rounds can make people national heroes. Don’t believe me? Just ask Canada head coach Jesse Marsch, who, after the win over South Africa yesterday, called his players “Canadian heroes.”

But that’s not even the best part, because we’re just getting started.

From today through July 19, that’s the rhythm we’ll live by. Every day brings another collection of matches where entire nations place their hopes on 11 players wearing the same crest. There will be heroes. There will be villains. There will almost certainly be a giant that falls when nobody expects it and a smaller nation that refuses to believe its story is supposed to end. That’s the beauty of the World Cup. Reputation means very little once the whistle blows.

The Round of 32 is here for the first time in tournament history. Then comes the Round of 16. Then the quarterfinals. Then the semifinals. And finally, one last match at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey on July 19.

This is the greatest sporting tournament on Earth.

Just beat Panama and you’re first.

Simple enough, right?

England’s path out of Group L remains remarkably straightforward despite a frustrating scoreless draw against Ghana on Tuesday evening in Foxborough. Win the group-stage finale against Panama and the Three Lions will almost certainly claim first place. No calculators. No scoreboard watching. No praying for favors from somebody else. Just win the game in front of you and everything will be better than a sausage roll at Greggs. (That is a correct English reference, right? I’m trying my best over here.)

Of course, this is England we’re talking about. Nothing — and I mean absolutely nothing — is ever that simple.

Listen, every team is capable of putting up a dud at the World Cup. The odds of that occurring become exponentially higher when facing an opponent that’s more than content to park the bus and defend its butt off for 90 minutes. Ghana arrived in Massachusetts with a clear game plan and executed it brilliantly. England dominated possession, controlled territory and spent most of the evening camped out in the attacking third. Yet for all that control — and this is the funny thing about football — England never found the breakthrough it so desperately was seeking. As John Strong noted during the FOX broadcast, this wasn’t the first time the English had experienced some difficulties in Massachusetts.

It’s not like England didn’t have plenty of opportunities to win the match. Harry Kane’s late chance is the one that will haunt England fans until the Panama game rolls around. It was the type of opportunity that you’d expect the captain to bury nine times out of 10. Put that exact ball on his boot 100 times and he launches it into the back of the net more often than not. Instead, he sailed it into the stands. Sound familiar?

What I can’t stop thinking about, though, is a moment on the other end of the field. In the 79th minute, Ghana’s Prince Adu appeared to be taken down on a breakaway in what looked like a fairly obvious foul. Unless I’m missing something, England got away with one there. Had the referee pointed to the spot — and had VAR agreed — Ghana would’ve been awarded a penalty with a chance to take the lead in the waning minutes of the game. Maybe they score there, sending the entire nation of Ghana into a celebration the likes of which we’ve never seen. Maybe they don’t, giving England new life. We never got to see the fruits of it, meaning this match will always have a “what if?” attached to it in my mind. Because there’s a version of this contest where England walked away with zero points and a full-blown crisis on its hands.

Instead, the Three Lions escaped with a draw and remain in an excellent position moving forward. That’s important because winning this group matters — a lot.

The World Cup is difficult enough without voluntarily making the road harder on yourself. Finishing first in Group L would likely set England up with a Round of 32 matchup against DR Congo or Senegal before a potential Round of 16 meeting with either Mexico or (maybe) Scotland. Frankly, that’s a pretty favorable draw. Also, give me England versus Scotland at a World Cup any day of the week. The history, the tension and the inevitable overreaction from both sides would make for incredible theater. More importantly, though, it would represent a pathway that avoids some of the tournament’s bigger sharks during the early knockout rounds.

The alternative isn’t nearly as appealing. If England somehow stumbles against Panama and finishes second in the group, a matchup with either Colombia or Portugal likely awaits in Toronto on July 2. That’s a much different proposition. Both teams possess the type of attacking talent — Portugal especially — capable of ending a World Cup dream in 90 minutes. That’s why Tuesday’s draw, while disappointing, doesn’t actually change all that much other than the timeline. England still controls its own destiny.

The reason the path matters so much is because England really needs this World Cup. It’s been 60 long years since football came home for the one and only time. According to the English, the sport has been wandering through the wilderness ever since. This year’s World Cup provides them with an excellent chance to reclaim their beloved prize. And if England can be gifted a runway that allows it to build confidence and momentum throughout the knockout rounds, that’s probably the best-case scenario. All it has to do to secure that is beat Panama.

Easy, right?

Ehh, maybe. Because nothing is ever easy for England.

Part of Tuesday’s disappointment stems from the fact that England may have received a bit too much fanfare after its opening victory over Croatia. Honestly, I’m guilty of that too. I was practically parading the World Cup trophy through the streets of London after the 4-2 win. A little regression was likely — that’s just how tournaments work. But it still would’ve been nice to score a goal or two, for goodness sake! I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request when you finish with 80% possession.

To be fair, I’m not going to be overly harsh about the result. Ghana isn’t a bad team by any stretch of the imagination. There is legitimate talent throughout that roster, and any nation capable of defending that compactly is going to create problems. Still, Ghana isn’t England! That’s what makes the draw feel disappointing. England entered the match as the better team on paper and spent most of the evening looking like the better team on the field. The final score just didn’t reflect it. That’s sports.

Perhaps the most amusing part of Tuesday’s draw, however, is that it continued a trend that feels almost impossible to explain. England has now followed the exact same script in four consecutive major tournaments. At Euro 2020, England won its opener before drawing 0-0 in its second match. The same thing happened at the 2022 World Cup. Then it happened again at Euro 2024. And now, under Thomas Tuchel rather than Gareth Southgate, England has once again opened with a victory before stumbling to a scoreless draw in Game 2. Hilarious. England loves making life difficult for itself.

If there was a positive takeaway beyond the point itself, it was the defense. Ghana didn’t test England very often, but I thought the back line looked more composed than it did against Croatia. That’s admittedly a small sample size, but improvement is improvement. The bigger concern might actually be Declan Rice, who picked up a yellow card and now enters the Panama match walking a disciplinary tightrope. (He also appears to be nursing some sort of injury, which is expected after he played a bajillion games this past season for Arsenal.) England can ill afford to lose one of its most important midfielders heading into the knockout rounds.

But remember, everything is fine so long as the Three Lions take down Panama. The goal of this tournament — a championship — is still squarely in front of them. Beat Panama and the dream of finally bringing football home is still alive.

Simple enough, right?

More World Cup

Before diving into today’s scenarios, it’s …

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Three groups are in action today, and by the time the final whistle blows tonight, Groups A, B and C will be settled. Some teams are playing for first place. Others are fighting simply to stay alive. A few nations are already packing their bags (boo!). This is where the World Cup becomes truly wonderful because every goal suddenly carries even more immense weight. One moment can be the difference between cruising into the knockout rounds and boarding a plane home. And who wants to go home?

Before diving into the specifics, it’s important to understand how FIFA breaks ties. I know this part is tedious. Trust me, I’d much rather spend my time talking about goals and dramatic stoppage-time winners. But with so many teams entering the final day level on points, these rules matter a ton.

If two or more teams in the same group finish with the same number of points, FIFA first turns to the results between those teams. Head-to-head points are the primary tiebreaker, followed by head-to-head goal difference and then goals scored in those head-to-head matches. If teams are somehow still tied after all of that, the process expands to include overall goal difference and total goals scored throughout the group stage. Should things somehow remain deadlocked, disciplinary records (how many yellow and red cards a team has been shown) come into play before, as an absolute last resort, FIFA turns to the world rankings. Nobody wants things to reach that point.

For third-place teams hoping to advance, the process is slightly different. FIFA ranks those teams based on points, goal difference, goals scored, disciplinary record and finally world ranking. In other words, every goal matters at this stage.

Now that we’ve gotten the boring stuff out of the way, let’s get to the fun part.

Group A: Mexico Is Through, Everybody Else Is Sweating

Mexico has already punched its ticket to the knockout rounds. Six points from victories over South Africa and Korea have guaranteed advancement and placed El Tri firmly at the top of the group.

I would be shocked if Korea isn’t the team that ultimately claims second place. A matchup with South Africa awaits, and the Koreans should feel confident entering that contest. South Africa has struggled throughout this tournament and hasn’t shown much evidence that it can consistently threaten quality opposition. If Korea handles business, its place in the knockout rounds should be secure.

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I don’t really remember the first time I heard about Lionel Messi.

It was probably at some point in elementary school on the playground, kicking the ball around with some kids who were far better at soccer than I was, that his name first touched my ears. There’s also a chance it happened much, much later during my first genuine foray into the sport around 2016. Truthfully, I have no clue. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that the details don’t really matter because the fact is that Messi has always been there in some form or fashion.

He’s been part of the background of my soccer fandom for as long as I can remember, which is a strange thing to say about somebody who might be the greatest athlete I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. So many players come and go. Entire sports dynasties rise and fall. Coaches get fired, stars get old and fans move on to the next shiny best thing. Yet throughout all the change that soccer has undergone during my lifetime, Messi has remained this permanent fixture, as inevitable as the sunrise and just about as beautiful.

I’ve watched him at his lowest and highest. I watched Argentina stumble through the 2018 World Cup, where Messi looked strangely mortal and where many believed the greatest player of his generation had missed his chance. I watched the endless debates with Cristiano Ronaldo dominate the sport, as fans on both sides of the aisle hurled statistics and trophies at each other like children arguing on a playground. I watched him leave Barcelona in tears, awkwardly try to fit in at Paris Saint-Germain and then arrive in Miami to a level of fanfare that almost defied belief. And then I watched him do the impossible in Qatar, lifting Argentina to its first World Cup title in 36 years while cementing something that, in my mind at least, had long been true: Lionel Messi is the greatest soccer player who has ever lived.

