Watching World Cup Alone
{ “title”: “Watching the World Cup Alone Is Honestly Crushing Me”, “slug”: “watching-world-cup-alone”, “meta_description”: “Watching the World Cup alone at 2:47 AM in a dark apartment, counting group chat messages, screenshotting friends’ Instagram stories. A32-year-old burnout piece.”, “type”: “emotional”, “author”: “Anonymous Reader”, “date”: “2026-09-19”, “tags”: [“World Cup 2026”, “Loneliness”, “Late-Night Watching”, “Burnout”, “Gen-Z Knowledge Worker”], “content”: “
It’s 2:47 AM and Mbappé just buried one in the 89th minute against whoever it was — I’m watching the replay on my phone with the brightness turned all the way down, in bed, pretending I’m asleep. My roommate walked past the living room around 11 PM, saw the game on, said “oh, is this on?” and went straight into his room to take a call. The TV has been on mute for three hours. I’m the only one in this apartment and I can hear my own breathing.
\n\nIt’s a Tuesday. The group chat exploded exactly 33 seconds after the goal — I counted because I do that now. 47 unread messages. I scrolled through them, typed “lmaooo mbappé is insane”, turned my phone face down on the mattress, and stared at the ceiling for eleven minutes. I don’t know why I counted. I don’t know why I’m counting anything.
\n\nMom was like “why are you still up” at 1:30 AM when I called her from the kitchen. I told her mom, I just wanted to hear a voice that wasn’t a commentator. She laughed and then said “go to sleep, you’re 32”. I haven’t slept before 4 AM on a game day in three weeks. My Apple Watch keeps telling me my resting heart rate is 64 and my sleep score is 41 and honestly at this point those numbers are just decorative.
\n\nThe 2 AM Goal That Made Me Feel Worse
\n\nHere is the part I can’t really explain. Mbappé scored, and instead of jumping off the couch, I just laid there. My chest went tight. My stomach did that thing where it knots up from the inside. I wasn’t sad exactly, I wasn’t happy exactly. I was just — watching it happen to other people.
\n\nI used to scream when Chicharito scored. I used to text my college roommate “DUDE” in all caps and he’d text back “DUDE” in all caps and we’d both be screaming in two different cities. Now my college roommate is in Singapore with two kids and a mortgage and he watched the goal at 6 AM his time, between putting rice in the rice cooker and getting the older one dressed for school. He sent me a voice note that was six seconds long. I played it three times. He just laughed and said “still got it” and went on with his life.
\n\nThat’s the thing. Everyone else watched the goal and then went on with their life. I watched the goal and then laid in the dark and thought about how I haven’t high-fived another person since I can’t remember when. My last hug was in March. It was my sister, at the airport, before she flew back to Toronto. It lasted maybe four seconds. I’m still thinking about it in September. That’s not normal. I know that’s not normal.
\n\nMy palms were sweating when the goal went in. I don’t even like Mbappé that much. But the moment of it — the whole world watching the same thing at the same time — and I’m in a dark bedroom watching a replay on a 6.1-inch screen with the sound off because my roommate has to be up at 6:45 for his standup. I watched the celebration and then I watched the replay of the celebration and then I watched the second replay of the celebration. Three times. By myself.
\n\nMy Group Chat Notifications Are a Disaster
\n\nI have 14 group chats on WhatsApp. Three of them are football-related. The biggest one, the one with 23 people from university, has been mostly dead since like 2021. People post memes. People post baby photos. People occasionally post “should we do a reunion” and then nobody responds. Tonight the chat came alive because the game was on, and for about an hour it felt like 2014 again.
\n\nThen it died. Mbappé scored and everyone fired off their reaction and then everyone went back to their lives. The last message was “gg” at 3:11 AM. Nobody replied to “gg”. The chat has been silent for 41 minutes and I’m watching the little “typing” indicator like a lunatic hoping someone will say something else. Anything. Even “did you see the offside” would be fine. I just want the chat to not be dead.
\n\nI had my phone on Do Not Disturb from 10 PM to 6 AM because I was trying to “sleep earlier this week” as a self-improvement thing. So I missed the entire first half. Woke up at 12:15 AM anyway, turned off DND, and the first message was “WHERE IS VERRATTI”. I had no idea what was happening. I had no idea who was winning. I opened my laptop and found a stream and the stream kept buffering every 30 seconds and I missed the equalizer because of the buffering.
\n\nThis is what I’m doing with my life. Watching a stream that buffers. In a city of 21 million people. Alone.
\n\nThe Bar Down The Street Was Packed
\n\nI walked past the Irish pub on Anfu Road at 11:40 PM last Friday. I could hear the cheering from 80 meters away. The whole street was vibrating. I had my earbuds in and I took one out and I just stood on the sidewalk for maybe four minutes, watching the crowd through the window. There must have been 150 people in there. They were shoulder to shoulder, jumping up and down, hands up, screaming at the screen. A guy in the front row was crying. A girl in a France jersey was on someone’s shoulders.
