Some Mondays begin with an iPhone alarm, a cup of coffee, and the familiar routine of another workweek.

Not this Monday.

July 6, 2026, wasn’t just another Monday. It was matchday.

Not just any matchday, either.

The FIFA World Cup Round of 16 had arrived, and the United States was set to face one of Europe’s perennial powers: Belgium. On paper, the odds weren’t in America’s favor. While chances are never truly zero, I’d have given the USMNT about a one-percent chance of advancing. Belgium entered the knockout stage looking every bit the contender.

But statistics don’t matter when you’re living a dream.

Earlier this year, one of my longtime school friends—who now lives in Florida—won the FIFA Visa pre-sale lottery. Thinking ahead, she purchased tickets for Seattle’s Round of 16 match, hoping July in the Pacific Northwest would provide ideal soccer weather. It was a blind purchase; nobody knew which teams would eventually be playing.

When she offered to sell me two tickets, I didn’t hesitate.

I bought them immediately.

One ticket was for me.

The other became my little sister’s birthday present…

…and, if I’m being honest, a birthday gift to myself as well.

Bucket List ✔️

On July 6, 2026, my sister and I crossed something incredible off our bucket lists.

We attended our very first FIFA World Cup match.

USA 🇺🇸 vs. Belgium 🇧🇪

Round of 16. Lumen Field. Seattle, Washington.

What a day.

We arrived early and made our way to Pioneer Square, where thousands of supporters from around the globe gathered around a giant screen to watch Portugal take on Spain. Jerseys from every continent filled the streets. Songs echoed between the buildings. Complete strangers high-fived one another after brilliant plays.

It didn’t matter what language you spoke. Soccer was the common language.

Then came one of my favorite memories of the entire day. We found ourselves joining the American Outlaws’ famous March to the Match.

Thousands of supporters. Flags waving. Drums pounding. Chants echoing through downtown Seattle on a gorgeous summer day.

For a few unforgettable minutes, it felt as though the entire city was walking toward one destination with one purpose.

Naturally, we stopped countless times for photos and videos. Years from now, those images will matter more than I realize today.

Then came the national anthems. The scarves rose into the air.

Nearly 70,000 voices filled the stadium.

Goosebumps.

Ninety Minutes

Knockout soccer is beautifully cruel.

Win…

…or go home.

Belgium wasted little time asserting themselves. Their passing was crisp. Their movement was purposeful. They seemed to anticipate every American pass before it happened.

The United States never found much rhythm. Too many misplaced passes. Too many interceptions.

Too few threatening attacks.

The lone American goal came from a beautifully struck free kick just outside Belgium’s penalty area, giving the crowd one glorious eruption of hope.

But Belgium deserved the victory. Sometimes the better team simply wins.

Adding to the challenge, the setting July sun baked our side of Lumen Field for much of the afternoon. We joked that we felt like ants beneath a kid holding a magnifying glass.

Despite everything, I kept reminding myself…

“I am watching a World Cup match.”

The Morning After

I’ll admit something. When I got home, disappointment lingered.

Not because I expected the United States to win. I just wanted to see more fight. More urgency. More belief. It felt like there was another gear that never appeared.

But after sleeping on it, something changed. I realized I wasn’t supposed to remember this day because of the final score.

Years from now, I won’t remember every intercepted pass.

I probably won’t remember every Belgian goal.

I’ll remember walking through Pioneer Square surrounded by thousands of soccer supporters.

I’ll remember the American Outlaws marching through Seattle.

I’ll remember singing the national anthem inside a packed World Cup stadium.

I’ll remember laughing with my sister.

I’ll remember reconnecting with an old school friend and meeting her boyfriend for the first time.

I’ll remember being there.

Not watching from my living room. Not following along on social media. Actually… Being. There.

My World Cup

Perhaps the greatest gift wasn’t the match itself.

It was experiencing what the World Cup has represented for more than three weeks.

The unity. The passion. The community.

For one month every four years, borders seem to soften.

Politics fade into the background. People from countries that may disagree on the world stage stand shoulder to shoulder in stadiums, pubs, and public squares simply because they share a love for The Beautiful Game.

A Norwegian fan cheers alongside a Korean supporter.

A Mexican family takes photos with German tourists.

Americans exchange scarves with Australians.

Everyone belongs.

That was the World Cup I experienced. My cup truly overflowed. I also loved seeing visitors discover North America beyond the headlines.

The host nations—Canada, the United States, and Mexico—opened their doors to the world.

• Visitors discovered Buc-ee’s for the first time.
• They laughed about Waffle House.
• They learned that biscuits and gravy are comfort food.
• They embraced free drink refills.
• They discovered why Americans tip—not because they’re forced to, but because they genuinely appreciate great service.
• They experienced the breathtaking diversity of our landscapes, from mountains and forests to deserts, coastlines, and vibrant cities.

Many international visitors said something that made me smile.

They finally understood why so many Americans spend a lifetime exploring their own country.

There is simply so much to see.

One of my favorite examples has been following German supporter @FreddyLA7, whose enthusiasm and joyful travel videos have introduced millions of people to everyday America through fresh eyes.

Sometimes it takes a visitor to remind us how remarkable home really is.

There’s an old saying that captures this perfectly:

“If you want to hate America, follow the news. If you want to love America, come visit.”

Whether or not you agree with every word, there’s an important truth underneath it.

You cannot judge an entire country solely by its headlines.

You have to experience its people.

Its communities.

Its hospitality.

Its beauty.

That’s what the FIFA World Cup has reminded me.

The match ended in disappointment.

The day ended in gratitude.

And the memory…

…will last a lifetime.

Here’s hoping this wasn’t my last World Cup.

Bring on 2030.

⚽🇺🇸