As with most of my soccer analysis, that’s not a groundbreaking take. Frankly, I think most people who have watched him for any meaningful amount of time would agree with me. But what fascinates me about Messi isn’t simply that he’s great. Sports are filled with all types of great players. Tom Brady was great. Michael Jordan was great. Wayne Gretzky was great. Those athletes piled up championships and records that may never be touched, yet I don’t think any of them possess what Messi does.

The statistics are almost beside the point. Yes, he’s scored more than 800 goals. Yes, he’s won countless domestic titles and Champions Leagues. Yes, he finally captured the World Cup that eluded him for so long. But if you ask me why I think Messi is the greatest player who has ever lived, I’m not pulling up a spreadsheet or reading off his trophy case. I’m telling you to sit down and watch him.

Watch the way he moves around the field. Watch how he spends minutes at a time simply strolling, surveying the pitch as if he’s a grandmaster plotting his next move several turns in advance. Watch defenders nervously glance over their shoulders every few seconds because they know exactly where he is and still have no idea what he’s about to do. Then watch him receive the ball. That’s when the magic begins. As the stadium comes alive, teammates sprint into space. Opponents then freeze for half a second, which is about all the time Messi needs. A dribble that shouldn’t work suddenly does. A passing lane that didn’t exist magically appears. A shot from an impossible angle somehow finds the back of the net. I don’t really know how to explain it any better than that. Not many people do, I don’t think. The only true way to understand Messi is to experience him.

The 2026 World Cup is special in a lot of ways. It’s here in the United States, a place I call home and adore. As thousands of people flock toward the land of the free and the home of the brave, I’ve found myself continually smiling. Seeing folks from Scotland and Germany enjoying what we Americans take for granted in everyday life has been such a treat. Hearing how the Japanese have grown to adore Dallas, a place most Americans would call drab, has been so heartwarming. But for all the extracurricular fanfare, the real excitement comes from the football. And the most exciting aspect of it all is still, after all these years, Messi.

He’s almost 39 years old now. He’s somehow still brilliant, somehow still capable of producing moments that make me gasp out loud because I can’t believe what I just witnessed. Watch him score a hat trick against Algeria or net two goals against Austria at Jerry World. Watch him dance around defenders who are a decade younger than he is and make them look silly in the process. Wherever you see Messi, the feeling is always the same.

Wonder.

We spend so much time arguing about where Messi ranks historically or whether Ronaldo deserves to be in the same conversation that we sometimes forget to appreciate the fact that we’re living through one of the most extraordinary athletic careers in human history. Someday this is all going to end. There will be another superstar, another wonderkid to woo our hearts. But there won’t be another Messi.

Honestly, I think that’s why I’ve never been particularly invested in the Ronaldo debate. I know there are plenty of people who still believe Cristiano is the greatest player of this generation, and they’re entitled to that opinion. To me, Messi has always had something more. He has the joy and wonder that I always wished I had when I played sports. When I watch Argentina, I see teammates actively searching for him because they want him to score. Instead of competing with his greatness, his teammates desire to celebrate it. The entire country of Argentina rallies around him because he’s given them more pleasant memories than they could ever reasonably ask for. That’s a legacy. Not just being the best, but being beloved. Being the type of athlete who makes people fall in love with sports all over again.

That’s what Messi has done for me. He’s been there from the beginning of my soccer journey and, somehow, he’s still here now. Maybe that’s why I struggle to imagine a world where he isn’t playing anymore. A World Cup without Messi feels wrong in the same way a sky without stars would feel abhorrent. I know that day is coming eventually. It’s probably going to arrive quite soon. But that’s what makes this summer so precious. Every dribble, every pass, every little moment of brilliance is another chance to witness greatness while it’s still here.

Messi is football incarnate.

And we’re unbelievably lucky to be living at the same time as him.

Norway — yes, Norway — is my dark horse to win this World Cup.

Before you accuse me of having completely lost my mind, I think it’s important to define exactly what a dark horse is. In real life, a dark horse is exactly that: a horse with a darker complexion. In sports, though, a dark horse is something a bit more magical. It’s a team that emerges from the shadows when everybody else is busy staring at the giants. It’s not supposed to be obvious. If everybody thinks a team can win the World Cup, then that team isn’t a dark horse — it’s just a contender.

That’s why Morocco doesn’t quite fit the bill anymore. It announced itself to the world in 2022 with that brilliant semifinal run and has remained one of Africa’s premier nations ever since. The United States is another popular pick. Heck, I probably would’ve picked the Americans if Mauricio Pochettino hadn’t spent the last two weeks convincing everybody else to believe in them too. Turkey would’ve been a decent choice, but Turkey is somehow everybody’s dark horse every tournament and, more often than not, ends up breaking hearts. All of those options are great — minus Turkey — but they aren’t the true dark horse of this World Cup.

It’s Norway.

Yes, you heard me correctly. Norway is my dark horse to win this World Cup. Not to make the quarterfinals. Not to make a cute little Cinderella run to the semifinals before bowing out to France or Argentina. Win the whole darn thing. I know how absurd that sounds on the surface. This is a nation making its first World Cup appearance since 1998. Most people reading this probably know Norway for one of two things: it gets cold there and fjords. It doesn’t have the history of Brazil, Germany or Argentina. It doesn’t even have the recent pedigree of a country like Croatia or Morocco. For most of the last two decades, Norway has been little more than an afterthought on the international stage, a nation with some talented players that could never quite put all the pieces together. But all of that exists firmly in the past. Right now — here in the present — Norway is here to play, and I don’t think enough people appreciate just how dangerous this team has become.

The warning signs were there long before the World Cup started. Drawn into a qualification group alongside Italy, Israel, Estonia and Moldova, Norway didn’t simply win the group — it obliterated it. Eight matches, eight victories. Thirty-seven goals scored and only five allowed. Italy, a nation that has won four World Cups and spent decades bullying its way through international tournaments, was beaten twice. I know the Italians haven’t exactly been themselves lately — seriously, what on Earth is going on with Italian football? — but that’s still an incredible accomplishment.

The most important thing was that Norway didn’t stumble its way through qualification on luck or moments of brief brilliance. It looked dominant, confident and comfortable in its own skin. This was a legitimately excellent soccer team that had finally realized how good it could be.

Then came the World Cup draw, and things got interesting. France immediately stood out as one of the favorites to lift the trophy out of Group I. Senegal remains one of the deepest and most talented teams in Africa, a nation that will gladly tell you it should’ve won more on the international stage by now. Iraq wasn’t nearly as intimidating, but that’s still two difficult matches waiting for Norway before the knockout rounds. And yet, so far, things couldn’t have gone much better.

A 4-1 victory over Iraq got things started, and then came an entertaining 3-2 win over Senegal that all but secured passage into the knockout rounds. Everything has clicked, particularly the attack, which has been downright terrifying. And that’s where I’ve buried the lede a bit because, wonderful as Norway has been collectively, this story inevitably comes back to one man.

Erling Haaland.

I know that’s not a groundbreaking observation. Still, I don’t think enough people — especially here in the United States — appreciate how uniquely terrifying he is in a tournament setting. A brute force up front, Haaland is the world’s best striker. You can argue with me if you’d like, but I think I’d win. If you’re a goalkeeper and Haaland is charging at you with the ball at his feet, your body isn’t producing courage or confidence — it’s producing panic. Pure panic.

The man is built like a Norse god, moves like a freight train and finishes chances with a ruthlessness that almost feels unfair. Through two World Cup matches, he’s scored four goals: two against Iraq and two more against Senegal. There was a world where Haaland arrived at football’s grandest stage for the first time and struggled under the pressure. For all the goals he’d scored at Borussia Dortmund and Manchester City, there was always the possibility that international soccer’s biggest test would prove different. Oh, how foolish a thought that was. Haaland has instead become exactly what everybody hoped he would be: one of the biggest stars at the biggest tournament on Earth.

That’s why I believe. Not because Norway has the deepest roster. It doesn’t. In fact, it’s incredibly top-heavy, with Haaland and Arsenal’s Martin Ødegaard leading the charge. And not because Norway has the richest soccer history. It certainly doesn’t. I believe because when knockout soccer arrives and the margins become razor-thin, there’s immense value in having a player capable of scoring from absolutely nothing. Goals become scarce as tournaments progress and defenses become chippier. Space tends to disappear. Sometimes all you need is one extraordinary moment from one extraordinary player, and there are few players I’d rather have delivering that moment than Haaland.

Does that guarantee Norway a World Cup? Of course it doesn’t! Lionel Messi and Argentina are right there lurking around the corner. France — with Kylian Mbappé leading the charge — appears to once again be a juggernaut. Spain looks like it’s finally coming into its own with wonderkid Lamine Yamal. But dark horses aren’t supposed to be guarantees. They’re supposed to make you wonder if the impossible is actually possible. When I watch Norway, I can’t help but wonder exactly that.

Honestly, maybe I’m nuts. There’s a chance that you’ve been yelling at your screen the entire time because of how nuts I potentially am. But if Norway somehow lifts the trophy in a month’s time, I expect each and every one of you to pretend you believed all along, too.

I, like everybody else, enter the World Cup with expectations.

