You might have expected my first game to be my favorite. It was a beautiful night in Auckland, where I got to watch the US women’s national soccer team go through the knockout rounds of the 2023 Women’s World Cup. This was the team that I had watched win the 2019 World Cup, in a basement with almost every single girl in my childhood soccer club. I watched them win in 2015, too. I can still remember jumping off the couch when Carli Lloyd scored again and again and again as my parents and the rest of the world looked on in amazement.
Maybe the favorite should’ve been my last game. It was the day before we left, in Wellington. A quarter-final match between Spain and the Netherlands, two of the top teams still left standing. As I wandered around the stadium, I saw fans with painted faces, and flags waving proudly in the cold New Zealand air. It was set to be an electric game as both teams looked to cement their name in the history of women’s soccer.
At least, my taxi driver seemed to think so. He was a sweet man, and his car could fit all of my family’s suitcases, which was a struggle for us, as I don’t pack light. When my dad began chatting to him about the World Cup, I wasn’t sure what to expect. A lot of men and boys I have spoken with have at most a muted interest in women’s soccer. Certainly, not analytical commentary on the upcoming game, accompanied by a strong Eastern European accent and a smile.
To be honest, when I got to the game in Sydney I didn’t expect it to be my favorite. It was Australia vs. Denmark, in the first
round of the knockout stage. However, we had somehow ended up with nosebleed tickets, literally in the rafters of an 80,000-capacity stadium. You can imagine my excitement at this. Sam Kerr, one of the best players in the world, was set to make her long-anticipated return to the field, at a home game in the World Cup. I was so far away that I couldn’t see the name on her jersey.
The seats began to fill in around me, a group of Canadians next to me, some Australians behind me, and other Americans in front. As the game began, the atmosphere, even in the worst seats in the stadium, was feeling incredible. I saw parents with their kids, elderly couples, teenage boys, all chattering excitedly about the game. When Australia played well, the chants made you want to sing along because there was almost always a ten year old screaming at the tops of their lungs, leading the rest of the crowd. And the lyrics? The most absurd things you would ever hear. When a Danish player got too aggressive or the referee made a bad call, the crowd roared out its disapproval and I began to scream with them.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I might have been half a mile away from the field, or that I barely got to see Sam Kerr play. Everyone else up there in those nosebleeds had bought tickets with awful views and a terrifying climb up simply to see women play soccer. I realized that I was in a crowd of seventy five thousand people, all watching the same game, experiencing the same emotions that it brought.
The numbers show it. This has been the most highly attended Women’s World Cup, by far. The viewing numbers from across the world have skyrocketed. A new age of women’s soccer has been ushered in. No longer are big tournaments completely dominated by few teams. Amazing stories of success and underdogs have emerged, alongside new fan favorites and players to watch. Walking down the street, no matter the language, I knew that everyone was talking about the Women’s World Cup. It was intoxicating to feel the buzz from so many people with different backgrounds, stories, and lives.
I read stories about players who didn’t even have a girl’s team growing up because they lived in countries where it wasn’t acceptable for girls to play. Or the Jamaican team, having to start a GoFundMe to attend the World Cup because they didn’t receive enough funding from their government. One of the first lessons, and the most important, that I have learned playing soccer is that sometimes results don’t matter as much as you think.
This idea has stood out to me as something so many teams can take from this year’s World Cup. Becoming a champion is something that only happens to one team, twenty three players, and a single country. For most teams, who don’t receive enough funding, support, or recognition, the dream of winning is unimaginable. The importance of inspiring even a single little girl in the world to pick up a soccer ball, to build a legacy of great female soccer players, however, is something far more tangible.
Coming to the World Cup, brought back five-year-old me playing SoccerShots as my grandparents looked on with excitement. It brought back eight-year-old me, showing up to the first day of practice with a new team and not knowing I would meet some of my best friends. It brought back memories of being told over and over again that girls’ soccer just isn’t as good as boys’. That we would never be able to beat a boy’s team. The same feeling of embarrassment that I had towards things pounded in my head until they became my truths.
When I was writing this article, I was preparing to criticize the fact that for women, it is called the Women’s World Cup, not just the World Cup. It is completely ridiculous that the men simply have the title ‘World Cup,’ but the women don’t. However, I have realized there is something almost revolutionary about that name. The Women’s World Cup signifies that every person, every country is coming together to support women’s soccer and women’s sports as a whole.
I still cringed every time a player missed a shot, or a goalie made an easily avoidable error. I was always waiting for the shoe to drop, for everyone to decide they had enough of women’s soccer. As I write this, it is six in the morning and I am watching the end of the semi-finals. Spain and England are through to the final, in a highly anticipated match that will no doubt be watched by millions around the world. I have realized that the shoe hasn’t dropped, and it won’t.
“Women’s World Cup, On the Big Screen.” I saw it written on a sign for a local pub while driving down the eastern coast of Australia. I don’t know how many more World Cups I will be able to attend, but I do know that women’s soccer is here to stay. Across the world, in every culture and country, on the biggest screens we can find.