Watching soccer can be pure agony.  With your team leading in the final minutes and counting down the excruciating final minutes of injury time as you hold onto a precarious lead, praying for the final whistle.  Or terribly frustrating.  Seeing another nil-nil draw with no vindication for the two hours of time invested.  The sport can often feel terribly unjust, especially when seemingly undeserving, inferior teams win.  It can be maddening when opponents blatantly waste time or fake injuries, or when a computer rules your attacker offsides by the width of their fingernail.

But then there are the other times…When you’re in a crowded bar or at a fan zone with your fellow countrymen and women, shoulder to shoulder, spilling beer on each other (or throwing it in the air in jubilant celebration), grabbing each other’s shoulders, and moaning, groaning, and screaming collectively.  When your team produces a precise set of passes that leads to a gorgeous goal and sends the crowd into rapturous celebration.  You hug anyone in the remote vicinity, slapping hands and jumping up and down like lunatics.  And you realize why, despite the frustrations, annoyances, suffering, and heartache, you love this game.  And it is beautiful.

Depending on the team you follow, these moments can be exceedingly rare.  If you support a perennial runner-up or also-ran, like Tottenham or Everton in the English Premier League or the Netherlands or Mexico at the World Cup (the Buffalo Bills/Minnesota Vikings of the futbolling world), you are likely to suffer more proverbial kicks in the nuts than glorious triumphs.  And yet, you persist.  And you take your victories where you can.  For surely, they are that much sweeter when they come.

Being a fan of the US Men’s National Team can sometimes feel like an exercise in frustration.  As a 25-plus-year fan of the team, I have known my fair share of disappointments and have had a good bit of disrespect thrown my way by other international soccer fans.  True, we have won our fair share of Gold Cups (CONCACAF’s regional tournament that is far overshadowed—and rightly so—by the Euros or even the Copa America) and the nascent Nation’s League.  But true international success has been out of reach and seemingly impossible.  We famously made the quarterfinals of the 2002 World Cup in South Korea and Japan, beating archrival Mexico in the process.  That highwater mark has been accompanied by disappointments such as the group stage exits in 1998 and 2006 and the nadir, the failure to qualify for the World Cup in 2018 with a loss at the mighty soccer powerhouse Trinidad & Tobago.

But because of the suffering, the doubts, and the naysayers, the victories and successes are that much sweeter.  As I’m sure fans of the Red Sox and Cubs will tell you, there’s nothing like that first chip and that breakthrough triumph.  While the USA is still awaiting its first World Cup trophy (and likely will be for some time), making it out of the group stage is a significant accomplishment for our group of guys.  It is important to point out that they are also the youngest team in the World Cup, and the consensus is that we are building for 2026 when our current core of uber-talented players will be at their professional peaks and the tournament will be played on home soil.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  It’s important to celebrate the here and the now and not focus on the future or what might be when what is is celebratory and glorious.

Of all the teams I support, the passion and fandom of the USA soccer supporters are perhaps my favorite (even if Duke basketball will always be #1 in my heart).  The friendliness, the unity, and general positivity of USMNT fans are so heartwarming and endearing.  I’ve been to USA games in my hometown DC, Chicago, and Austin, and you meet consistently nice, kind, and passionate people.  And if you follow a particular national team beyond your borders (and, obviously, have the means to do so), you get to travel the world, visit and explore amazing places (Qatar notwithstanding), and make new friends from your country and others.  I will never forget the first time, in 2006, that I attended the World Cup in Germany, US flag draped around my shoulders like a cape, and having so many people wonder aloud that an American gave a shit about soccer.  And the fact that the reception I received was unanimously positive at a time when we were not universally beloved in the wake of the Second Gulf War.  Or in 2010 having two South Africans of Indian descent embrace us like brothers after a Germany-Australia game—my brother and I even went to the hospital to visit our new friend’s wife when she gave birth a week later, bring their newborn daughter stuffed animals.  Or the Russians in 2018 who met us at Bukowsky Bar in St. Petersburg every night we were there to make sure we were seeing the best of the city (and drinking until four in the morning).  To say nothing of the Brazilians in 2014, the best hosts to the best World Cup of them all.

All of these experiences and the joy of meeting and celebrating with new and old friends alike in an open, tolerant environment made the awarding of this World Cup to Qatar that much more grating and offensive.  True, Russia was no human rights darling, and there was definitely some hypocrisy in the way it was largely given a pass relative to Qatar.  It certainly deserved more scrutiny and criticism for its treatment of LGBTQ+ people and its deplorable human rights record.  But Qatar is seemingly next level in its disdain for transparency, openness, and tolerance.  Beyond the graft and corruption that won them the World Cup or the mistreatment and deaths of the workers who built the stadiums and infrastructure, the harassment of teams trying to wear pride-based captains’ armbands or fans wearing t-shirts to support gay rights or Iranian freedoms has been reprehensible and infuriating.  Not selling beer at the stadiums obviously pales in comparison to these affronts, but a soccer match without beer is like sex without foreplay.  Sure it’s enjoyable, but like a great goal, it’s a lot better when you have a nice build-up.

It is not lost upon me that by merely boycotting the trip to Qatar and not the entire tournament (including the viewing experience from afar), I am still indirectly supporting the event.  I am watching the commercials and giving my eyeballs over to its sponsors, even if Budweiser is still annoyed by the backtracking beer policy.  If I were truly, 100% committed to eschewing this World Cup and the many reprehensible values that it is propagating, I would sit this one out entirely.  I do appreciate and understand that.  But even from afar and not with my usual band of soccer brothers, we’re still connected by our fandom, our pick ‘em pool, and our passion for the boys in the red, white, and blue.

And so here I am, biting my nails and destroying my office chair as the seconds tick away on the US’ precarious one-goal lead in the dying minutes of the game versus Iran.  Was it excruciating?  Obviously.  Did I wonder multiple times why I put myself through this?  I did.  Was it worth it when the final whistle blew, and my brother and I, watching together on FaceTime, simultaneously roared our approval?  Absofuckinglutely.

As a side note, I did feel badly for the Iranian players.  They were put in an impossible position and acquitted themselves well.  They clearly didn’t support their odious regime, as witnessed by their not singing the national anthem in the first match, but they knew the consequences of speaking out and using this platform all too well.  Witness what happened to former Iranian soccer star Voria Ghafouri for speaking up against the regime and for women’s rights.  It was an impossible situation, and they represented their nation’s citizens well.  And fuck the Iranian regime and here’s to “women, life, freedom” in Iran.

But for now, I will revel in the US’ victory.  And take the chance to appreciate one of our rare moments of triumph and accomplishment.  And then start worrying about the Dutch and Saturday’s matchup.  And, even when my team inevitably goes out, continue to appreciate the majesty, agony, and passion of this beautiful goddamn game.