Some of those expectations are grounded in reality. France is going to be good. Argentina is going to be dangerous. Brazil is going to play with swagger. Other expectations are more irrational. I convince myself that certain teams are ready to make that leap, that a sleeping giant is finally awake or that some dark horse is going to ride a wave of momentum all the way to glory. Sometimes those hopes are rewarded. More often, though, they’re obliterated in spectacular fashion. That’s part of what makes the World Cup so beautiful and maddening all at once. Every four years we collectively convince ourselves we know how the story is going to unfold, only for the tournament to laugh in our faces.

This year’s edition has been no different. There are a handful of teams that have blown me away. Norway, for instance, looks like the real deal. The United States has exceeded just about everybody’s expectations. Cape Verde has captured the imagination of the entire tournament in just two weeks. But for every pleasant surprise, there’s an equal and opposite disappointment lurking around the corner. Some of these teams have already been eliminated. Others remain technically alive but have looked so uninspiring that it’s hard to imagine them doing anything meaningful from here on out. Whatever the case may be, these are the five nations that have left me scratching my head the most.

Honorable mention: Portugal

I’m giving Portugal a pass for now, mostly because it’s only played one game as of me writing this. That game, admittedly, was pretty dreadful. A draw against DR Congo is not exactly the type of result that inspires confidence, particularly when the Portuguese entered the World Cup with legitimate hopes of making a run.

Cristiano Ronaldo continues to be one of the strangest players to evaluate in world football. He’s still capable of moments of brilliance, but I can’t shake the feeling that Portugal is bending itself backward around him rather than the other way around. Still, Spain looked mediocre in its opening match before bouncing back in emphatic fashion, and there’s no reason Portugal can’t do the same. For now, it escapes the list.

5. Uruguay

Truthfully, Uruguay is only here because I needed a fifth team.

That sounds harsh, but it’s meant as a compliment. I didn’t expect much from Uruguay entering the tournament. On paper, this squad should terrify people. It’s won two World Cups, 15 Copa América titles and has produced some of the most entertaining footballers the game has ever seen. That small country of just 3.38 million people — around the same number of people who live in Iowa — breathes football. Yet for the last several years, Uruguay has felt a bit stuck between eras, not quite old enough to rebuild and not quite talented enough to contend. Two draws against a lackluster Saudi Arabia and upstart Cape Verde have only reinforced that feeling. Nothing about Uruguay has looked particularly dangerous. Nothing has looked especially terrible either, which somehow makes things worse. This team just feels flat, and that’s one of the worst sins a nation can commit at the World Cup.

4. Ecuador

I’m placing all the blame on Brendan Hunt for this one.

For those unaware, Hunt plays Coach Beard on Ted Lasso and is one of the biggest soccer sickos on planet Earth. Before the tournament, he floated the idea that Ecuador could make a run to the semifinals. Yes, you heard me right. Ecuador.

At the time, I laughed. It felt ridiculous. Ecuador? Really, Brendan? And yet the more I thought about it, the more it kind of made some sense.

This is a team with a stout defense, some legitimate talent throughout the lineup and a favorable group featuring Germany, Côte d’Ivoire and Curaçao. Advancing to the knockout rounds wasn’t just possible — it was expected. Heck, winning the group wasn’t entirely out of the question if Germany stumbled, and goodness knows how many times that’s happened over the past decade. Then the games actually started, and Ecuador promptly lost to Côte d’Ivoire before managing a draw against Curaçao. Suddenly that semifinal talk feels like a fever dream. There’s still a path forward, sure, but the margin for error is gone. More importantly, the swagger that made Ecuador such an intriguing pick in the first place seems to have disappeared faster than Houdini.

3. Senegal

Senegal will tell you it’s the rightful king of Africa — and it might be right.

This is one of the most talented squads on the continent and one of the most physically imposing teams in the world. Drawn into a group with France, Norway and Iraq, the Lions of Teranga had a difficult road ahead of them, but it never felt unreasonable to expect them to take points off at least one of the European heavyweights.

Instead, they’ve looked overwhelmed.

France bullied them in the second half of their opening match, and Norway made them look a step slow for long stretches in a 3-2 defeat. The talent is still there. The athleticism hasn’t vanished overnight. But so far, Senegal has looked more like a collection of talented players than a cohesive unit. That’s disappointing because I genuinely thought this team had quarterfinal potential. Now I’m not entirely convinced it would’ve beaten Cape Verde.

2. Belgium

For years we’ve talked about Belgium’s golden generation as if it were inevitable. Kevin De Bruyne. Romelu Lukaku. Thibaut Courtois. Eden Hazard before injuries robbed him of his powers. On paper, this group should’ve won something. Instead, it’s become one of international soccer’s greatest “what ifs.”

And now?

Now it just looks old.

Through two matches, Belgium has managed draws against Egypt and Iran. In years past, Belgium would’ve bulldozed both teams. Instead, the Red Devils have looked hesitant, slow and strangely devoid of urgency. I thought this tournament would serve as one last rallying cry, one final chance for a generation of players to remind the world how talented they are. The opposite has occurred. Apart from a Lukaku-forced own goal, Belgium’s attack has looked lifeless. There’s still talent here, obviously. But the magic is gone. Watching Belgium these days feels a bit like revisiting your favorite childhood amusement park only to realize all the rides are rusting.

That’s depressing. Moving on!

1. Turkey

What in the world happened here?

Seriously.

Over 60 shots in two matches against Australia and Paraguay.

Zero goals.

Paraguay played an entire half with 10 men after a red card, and Turkey still couldn’t find the back of the net. I spent most of that match alternating between laughter and genuine concern. How is this possible? How does a team create so much and produce absolutely nothing?

That’s what makes Turkey the most disappointing team at the World Cup.

The expectations weren’t just high — they were somewhat astronomical. This was everybody’s favorite dark horse. Turkey wasn’t merely supposed to make the knockout rounds, but it was supposed to win Group D, take down the United States in the process and announce itself as a genuine contender. After years of relying heavily on its diaspora community, this team was built around homegrown Turkish talent and represented what many believed was the dawn of a new era.

Instead, it’s been a national nightmare. All the swagger, all the confidence and all the pre-tournament bravado have evaporated. Turkey entered the World Cup like a heavyweight walking toward the ring, chest puffed out and fists clenched. Two matches later, it’s heading home with its tail between its legs and a whole lot of unanswered questions.

Maybe that’s the lesson here. At the World Cup, hope is a dangerous thing if it’s placed in the wrong hands. And nobody learned that lesson harder than Turkey.

Sometimes I think I’m dreaming.

There are moments in life where I have to slap myself in the face or run cool water over my hands to remind myself that what I’m experiencing is real life. Yesterday was one of those instances.

As the United States wrapped up a wonderful 2-0 victory over Australia in thunderous Seattle, locking up a spot in the knockout rounds of this World Cup while also putting itself in pole position to take home Group D, I genuinely thought I was dreaming. That feeling only intensified later in the day when Paraguay knocked off Turkey 1-0, officially handing the group crown to the Americans and sending me into a state of disbelief that I’m not sure I’ve entirely recovered from.

Why?

Because this isn’t supposed to happen.

Never in my life — heck, never in your life either — has the United States Men’s National Team won two straight games at a World Cup. The last time it happened was in 1930, when the team finished third, still the best placement in this nation’s history. A lot of stuff was different back then. The Great Depression had just dawned. The Empire State Building hadn’t been built yet. The average American probably didn’t even know what soccer was.

And now here we are.

I don’t care that some people — I’m looking at you, England — are trying to throw this accomplishment away because it came against “subpar competition.” Frankly, there is no such thing as subpar competition for the United States. For years I’ve been told that a 1-1 draw against Jamaica is a good result. We all knew that was baloney to the highest degree, but to some extent it worked in tempering our expectations. Every time this team stumbled, we were told to lower our standards. Every time it failed to live up to its potential, we were reminded that soccer simply isn’t our thing. Deep down, though, I don’t think any of us truly believed that.

The American psyche is a stubborn thing. We grow up believing we can do anything. We put men on the moon. We invented the airplane. We won two world wars. We looked at hockey — Canada’s game — and said, “Yeah, we’d like a piece of that too.” We created basketball from scratch just because we were bored and turned the gridiron into an obsession that borders on religion. Of course we think we can become great at soccer. To admit otherwise would almost feel un-American.

The problem with that line of thinking is that reality hasn’t always been kind to those dreams.

The 2018 World Cup qualifying disaster was an embarrassment that still makes me wince when I think about it. Four years later in Qatar, the United States scored three goals all tournament before the Netherlands sent us packing in the Round of 16 without much fuss. Then came the 2024 Copa America on home soil, where two lackluster performances against Panama and Uruguay ended the party before it ever really started. In other words, hope became an exhausting endeavor.

It wasn’t just that the U.S. kept losing. It was the way it lost. The timid performances were met with an endless cycle of excuses. The insistence that mediocrity was somehow progress was maddening. Fans weren’t asking for a World Cup title — all we wanted was a team that looked like it believed it could do great things.

For a while, it didn’t.

Which is why Mauricio Pochettino feels like such a revelation.

Oh, that wonderful man.

I know it’s dangerous to assign too much credit to one person, especially in a sport that flows and is as chaotic as soccer. Players win games. Managers don’t score goals. But Pochettino has given this team something it desperately lacked during the final years of the previous regime: courage.

Through two matches, the United States has looked liberated. The ball moves faster. The players are matching that tempo. Everybody seems more willing to attack, more willing to take risks and, perhaps most importantly, more willing to dream.