\n\nI kept walking. I didn’t go in. I don’t know why I didn’t go in. I have enough money to buy a beer. I have pants on. I have a phone. I have all the equipment required to enter a bar. But I just — kept walking. I went home and opened a Tsingtao by myself and watched the second half on my laptop with the volume at 4 out of 100 because the neighbors complain. The pub-goers got the whole experience. I got a 720p stream with lag.
\n\nMy friend Kevin invited me to watch with him and his boyfriend. I said “maybe!” and then I never followed up. They’ve watched the last two matches without me. I saw Kevin’s Instagram story from inside the pub, holding up a beer, smiling, with the caption “this is the life 🏆”. I screenshot it. I don’t know why I screenshot it. It’s not a good screenshot. It’s a normal Instagram story.
\n\nI don’t think Kevin knows I screenshot his stories. I don’t think Kevin thinks about me much at all. That’s the part that gets me. Kevin is a good guy. Kevin has his own life. Kevin is not obligated to think about me. But I’m sitting here at 3 AM screenshotting Kevin’s Instagram stories and watching a 6.1-inch screen and pretending that’s the same thing.
\n\nI Have Watched Every World Cup With Someone
\n\n2010 — I was 16. My dad and I sat on the couch in my parents’ house in suburban Maryland and watched the U.S. vs. Ghana game and screamed at Landon Donovan’s goal so loud my mom came in from the kitchen and told us we were going to wake the baby. My dad cried. I didn’t understand why he cried until I was older. I get it now.
\n\n2014 — I was 20. My college roommate Daniel and I skipped our Tuesday morning class to watch the U.S. vs. Belgium game. We drank warm Bud Light at 11 AM. Daniel climbed on top of the coffee table when the U.S. scored. He fell off. He bruised his hip. He still has a faint scar. We both failed the midterm. We both said it was worth it.
\n\n2018 — I was 24. I was in London for the summer. I watched England vs. Croatia in a pub in Camden with 200 strangers and we all held our breath at the same time and someone next to me grabbed my arm during the free kick and I didn’t know their name and I never saw them again. I went home at 4 AM and the Tube was full of people in England shirts singing “Sweet Caroline”. A guy on the platform offered me a sip of his cider. I said yes. It was the best night of my life that year.
\n\n2022 — I was 28. Argentina vs. France. I was in a relationship. We watched it in her apartment in Brooklyn. We were both crying by the penalty shootout. She held my hand. The apartment was full of people — her sister, her brother-in-law, two friends from her grad program. We all hugged at the end. We ordered pizza at 5 AM. I woke up the next morning and she was still holding my hand in her sleep. I haven’t held anyone’s hand in 8 months. That was 8 months ago.
\n\n2026 — I’m 32. I’m alone. There’s no other way to say it. The matches are on and I’m in my bedroom with a phone screen and the chat goes silent and I’m counting how many times I open Instagram. I keep opening Instagram to see if anyone posted anything. Nobody I know posted anything tonight. The algorithm showed me reels of people celebrating in stadiums and I swiped past all of them.
\n\nMy Mom Doesn’t Understand Why I Care About This
\n\nI called mom on Sunday during halftime of the Spain game. She picked up and said “is this about the football thing again”. I said yes. She sighed in that way moms sigh when they want you to know they love you but also think you’re being dramatic.
\n\nShe said, “Honey, you don’t even have a team”. I said, “Mom, I have a team, I just don’t have a jersey”. She said, “You have never bought a jersey in your life”. I said, “That doesn’t mean I don’t have a team”. She said, “Okay sweetie, who is your team”. I said, “Whoever is the most fun to watch”. She said, “That’s not a team”. I said, “It’s a team of one, mom”. She laughed. Then she said, “Are you eating”.
\n\nThis is my life. I call my mom during halftime because I don’t have anyone else to call during halftime. My brother lives in Denver and he doesn’t watch football. My sister is in Toronto with two kids and a job and she doesn’t watch football. My dad watches but he watches the Premier League and we don’t talk about international tournaments. My college friends are scattered and tired and married and have their own group chats now. I’m in none of those group chats.
\n\nI texted my therapist about it yesterday. She asked if I wanted to schedule a session. I said sure. The earliest available slot is October 9. That’s 20 days from now. I don’t know what’s going to happen in 20 days. I don’t know who’s going to score. I don’t know who’s going to be awake at 2:47 AM in 20 days. I do know that I’m going to be awake. I’m always awake. I have not slept through a game in three weeks.
\n\nMy therapist would probably say something about avoidance and attachment and the way I use the World Cup as a stand-in for connection I don’t have offline. She’s probably right. I don’t want her to be right but she’s probably right. I don’t want to do the work. I just want to watch the next match and have someone next to me who reacts when I react. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
\n\nVerdict
\nI know this isn’t right. I’m conflicted too. But I just want the next match to start and I want someone in the room when it does.
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