That change in mentality didn’t happen by accident.

“We’re American,” Pochettino apparently told his team at one point. “We don’t take s---.”

Like so many of you probably did, I burst out laughing when I first read that quote, partly because it’s hilarious to hear an Argentine manager essentially out-American every American in the country, but mostly because he’s right. That’s the attitude this team has been missing, and Pochettino was sure as heck going to instill that in his squad.

Even without Christian Pulisic, arguably the best player on the roster and undoubtedly the most prominent, the Americans galvanized themselves against a tough Australian side like never before. There was no panic or fear. Confidence was all that existed on that pitch.

To put it in one word, it was wonderful.

And that’s why I keep coming back to this idea that the World Cup is the tournament of dreams. Every nation arrives carrying its own version of hope. For Brazil, the dream is a sixth star. For England, it’s finally bringing football home. For Cape Verde, simply being here is enough to inspire an entire generation. The United States, meanwhile, falls somewhere in the middle.

Sure, winning the World Cup remains unlikely. I’m not naive enough to pretend otherwise. Spain, Argentina and France exist. There are giants in this sport that have earned the benefit of the doubt in ways America simply hasn’t. But for the first time in my life — and maybe yours too — it feels attainable.

Not probable. Not expected. Just attainable.

Maybe that’s a pipe dream. Maybe in two weeks I’m writing about a heartbreaking defeat to Belgium or some country like that and wondering why I let myself believe.

But that’s a problem for future Seth. Right now, I’m choosing hope. I’m choosing to believe that the timid, frustrating, endlessly disappointing version of American soccer is gone and that something better has taken its place. I’m choosing to believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not dreaming after all.

England fans have convinced themselves this is the year before. They did it with Rooney. They did it with Beckham. They did it with Gerrard and Lampard, and they certainly did it with Kane four years ago in Qatar. The names change — the hope doesn’t. Every summer brings with it the same impossible question: What if? What if the penalties finally go England’s way? What if the stars align? What if football actually — for the first time since 1966 — comes home?

I don’t know if the answer is yes. Frankly, I don’t think anybody does. England looked excellent against Croatia yesterday in a 4-2 victory at Jerry World and vulnerable during others. The defense certainly had its moments of uncertainty while the attack looked spectacular and as potent as ever. In other words, England looked like England.

And yet, something about this team feels lighter. Maybe it’s Thomas Tuchel, the new manager who’s brought a new approach to the whole operation. Maybe it’s Jude Bellingham’s emergence to superstardom. Maybe it’s Harry Kane smiling his way through the pressure instead of carrying it on his shoulders like he’s seemingly done every step of the way. Or maybe it’s just the simple reality that hope, no matter how many times it’s crushed, has a funny way of finding its footing again.

Either way, England — like all of us — is dreaming.

And if football actually comes home this summer — on American soil, no less — I fear the English may never stop talking about it. That would certainly be some endless banter.

Frankly, I don’t think the rest of us would ever recover.

England is so fascinating to me. This is the country that invented the modern game. The Premier League is the most watched domestic league on Earth. Its clubs are global institutions that have footholds in every nation, tribe and tongue. Manchester United, Liverpool and Arsenal have fanbases that span continents. Millions of people who have never stepped foot in England still rearrange their weekends to watch English soccer. The country breathes football in a way that’s similar to Americans’ love of college football. It’s a culture, identity and religion all wrapped up into one wonderful shepherd’s pie.

And yet, for all of that influence and prestige, England has won exactly one World Cup.

One.

It came in 1966. Geoff Hurst scored a hat trick against West Germany at Wembley Stadium. At the time, the Beatles were still together. Lyndon B. Johnson was president. No human had yet stepped foot on the moon’s surface. Heck, color television wasn’t even commonplace in most households around the world.

Since that wonderful moment of triumph, there’s been nothing.

That’s almost impossible to comprehend when you consider the players England has produced throughout the decades. Countless superstars have come and gone, and yet none of them have brought football back home.

That’s why every World Cup feels as heavy as a ton of bricks for England. Every match is more than just a simple match. Every group-stage stumble is treated like a national disaster. Every knockout victory is analyzed to death, while every knockout loss causes Parliament to declare that life is meaningless. Every manager is either a genius or an idiot — oftentimes an idiot. English fandom is, frankly, exhausting.

That’s why, despite my general distaste for all things English football (besides my beloved Spurs!), I found myself cracking a faint smile when Harry Kane scored his second goal against Croatia. That man is inevitable.

I know that’s not exactly groundbreaking analysis. Saying Harry Kane is good is like saying pizza tastes nice at the top of a ski slope or that the sun is hot in Texas on a July summer day. Everybody already knows. But every once in a while, Kane puts together a performance that reminds you not just that he’s great, but why he’s great.

His movement is absurd. He drifts into spaces defenders don’t anticipate. He drops deep to help build attacks. He can spray passes like a midfielder and then, seconds later, appear in the box to bury a chance with ruthless efficiency. England doesn’t simply have Kane — it revolves around him.

His first goal, which came on a penalty early in the first half, wasn’t the reason I got so hot and bothered. It was his second goal, a towering header off a corner from Declan Rice in the 42nd minute, that was just chef’s kiss. Perfect timing. Perfect placement. The type of goal that feels inevitable the moment the ball leaves the corner taker’s foot. Chef’s kiss, man. It was wonderful.

And with those two goals, Kane climbed higher into England’s World Cup history books.

Gary Lineker and Harry Kane: 10 goals.

Geoff Hurst: 5.

Bobby Charlton, Michael Owen and Marcus Rashford: 4.

That last name deserves some necessary attention.

Marcus Rashford has taken an unbelievable amount of criticism over the last several years. Some of it was deserved, while much of it wasn’t. Injuries, inconsistency and club turmoil transformed one of England’s brightest young stars into something of an afterthought. Not anymore — at least after yesterday afternoon’s game.

His goal against Croatia, which featured what I’d describe as a “finesse finish” that made me gasp in real time, was my favorite goal of the day. Why? Because it felt important. Rashford didn’t celebrate like a man proving people wrong. He celebrated like somebody finally taking a deep breath after holding it for years. And now his name sits alongside some of the greatest English footballers of all time. That’s pretty neat!

Of course, if Kane is England’s heartbeat and Rashford is a potential redemption story, then Jude Bellingham is the future. My goodness, this dude can play. I know everybody is keenly aware of his talents. That news is older than Dick Van Dyke. But there’s a difference between hearing about how talented Jude Bellingham is and actually sitting down to watch him for 90 minutes.

The way he maneuvers around the pitch is mesmerizing. One second he’s drifting between defenders, the next he’s charging toward goal like a runaway freight train. His goal against Croatia was a perfect example of this. There was no way I thought he was going to be able to score, but man oh man, did he. He took the ball and ran, and nobody from Croatia was going to stop him.

He’s smooth and violent all at the same time. Elegant chaos, if you will. There’s an arrogance to his game, and I mean that as the highest compliment imaginable. He expects to dominate every match he plays.

At 22 years old.

That, my friends, should terrify the rest of the world. It certainly does me.

Which is why I’m not particularly worried about England’s shaky defensive moments versus Croatia. Petar Musa’s goal — shoutout FC Dallas — wasn’t England’s finest moment, and there were stretches during the first half where Croatia found more space than head coach Thomas Tuchel would’ve liked. But the World Cup is weird. Teams evolve over the course of the tournament. Weaknesses can sometimes become strengths over time. Remember, Argentina lost to Saudi Arabia in 2022 and wound up lifting the trophy anyway.

In other words, one match — good or bad — doesn’t define a tournament. But it can definitely shape the way we feel about a team.

After watching England yesterday, I find myself believing a little more than I did before.

Which is dangerous.

Because hope has a funny way of finding its footing again.

The scoreboard at Mercedes-Benz Stadium was objectively hilarious.

Spain: 0.

Cape Verde: 0.

That was the score before kickoff. It was the score after 10 minutes. It was the score at halftime. And somehow — some way — it was still the score when the referee blew the final whistle 90 minutes later.

If you had shown that final score to somebody a week ago, the…

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Four days into the World Cup is simultaneously the worst and best time to rank the teams we’ve see so far.

It’s the worst because we’ve seen exactly one match from half the countries in the tournament and therefore know almost nothing. In 2022, Saudi Arabia beat Argentina – the nation that wound up winning the whole thing – and then promptly failed to make it out of the group stage. The sample size is laughably small, and anybody pretending otherwise is lying to themselves.

It’s also the best time to rank teams because we know almost nothing.

This is the sweet spot for overreaction. Every goal feels monumental. Every mistake feels catastrophic. World-ending, in fact. One great performance turns a team into a dark horse, and one terrible outing sends an entire country spiraling into an existential crisis. As with most things I write, logic and reason are optional. Vibes, however, are mandatory.

This isn’t a power ranking. I don’t have an advanced model hidden somewhere in my apartment spitting out percentages. I’m not going to pretend that expected goals or possession statistics are the be-all and end-all of soccer analysis, even though I’ll absolutely reference them whenever it’s convenient for my argument.

This ranking is entirely subjective. These are the teams that have most exceeded – or failed to meet – my expectations through the first five days of the World Cup.

Note: This might be one of the longest articles I’ve ever written. If you don’t feel like you have the time or patience to read through it all, I understand. Feel free to use the chapter markers to skip to whichever countries you want to read about. Thanks so much for reading my work!

Additional Note: This article only contains the teams that played up until the conclusion of Sunday, June 14. If you came here looking for my thoughts on Cape Verde’s 0-0 draw against Spain, don’t worry – there will be something about that dropping in your inbox very soon!

24. Tunisia

Well.

That certainly was a football game.

I don’t really know where to begin with Tunisia other than to say that losing 5-1 to Sweden is bad enough. Firing your manager before the night is over somehow makes it worse. It’s the sort of move that’s so dramatic – that’s football for you – and reactionary that it almost circles back around to being admirable. Tunisia looked at an embarrassing defeat and collectively decided, “Yeah, we’re not doing that anymore.”

Unfortunately, the damage is already done.

The thing about the World Cup is that everybody is watching. Just because a game happened late into the night doesn’t mean nobody saw the disaster that occurred on the pitch. Because during the World Cup, every terrible performance becomes part of your country’s sporting history.

Tunisia definitely had one of those nights that will live in infamy throughout the entire land. Believe it or not, I actually thought this team had a chance to be scrappy entering the tournament. Not great, mind you, but annoying. The type of squad that drags better opponents into ugly matches and steals a point or two. Instead, they got run off the field by Sweden in spectacular fashion.

There’s obviously still time to change the narrative. But man, what a disastrous start.

23. South Africa

I feel bad putting South Africa this low because I genuinely didn’t have very high expectations to begin with. And yet somehow they still disappointed me.

Nothing went right against Mexico. The opening goal came off an absolutely horrendous turnover in their own end. Two red cards followed. The atmosphere at Estadio Azteca – sorry, “Mexico City Stadium” – grew louder and louder while South Africa looked increasingly overwhelmed by the moment. It was the kind of performance where every bounce goes against you, and every mistake compounds the previous one.

Still, the reaction by the general public afterward was a bit much.

People immediately started calling South Africa the worst team in the tournament, which seemed wildly premature and has since been proven incorrect. It is funny how soccer fans more than anybody else have a tendency to make sweeping declarations after 90 minutes.

Nonetheless, this wasn’t an encouraging result. Because while I didn’t expect South Africa to beat Mexico, I did want them to compete.

They didn’t.

22. Türkiye

This is why you don’t talk trash before the tournament.

Actually scratch that. I love when teams talk trash before the tournament. Sports are supposed to be fun for all involved, and the more bulletin board material we have floating around, the better. But if you’re going to declare that your squad is “more talented” and will “dominate” Australia, you’d better have something to back it up.

Türkiye did not.

The Socceroos came flying out of the gates and never really looked back. Turkey spent most of the match looking like a team that expected things to go its way simply because it had more recognizable names on the team sheet. Trust me, that’s never a good sign.

What’s frustrating is that I actually like Turkey quite a bit entering the World Cup. There was pace. There was creativity that had shone bright on the biggest stages in Europe. There was enough talent to make me think they could sneak into the knockout rounds and maybe even spring an upset or two.

Now I’m not so sure. One game doesn’t define a tournament, sure, but it can absolutely change how you view a team. Turkey entered the World Cup as a trendy dark horse. Right now, they just look lost.

21. Paraguay

I still don’t entirely know what to make of Paraguay. On one hand, losing 4-1 to the United States is objectively terrible. The Paraguayans looked shell-shocked for much of the evening as the Americans flew around SoFi Stadium like a team possessed. Their defense, which had been one of the stingiest in World Cup qualifying suddenly forgot how to defend. The midfield was overrun. The attack was nonexistent. In other words, it was just flat out ugly.

On the other hand, Paraguay beat both Brazil and Argentina during qualifying. This is not some minnow that accidentally stumbled into the tournament. They only allowed six goals during qualifying and spent the better part of two years proving they could compete with South America’s best.

That’s why this result was so shocking.

I expected Paraguay to lose to the United States, truthfully. The combination of the pro-U.S. crowd combined with the fact that the USMNT would be desperate to make a statement made it unlikely that Paraguay would be able to withstand the pressure. Yet I didn’t believe that embarrassment was in the cards. Turns out I was wrong.

20. Switzerland

Sports are so weird sometimes. Like bonkers weird.

Switzerland finished with 68 percent possession, 26 shots, seven shots on target and 3.25 expected goals against Qatar.

The final score?

1-1.

That is soccer at its most infuriating.

The Swiss absolutely dominated this game for long stretches. Every statistical category points toward a comfortable victory. Possession was theirs. Chance after chance arrived at Switzerland’s doorstep. They pinned Qatar in its own half and looked the superior side from almost the opening whistle.

And then they blinked.

One lapse, paired with one moment of brilliance from Qatar was all it took for all that dominance to mean very little.

I actually like Switzerland a lot, and it’s not just because they have a train network to rival all the train networks in the world. It’s because this is a team that consistently punches above its weight internationally, which is something I respect to the highest degree. They play organized football, rarely beat themselves and always seem to make life difficult for bigger nations. But this was a massive missed opportunity.

The World Cup is cruel like that sometimes. You can do almost everything right and still walk away disappointed.

19. Brazil

Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe Brazil is going to figure everything out and lift the trophy in a month’s time while I sit here looking like an idiot. But I wasn’t impressed.

The FOX broadcast kept insisting that Brazil still possessed that famous Brazilian flair. The commentators spoke about joga bonito as if it were an inevitability rather than something that has to actually appear on the field. I kept waiting for the magic to show up.

Apart from Vinicius Junior’s gorgeous equalizer, it never really did.

In fact, for the first 20 minutes, Morocco looked like the better team. Read that sentence again because it still sounds ridiculous. Morocco outplayed Brazil. They pressed harder, moved faster and created more danger. Brazil eventually settled into the match and looked more comfortable, but they never looked dominant.

And that’s a major issue, especially if Brazil hopes to take home some hardware when everything is said and done.

18. Ecuador

I don’t really know what to do with Ecuador, which is probably the most Ecuador thing I can say. (I think that was funnier in my head than it was in reality. Oh well).

The defense is good. I knew the defense was going to be good. It was good in qualifying, it’s good now and it’ll probably continue to be good for the remainder of the tournament. That’s not the issue. The issue is that every time Ecuador gets into the final third, I find myself wondering where exactly the goals are supposed to come from. It’s not that they’re incapable of scoring – they obviously are – but there just isn’t that guy who scares me. There’s no striker that makes me sit up in my chair and think, “Yep, this game is over.”

Maybe that’s unfair. But when I watch Ecuador, I see a team that’s solid and organized without necessarily being dangerous. That’s enough to make life miserable for opponents, and in a World Cup group stage that’s valuable. I just don’t know if it’s enough to make a deep run.

17. Czechia

They’re tall.

I know that’s not exactly groundbreaking analysis, but it was the first thing that popped into my mind while watching Czechia against Korea. Every corner kick and free kick felt like a legitimate scoring opportunity because the Czechs are absolutely massive. Their lone goal came on a header off a set piece, which felt about as predictable as the sun rising in the east.

Other than that, though, I don’t have a particularly strong opinion on them. And honestly, that’s just fine with me.

Not every World Cup team needs to be a dark horse or a disaster. Sometimes a team is just solid. Czechia is organized defensively, dangerous on set pieces and more than capable of making life annoying for everybody in its group. I don’t think they’re winning the tournament. Heck, they might not even make it out of the group. But I don’t think they’re crashing out in embarrassing fashion either. They’ll probably hover somewhere in the middle, pick up a result or two and give Mexico a headache when those two sides meet.

And if they score another header while doing it, well, I can’t say anybody should be surprised.

16. Canada

It’s always nice when a host nation performs well in its World Cup opener.

For Canada, that almost didn’t materialize. While Toronto Stadium was rocking, trying to single-handedly will their side to a win, Canada was in the midst of an all-out battle with Bosnia & Herzegovina that ultimately ended in a draw.

The funny thing is that the Canadians were flirting with disaster for much of the afternoon. Bosnia & Herzegovina punched first, and Canada kept wasting chance after chance. The crowd grew more anxious with every missed opportunity. It felt like one of those games that fans would spend years complaining about. Then, in the 78th minute, Cyle Larin rescued the day and etched his name into Canadian soccer history by helping secure the country’s first World Cup point.

I still don’t know how dangerous this team is, especially with Alphonso Davies sidelined. He’s the type of player who changes games by himself and not having him is a massive blow. But Canada survived. That’s all that matters for now.

15. Netherlands

I’ve met a shocking amount of Dutch people over the last year. If I had to guess I’ve met at least a small town’s worth of folks from the Netherlands.

Whatever the reason for the sudden surge of Dutch people in my life, I’ve become a fan of the Netherlands almost by accident. The orange-clad fans are amazing. The bus that follows the team around every tournament is one of the most absurd traditions in sports. And every Dutch person I’ve met has been overwhelmingly nice, which honestly feels unfair given how much cool stuff their country already has.

Their soccer team is pretty good too.

I expected more against Japan, though. A point against one of the tournament’s most exciting teams isn’t a bad result by any stretch of the imagination, but the Dutch had opportunities to put that match away and simply couldn’t do it. That’s the frustrating part. I think this team has the talent to make a deep run. Virgil van Dijk remains a rock at the back and there are enough attacking pieces to scare anybody. But if you want to win the World Cup, you have to slam doors shut.

Japan kicked theirs back open.

14. Germany

There was a roughly 17-minute stretch versus Curaçao where Germany looked absolutely mortified.

Curaçao equalized midway through the first half and suddenly every camera shot of the German supporters became comedy gold. Nobody looked angry. Nobody looked sad. They looked embarrassed. There was this collective expression of, “Oh no, not again,” plastered across every face in the crowd. After the last two World Cups, can you blame them?

Then Germany remembered they were Germany. Six unanswered goals followed. The final score was 7-1, which, depending on where you’re from, is either a statement victory or the stuff of nightmares. Somewhere in Brazil, a cold sweat broke out for reasons nobody can quite explain.

Yet I still have doubts.

Germany dominated on paper, but it’s hard for me to erase those 17 minutes from my memory. The same fragility that plagued them in 2018 and 2022 was right there for everybody to see. If Curaçao can make them uncomfortable, what happens when they run into a legitimate contender?

Germany will get out of its group. That’s a certainty at this point. But I also think they might give their fans heart palpitations along the way.

13. Haiti

Sports are cruel sometimes. Like, really cruel.

Haiti deserved something from its match against Scotland. Maybe not a victory, but certainly a draw. The Haitians defended bravely, created chances and never once looked overwhelmed by the moment despite the fact that this was the country’s first World Cup appearance in 54 years. Considering everything Haiti has endured politically and socially over the past several decades, the fact that this team is even here is remarkable. The World Cup is filled with stories like that, and Haiti might have the most powerful one of all.

Therein lies the reason why this result stings so much.

For 90 minutes, Haiti fought tooth and nail against a Scottish side that was equally desperate to make history. There were stretches where Haiti looked like the better team. There were moments where it genuinely felt like they might pull off something magical. Instead, they walked away with nothing.

Well, almost nothing. This tournament isn’t always about trophies or wins. Sometimes it’s about proving you belong on the same field as countries with bigger budgets, deeper talent pools and decades of World Cup experience. Haiti did that. And while they might not have any points to show for it, they’ll always have my respect.

12. Qatar

Nobody has exceeded my expectations more relative to where I thought they’d be than Qatar.

Now, before anybody loses their mind and yells at me, I’m not saying Qatar is good. I’m not saying they’re going to make the knockout rounds, though the possibility of that miracle increased ten-fold following their draw versus the Swiss. I’m certainly not saying they’re going to go on some magical run to the quarterfinals. What I am saying is that after the disaster that was their home World Cup four years ago, I expected them to look completely overwhelmed on this stage again. To their immense credit, they didn’t.

In fact, they spent most of Saturday afternoon hanging on for dear life against Switzerland and somehow found a way to steal a point. Qatar barely had the ball and barely created any meaningful chances. Yet when the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 1-1 and the Qataris celebrated like they’d won the whole tournament.

Qatar spent four years hearing that it didn’t belong at this level. And while one match doesn’t erase all that criticism, it does suggest that the team is a far more competent operation than it was in 2022.

11. Curaçao

Where were you when Curaçao was level with Germany?

No seriously, where were you?

Because for 17 glorious minutes, the smallest country to ever qualify for the World Cup had the Germans sweating bullets. Fans in blue shirts were losing their ever-loving minds. The players were flying around the pitch like they belonged. And for just a brief moment, it felt like one of the greatest upsets in soccer history might actually happen.

It didn’t, of course.

Germany went on to win 7-1 in a blowout. That’s the part people will remember years from now. What I’ll remember is the moment that an island with roughly the same population as Waco, Texas, had one of the premier footballing nations on the edge. That’s incredible, and it’s something I’ll never forget.

I don’t know how far Curaçao can go in international football moving forward. Maybe this is their peak or perhaps it’s just the beginning. But I do know this: for 17 minutes, they were on top of the world. And nobody can ever take that away from them.

10. Côte d’Ivoire

I’m currently pursuing my MBA at the University of North Texas, and this past semester we worked on a project with the United Premier Soccer League (UPSL), a semi-professional league here in the United States that sits fairly low on the pyramid. Throughout that project, I kept hearing about a kid named Yan Diomande. Every single person involved with the UPSL echoed some variation of the same story.

“This kid is unbelievable.”

I nodded along politely, not wanting to step on any toes.

I get it now.

Four years ago, Diomande was playing high school soccer in Florida while also appearing in the UPSL. Now he’s starring for Côte d’Ivoire at the World Cup and appears destined for the Premier League, where somebody is going to pay an absolutely obscene amount of money for his services. Watching him play the other day was eye-opening. He’s absolutely electric. Every time he gets the ball, something interesting is going to happen.

And the best part is that he’s not alone. Côte d’Ivoire has some serious juice.

No, I don’t think they’re winning the World Cup. Let’s all calm down for a second. But I definitely believe they can make life miserable for one of the giants later in the tournament. After all, Africa has produced some fantastic stories over the years, from Senegal in 2002 to Morocco in 2022.

Maybe Côte d’Ivoire is next.

9. Mexico

I still don’t entirely trust Mexico.

That probably says more about me than it does El Tri, but I can’t help it. I’ve spent too many years watching this team dominate CONCACAF alongside the United States only to come crashing back down to earth when expectations start to rise. The infamous fifth game has haunted Mexico for decades, and until they finally break through, there will always be a part of me waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A lot of that doubt began to wane during Mexico’s opening match against South Africa. As 80,000-plus people packed Estadio Azteca – one of football’s most prestigious cathedrals – I saw glimpses of the vision. Even as the crowd was growing reckless – there were stretches where fans were booing their own team despite leading 1-0, which is just Mexican soccer in a nutshell – I was drawn to the atmosphere and the expectations. But it still wasn’t enough.

Then Raul Jimenez scored.

Given everything he’s been through – including the loss of his father just a few months ago – it was impossible not to feel emotional watching him celebrate. The stadium erupted. Teammates mobbed him. Jimenez himself couldn’t contain his emotions as the tears streamed down his face. Suddenly, all the tension began to melt away.

Mexico isn’t winning me over just yet. But it’s a start.

8. Bosnia & Herzegovina

This was probably the most pleasantly surprising performance of the tournament so far. I expected Canada to control the match. Conversely, I expected Bosnia & Herzegovina to sit back and hope for the best. Instead, the Bosnians punched first and spent the rest of the afternoon frustrating an entire nation that believed that the afternoon would be their footballing coronation. Bosnia’s defensive organization was outstanding. The back line bent but rarely broke. And every set piece felt just a tiny bit more dangerous than expected.

That’s not a coincidence or an accident. Teams like Bosnia know exactly who they are. They’re not trying to outskill countries with bigger budgets or more star power. They’re trying to drag games into the mud and see who can survive. That’s not always pretty football, but it can be incredibly effective if executed properly.

I love it. The World Cup needs teams like Bosnia & Herzegovina. Not everybody can play like France. Sometimes the most entertaining matches are the ugly ones, where every inch of grass feels contested and both sides are fighting for their lives.

Bosnia & Herzegovina may not be a world beater. They are absolutely a problem, though.

7. Sweden

Talk about an offensive explosion.

I don’t think anybody saw Sweden putting five goals past Tunisia, least of all me. This was supposed to be one of those sneaky tricky matches where Sweden grinds out a 1-0 victory and everybody immediately forgets it happened. Instead, the Swedes showed up and turned the game into a rout.

The craziest part is that Sweden only had seven shots on target. Five goals on seven shots on frame is absurd efficiency, the kind of stat that usually makes me roll my eyes because it’s almost impossible to sustain from game to game. For one glorious evening, however, Sweden looked more unstoppable than me beelining toward the food court at an Ikea. Every attack felt dangerous while every mistake Tunisia made was ruthlessly punished.

Let’s not get carried away with ourselves and say that Sweden is a title contender here. That’s not likely in the slightest. But I do believe this team is far more dangerous than their FIFA ranking would suggest. The upcoming matches against Japan and the Netherlands should tell us if this was just a blip on the radar or who they actually are, but either way, the Swedes have earned my attention.

6. Scotland

To my absolute chagrin, I’ve never been to Scotland. I don’t own a kilt. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about haggis other than the fact that it exists and apparently people eat it willingly. Yet by the time Scotland’s match against Haiti was over, I was ready to run through a brick wall for a country I’ve never laid my eyes upon.

Now that’s the power of the World Cup.

The lasting image from Scotland’s 1-0 win won’t be the goal. It won’t be a save or a tackle or some tactical adjustment that swung the game. It’ll be the sound of tens of thousands of Scots belting out “Flower of Scotland” at Gillette Stadium. I’ve watched a lot of sporting events in my life, and I genuinely don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything quite like it. The passion was overwhelming. The joy was contagious. (Every time I’ve watched it I break into the most ridiculous smile.) It felt less like a football match and more like a family reunion 28 years in the making.

Scotland hasn’t been to the World Cup since 1998. An entire generation of fans grew up never seeing their country on this stage. Then they finally got here and immediately found a way to win. Was it pretty? Not particularly. Haiti arguably deserved a point. But Scotland survived, and survival is all that matters in tournament football.

For the first time ever, I think Scotland is making it out of the group stage. And if they do, the entirety of the country might spontaneously combust from happiness.

5. Korea

I’m trying very hard not to let my love for Son Heung-min influence this ranking.

I believe I’ve failed miserably.

Listen, I know there are objectively better soccer players in the world. I understand that Son is way past his prime and isn’t going to go down as the greatest player of his generation. I don’t care. He’s probably my favorite player ever. The man smiles constantly, works harder than everybody else on the field and has somehow remained universally beloved despite tormenting opposing defenses for more than a decade.

Plus, he called Tottenham Hotspur home for most of his career, which is a major boost to my adoration for him.

Go Spurs.

The rest of Korea isn’t half bad either. Their 2-1 victory over Czechia was an absolute treat. After conceding early on a set piece, the Koreans slowly took control of the match. The passing became crisper and the attacks became more threatening. And then, over the final 25 minutes, they finally broke through. The comeback felt inevitable by the end.

Korea isn’t scared of anybody. They play with the mojo necessary to make some noise at this World Cup. I’ve had them pegged as a dark horse for months now. Five days into the tournament, I’m feeling pretty good about that prediction.

4. Australia

Sometimes sports are petty.

Actually, scratch that. Sports are almost always petty.

That’s why I loved Australia’s opening match so much. Turkey captain Hakan Çalhanoğlu spent the buildup talking about how his side was more talented and would make light work of the Socceroos. Bad idea.

Australia’s Nestory Irankunda opened the scoring with an absolute rocket. Conor Metcalfe added another stunner later in the match. Australia played with an edge from the opening whistle, flying around the pitch like a team that had taken every pregame comment personally.

I love teams that embrace the chip on their shoulder. Australia knows it isn’t among the tournament favorites. It knows most casual fans couldn’t name more than one player, if any, on the roster. None of that seems to matter to them. The Socceroos are fast, organized and deadly on the counterattack.

Are they winning the World Cup? Probably not. Are they capable of ruining somebody else’s dream? Absolutely.

3. Japan

This is the dark horse.

Not a dark horse.

The dark horse.

I’ve been all in on Japan for a while, and the opening draw against the Netherlands only strengthened my conviction. The Dutch thought they had survived. Japan thought they still had a chance. That difference in mentality matters.

Daichi Kamada’s equalizer in the 89th minute was cinematic. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. One second, Dutch fans were preparing to celebrate a hard-fought victory. The next, Kamada was sprinting toward the corner flag while Japanese supporters lost their minds in the stands of AT&T Stadium.

Japan is deep. They’re technical. They’re fearless. There’s a grit to this group that reminds me a little of Morocco in 2022. Everybody knows they’re talented, but I’m not sure everybody appreciates just how dangerous they can be.

And their fans rock. I don’t know how a country manages to simultaneously be one of the most polite societies on Earth and also become completely unhinged for soccer, but Japan has somehow figured it out.

2. Morocco

I spent the first 20 minutes of Morocco’s match against Brazil wondering if I had accidentally turned on the wrong game. Because surely the team dominating possession, winning loose balls and creating all the chances couldn’t be Morocco, right?

Wrong.

The Moroccans were sensational. That’s what impressed me the most. It wasn’t just the result. A draw against Brazil is nice and all, but Morocco looked like the better side for long stretches of the contest. Brazil equalizing almost felt like a relief for the Brazilians rather than a disappointment for Morocco.

That’s frankly insane.

I know everybody remembers Morocco’s run to the semifinals in Qatar. That was one of the coolest stories in recent World Cup history. But I think there’s a tendency to assume it was a fluke or some magical run that can’t be replicated.

I don’t buy that anymore. This team, at least in my opinion, might actually be better. One game illuminated that the confidence is still there. So is the chemistry. Add in fantastic defensive organization as well as an attack that has become more dangerous and everything might be coming up Morocco this summer.

1. United States

I have been waiting for this.

Not this ranking specifically, but this feeling of triumph.

I’ve watched the U.S. Men’s National Team for years now. I’ve watched them miss the World Cup entirely. I’ve watched them play uninspired soccer under multiple managers. I’ve watched Gregg Berhalter convince us that a 1-1 draw against Jamaica was somehow a positive result and then somehow gaslight us into believing that the process mattered more than the product.

As of June 15, 2026, those days feel very far away.

The United States didn’t just beat Paraguay – they obliterated them to Venus. This wasn’t a smash-and-grab victory where the Americans got lucky and hung on for dear life. We’ve seen a ton of those in our lifetimes as U.S. Soccer fans. No, this was an absolute clinic. Everybody was flying around the field. The passing was sensational. The attack was seamless and ruthless. The atmosphere at SoFi Stadium was so loud that it was hard to imagine how anybody could hear anything inside that building. For 90 minutes, the United States looked like a team that genuinely belonged among the world’s elite.

I’ve spent so many years defending this program to skeptics that I almost forgot what it felt like to simply enjoy watching them play. Soccer in America is supposed to be fun! It’s supposed to inspire hope! It’s supposed to make kids dream!

Against Paraguay, it was all of those things and more.

Maybe this is an overreaction to just one game against one of South America’s more average sides. Or perhaps it’s the first time that anybody in the United States has felt the kind of joy that only the World Cup can provide.

I’ve been watching the U.S. Men’s National Team for roughly eight years. Throughout that time period I’ve witnessed the utter disappointment and despair of missing out on the 2018 World Cup as well as countless other mediocre efforts on the largest stages of the sport. Yet there was always a glimpse of hope beyond the fog of uncertainty. It’d appear in brief moments during Gold Cups or Nations Leagues, giving fans of the United States reason to believe that one day the moment would be theirs.

Last night, that moment arrived in full force.

For 90 minutes, the red, white and blue flew around the pitch like never before. A crowd of 70,000 cheered and roared. It was magic. It was beautiful. It was ours.

This sport has never been what gets Americans hot and bothered. It takes a special kind of event to get the entire nation to turn their attention on the men or women that don the Star-Spangled Banner across their chests.

Maybe that’s because soccer has always felt like somebody else’s game. Americans have always been proud to hoist up the NFL, college football, baseball, basketball and hockey. Those are sports where we’ve carved out our own identities and wrapped them tightly around our culture. Soccer has always existed in the background like a sleeping giant. Despite what you see online, I do believe that the vast majority of Americans respect it. They’re more than happy to come out every four years and care deeply about it for a month. But for so long, the men’s national team has never quite felt like a team destined for greatness.

Until last night.

The United States didn’t squeak by Paraguay in the World Cup opener like it was some accident. It didn’t survive or get a couple of lucky bounces. It utterly dominated every moment of the contest, not letting up even when Paraguay applied a little bit of pressure. The final score read 4-1, but somehow that almost undersells what happened.

From the national anthem – which was wonderfully performed by Dan + Shay – the USMNT showed its prowess. Christian Pulisic looked like a man on a mission. Weston McKennie dictated the pace. Tyler Adams controlled everything in the midfield. Chris Richards was the man on the back line that his team needed him to be. And Folarin Balogun, the player of the match and the man of the hour, was on top of the world

.

By halftime, with the United States up 3-0 thanks to a Paraguayan own goal plus a brace from Balogun, SoFi Stadium (sorry, “Los Angeles Stadium”) felt like it was levitating. If Queen were in the building, they’d be leading the American faithful in a exhilarating rendition of “Don’t Stop Me Now.”

And then there was Gio Reyna.

Maybe no player on this roster deserved a moment like this more.

The last four years have been cruel to Reyna. Injuries robbed him of precious development time just as he appeared ready to become one of the brightest young stars in the world. The ugly fallout surrounding the 2022 World Cup and the public feud involving his family threatened to define his legacy before he ever had the chance to write it himself. As he fizzled out in Europe, every conversation about Gio Reyna became less about what he was and more about what he could’ve been.

Yet there he was, standing on the grandest stage in the sport with the world watching, waiting for his moment to come. And when it finally did, he didn’t just score – he announced himself.

The strike itself was exquisite. No, exquisite doesn’t quite do it justice. Reyna hit it with the outside of his boot, wrapping the ball around the helpless Paraguayan goalkeeper in a way that almost didn’t make sense. I could feel my jaw hitting the floor as I was watching it in real time.

I’ve watched the replay over and over again, each time convincing myself there had to be some trick to it. Perhaps it was an optical illusion of some sort.

Nope.

It was simply genius. That’s the only explanation.

And maybe that’s what made the celebration hit so hard. As Reyna’s teammates crowded around him in jubilation, it felt like we’d all collectively watched a rebirth. Not just of the USMNT, but also of Reyna. For one breathtaking moment, Gio Reyna wasn’t the kid plagued by injuries or burdened by family drama – he was just a star.

I can’t imagine a more fitting final flourish.

Last night was beautiful. From watching Mauricio Pochettino – the Tottenham Hotspur fan in me was elated to witness his style of play translate so well to the international game – transform the United States right before our eyes to seeing how ecstatic the 70,000 fans that crowded into SoFi Stadium were every time the ball hit the back of the net, everything was perfect.

Nobody can erase the feeling that swept across the nation after the final whistle had blown. Nobody can erase the looks on people’s faces when Reyna stole the show. Nobody can erase the utter joy that I feel in this moment.

For one night, soccer wasn’t somebody else’s game. It was ours.

And after eight years of watching this team stumble, tease and disappoint, I think that’s the moment I’ll remember most. Not the goals. Not the celebrations. Not even the 4-1 scoreline that will live forever in World Cup lore.

I’ll remember believing. Really believing.

Because for the first time in my life as a USMNT fan, the hope beyond the fog isn’t a distant dream anymore. It’s standing right in front of us, wrapped in red, white and blue, asking us to dream even bigger.

Every four years, the world gathers around a soccer ball.

Well, football. We should probably call it football for the purposes of this article, seeing as that’s what roughly 95 percent of the planet calls it. The Americans among us can complain all they want, but when literally billions of people are paying attention to the same event, it feels a little silly to argue semantics.

Whatever you call it, though, there is nothing quite like the FIFA World Cup.

I know that’s a bold statement. Fans of the Olympics will tell you that nothing compares to seeing the world’s greatest athletes gather under one banner. College football fans will point toward the pageantry of a rivalry Saturday in the SEC. The NFL crowd will remind everybody that the Super Bowl routinely dominates television ratings. They’re all wonderful events in their own right — nobody is disputing that claim.

None of them are the World Cup.

The World Cup is different because it somehow manages to be both the biggest sporting event on Earth and the most personal. The Olympics are massive, but they’re fragmented. One person watches gymnastics. Another watches swimming. Somebody else is invested in fencing for a week despite not knowing the rules. The Super Bowl is enormous, but it belongs primarily to one country. The Champions League is elite, but it revolves around clubs rather than nations.

Conversely, the World Cup belongs to everyone.

That might sound cheesy (I’m a cheesy guy, what I can I say), but it’s true. For one month every four years, billions of people wake up, go to work, attend school, sit in traffic, order lunch and live their normal lives knowing that somewhere, later that day, their country might be playing a football match that feels more important than just about anything else. Entire cities stop what they’re doing. Productivity plummets. Families gather around televisions. Strangers hug one another in public. Grown adults cry over goals scored by people they’ve never met.

The ultimate goal of sports is to bring people together. The World Cup is one of the few events left that actually accomplishes that. What makes that fact even more remarkable is that most of the countries participating have absolutely no chance of winning. And that’s not cynicism — that’s just plain history.

Since the first World Cup in 1930, only eight countries have ever lifted the trophy. Think about that for a second. Nearly a century of competition that’s featured hundreds of talented teams and thousands of world-class players. Just eight champions.

Brazil. Germany. Italy. Argentina. France. Uruguay. England. Spain.

That’s the list.

The odds are overwhelmingly in favor of the 2026 champion coming from that group once again. Maybe Brazil finally redeems itself after years of disappointment. Maybe Argentina finds a way to repeat. Maybe Spain announces the beginning of a new dynasty. Maybe England finally, finally discovers a way to stop turning every major tournament into a national therapy session.

But here’s the thing: the champion isn’t really what makes the World Cup special. The journey does.

For every Brazil supporter dreaming about a sixth star, there is a Curacao supporter simply thrilled to be here. For every England supporter agonizing over whether football is finally coming home, there is a Scottish supporter figuring out which American city can withstand an invasion of tens of thousands of kilt-wearing fans whose aim is to drink every bar and stadium dry. For every French supporter expecting a semifinal appearance, there is a Haitian supporter just happy to see their flag represented on the biggest stage in sports after years of instability.

The dreams aren’t the same, and that’s the entire point.

Mexico enters every World Cup carrying the weight of the quinto partido, that elusive fifth game that has haunted generations of fans. The United States arrives with an opportunity unlike anything it has ever experienced, hosting the tournament and possessing a roster talented enough to make genuine noise. Norway finally gets to unleash Erling Haaland on the world’s biggest stage after years of watching him score goals everywhere except the World Cup. South Korea may be witnessing the final great chapter of Son Heung-min’s international career. The Netherlands is once again chasing a first title despite producing some of the greatest teams the sport has ever seen.

Even the countries expected to contend for the trophy come with fascinating baggage.

Brazil isn’t just trying to win — it’s trying to redeem itself. Germany isn’t simply chasing another title — it’s attempting to remind the world that one of football’s traditional giants still belongs among the elite. And then Belgium is desperately trying to avoid becoming the answer to a trivia question about the greatest golden generation that never won anything.

And then there are the two men who have defined football for the better part of two decades: Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo.

You don’t need to understand football to understand what those names mean. Their rivalry transcended the sport years ago. Entire childhoods have been spent arguing over which one was better. Every goal, every trophy and every individual accolade seemed to become ammunition in a conversation that never really had an answer.

For nearly 20 years, football has belonged to Messi and Ronaldo. They weren’t merely stars — they became landmarks. They were constants in a sport that changes constantly. Managers came and went, teammates retired, tactics evolved and entire generations of players rose and fell. Yet Messi and Ronaldo remained, scoring impossible goals and producing moments that somehow managed to exceed impossibly high expectations over and over again.

Despite all that longevity, the end is finally beginning to crest over the horizon.

Messi already has his storybook ending in many ways. The image of him lifting the World Cup trophy in Qatar in 2022 will forever be one of the defining photographs in sports history. Ronaldo’s journey has been different. He has conquered nearly every mountain football placed in front of him, yet the biggest trophy in the sport remains frustratingly out of reach. Whether either player can realistically win the tournament in 2026 almost doesn’t matter. The opportunity to watch them walk onto a World Cup pitch one final time is a gift in itself. Future generations will hear stories about Messi and Ronaldo the same way older fans tell stories about the likes of Pele, Maradona and countless other legends. This tournament may be the last chapter of that story.

And yet, somehow, even that isn’t the biggest storyline — at least in my opinion.

This is the first 48-team World Cup. The biggest tournament in the history of the sport. More countries are participating than ever before, which means more supporters, more cultures, more styles of football and more dreams arriving in one place. A Curacao supporter will be sharing space with an Argentina supporter. Scottish fans will be filling bars alongside Mexican fans. Nations that have never experienced a World Cup before will suddenly find themselves competing under the brightest lights imaginable.

Some people will complain about expansion because people always complain about expansion. (As an ardent college football fan, trust me, the expansion arguments are never a fun place to dabble.) That’s their right. Personally, I can’t wait.

The World Cup was already the greatest tournament on Earth. Now there are more stories than ever before. More opportunities for a tiny nation to shock giants. More chances for a player nobody has ever heard of to become a national hero overnight. More possibilities for magic, chaos and everything in between.

Somebody is going to win the whole thing. They always do. But if history has taught us anything, the trophy is only part of the story.

The World Cup has never been about one team.

It’s about all of them.

The World Baseball Classic has been everything I could’ve wanted and more. Every single game, even the ones that seem to have little stakes, has made me rife with excitement. It’s clear that the players are all-in, and that makes it easy for me to be too.

There are so many moments that I would love to write 1,000-word essays about — maybe I’ll crank out a full tournament retrospective when this whole thing’s done and dusted, but I can make zero promises (you know, life and all) — but Saturday’s action has really stuck with me. It started with a thrilling 8-6 victory for Japan over Korea that solidified the fact that the Japanese, led by Shohei Ohtani and all his glory, were once again not to be messed with. Sure, the Koreans gave Samurai Japan a run for their money, but in the end the Tokyo Dome was still singing the praises of the home team.

Then the Netherlands and Ozzie Albies had their moment in the sun. Down 3-1 in the bottom of the ninth, Albies absolutely drilled a ball into the right-field seats at loanDepot Park to give the Netherlands a thrilling victory that will surely be remembered for eternity in Dutch circles. As Albies rounded the bases in jubilation, his teammates ready to greet him at home plate, the Nicaraguan players on the field and in the dugout could only look down at the ground. It was one of those moments that is equal levels amazing and wonderful and also completely demoralizing and hard to watch. One team’s dreams were coming true while the others were snatched right out of their hands.

But that wasn’t the only walk-off of the day. Enter Darell Hernaiz, whose walk-off homer in the bottom of the 10th against Panama is the definition of joy. In many ways, baseball is the epitome of joy, especially for the residents of Puerto Rico. That tiny island loves the sport so much, and Hernaiz is the personification of that adoration. He leaped and screamed and smiled his way around the bases. He was mobbed by his teammates not at home plate, but halfway down the third-base line. Puerto Rico’s roster is not at 100 percent — far from it, actually — but you wouldn’t know it in that moment. Hernaiz was a hero, one his country will never forget.

As the night was coming to a close, and the folks on the East Coast of the United States were putting their heads on their pillows, Taiwan and Korea were in the middle of a knock-down, drag-down fight. Taiwan was fighting for its tournament life. Korea, to a lesser extent, was too. Nine innings weren’t enough to decide the outcome. Good. The game was so good, nobody wanted it to end. Taiwan took the lead. Korea tied it. Taiwan took the lead again. Korea snatched it away. Taiwan said, “No you don’t!” and scored two runs in the eighth. Korea retaliated with a tally in the ninth. Tied again. Off to the 10th it was. And in the 10th, Taiwan scored, and Korea could not. Taiwan, which had gotten off to such a lousy start in the WBC, had a tiny sliver of hope it could make it to the knockout stage. And even though those dreams weren’t realized — Korea ended up advancing anyway — that moment will be one I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

So, yeah. Saturday was great. Tonight could be even greater.

The United States can’t beat Mexico in baseball. It’s inexplicable. The U.S. has much more talent than Mexico — how can the results be this lopsided? I have no answer. All I know is that the best U.S. team of all time will have a chance to avenge all those losses tonight at Daikin Park in Houston. The best the U.S. has to offer will be taking the field. Mexico’s pitching staff is depleted, but the lineup has been delivering bangers throughout the first two games of the WBC. Which country will win? I have no idea.

All I can ask of you is this: watch the game. I hope that my posts about the WBC have driven at least one person to watch the tournament and love it as much as I do. It’s one of those things that hooks into you like a stingray barb the second you get your first taste of it. The WBC is intoxicating, at least in my experience, and it’s games like tonight’s USA-Mexico clash that make me all the more in love with it.

The plucky Mexicans, the underdogs that they are, have gotten the best of the Americans three consecutive times. There’s no way it happens again, right? The only way to find out is to watch, so do it!

(It’s at 7 p.m. ET on FOX. Get your rabbit ears out and turn on that dang channel!)