Watching World Cup Alone
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It’s 11:47 PM on a Tuesday and Argentina just equalized in the 89th minute. The apartment is so quiet I can hear my neighbor’s cat walking across the hardwood through the ceiling. I’m sitting on my bed, laptop balanced on a pillow, wearing the same faded blue-and-white jersey I bought in 2018 in Buenos Aires when I was 24 and still believed things were going to keep being good. The stadium in Houston is roaring for 50,000 people. My group chat lit up for 11 seconds and went dark. My roommate left at 8 PM. It’s just me and a half-empty can of warm beer, watching 22 people chase a ball 5,000 miles from my bedroom in Brooklyn.
\n\nThe Group Chat That Went Quiet
\nAt 11:52, my phone buzzed. Group chat. Six names lit up. “MESSI MESSI MESSI” from Jason. “YOOO” from Priya. “bro 😭” from Marcus. Three messages in eleven seconds. Then nothing. The chat went back to looking like every other day chat — mostly unread, last active two weeks ago, before this match.
\n\nIn 2018, this same chat had 47 unread threads during the final. We were all on couches or in the same apartment or watching from different cities but texting like we were sitting next to each other. In 2022 it was 22 threads, mostly memes, mostly drunk, mostly “WHERE IS PENALTY GONNA GO.” Tonight it was three messages and then everyone went back to their own separate nights.
\n\nMarcus moved to Singapore in 2023. Priya had a baby in March and now sleeps when the baby sleeps. Jason is in his “I don’t really watch sports anymore” era, which is a phrase I don’t understand but hear a lot from people I went to high school with. I’m the last one in this chat who still clears his Tuesday nights for Argentina. I’m the last one still wearing the jersey. I’m the last one who turns the laptop volume down because the wall is shared and nobody on the other side cares about a soccer game at midnight.
\n\n12:03 AM — The First Goal I Almost Shouted
\nAt 12:03 AM, Lautaro scored. Just flicked it in off a deflection. My hand went up — I don’t even know, muscle memory — like I was about to high-five someone. There was no one. Just my ceiling. Just the cat upstairs who didn’t care.
\n\nI sat there with my hand still half in the air for a second. Then I lowered it slowly and stared at the laptop and waited for the feeling to go away. It didn’t. My chest was doing that thing where it goes tight — not in the sad way, in the way where you realize you don’t have anyone to do this with anymore. The palm of my hand felt warm where it had been reaching out for nothing.
\n\nI went to the kitchen and got the second warm beer. Then I thought: this is the third World Cup I’ve watched mostly alone. 2014 I was with my dad in our old kitchen — I was 19, he was 47, we both cried when Götze scored and neither of us said anything about it. 2018 I was with a group of seven in a tiny Brooklyn apartment and we spilled beer on the carpet and someone actually cried when Germany lost and then we ordered pizza at 1 AM. 2022 I was at a bar in Long Island City and there were strangers around me and that was enough. Tonight it’s just me and the cat upstairs and the can of warm beer.
\n\nI want to be clear: I’m not sad about the game. Argentina won. The squad is stacked. Messi is still Messi. I’m sad about the way I keep watching it. I keep showing up like the friend is going to be there. They never are.
\n\nMom Called During Halftime and I Almost Lost It
\nHalftime. 12:31 AM. Mom called. Of course she did. She has this radar for when I’m awake and shouldn’t be.
\n\n”Honey why are you still up?”
\n”Mom, it’s the World Cup.”
\n”But you’re alone no?”
I didn’t answer for four seconds. I looked at the wall. I looked at the laptop. I looked at my own face in the mirror on the back of the door and I didn’t recognize the person for a second.
\n\n”Mom, I’m fine.”
\n”Are you eating?”
\n”I’m eating.”
\n”What are you eating?”
\n”Crackers, mom.”
\n”Just crackers? At 12:30 in the morning?”
\n”Yeah.”
She was quiet for a second. Then she said, very softly, in the voice she only uses when she knows I’m not telling her something: “You can come home for the next match, you know. I make congee. Your father will leave the TV.”
\n\nI almost cried. Like actually almost cried, standing in my kitchen holding a beer at 12:32 AM with my mother on speakerphone telling me she would make congee and clear the TV for me. I didn’t cry. I just said “okay mom I’ll think about it” and we hung up.
\n\nMy eyes did that thing where they go hot and you have to look at the ceiling. I blinked fast. My palms were sweating against the can. I’m such a mess.
\n\nThe Empty Chair Beside Me
\nThere used to be a chair. Not literally, but figuratively. There was always someone sitting next to me when I watched these games. Dad in 2014. The roommate who never paid rent on time in 2018. Marcus on the couch in 2022.
\n\nTonight the chair next to me on the bed is just a stack of three books I keep meaning to read, and a hoodie I’m going to wash next week, and a phone that’s been dark for 47 minutes.
\n\nI keep glancing at it. Like someone’s going to text. Like someone is going to say “yo I’m coming over, put the kettle on.” Nobody says that. Not at 12:47 AM on a Tuesday in August, when most people in my life are asleep or in different time zones or in relationships where this would never happen. I am 30 years old. I have 612 Instagram followers and 11 of them know I’m watching this game right now. None of them are coming over.
\n\nThe crushing part isn’t that I’m alone. The crushing part is that I planned for this. I planned it. I cleared my Tuesday night. I made sure my roommate was gone. I bought the beer. I put the laptop on the pillow. I planned this aloneness, like it was the only way I knew how to do this anymore. And now it’s happening and I can’t even explain why it feels this bad.
\n\n1:15 AM — The Whistle Blew and I Stared at the Ceiling
\nArgentina won 2-1. The whistle blew at 1:14 AM. The screen went to a player walking off the pitch holding his jersey over his face. The group chat sent two more “LEGENDS” messages and then died again.
\n\nI didn’t move for a long time. I just sat there with the laptop still playing the post-match analysis and the volume still low and the warm beer finished and the can on the floor next to me.
\n\nI’m not going to lie: I thought about texting someone. I picked up my phone. I scrolled to Jason’s name. I typed “you watching?” and then I deleted it. I typed “good game” and then I deleted it. I typed “remember when” and then I deleted it. I put the phone face-down on the pillow next to the laptop and looked at the ceiling for what felt like a long time but was probably two minutes.
\n\nI know this isn’t right. I’m conflicted too. I have a job. I have a roof. I have parents who make congee for me. I have a friend group that texts. I should be grateful. I am grateful. But I also just sat in my bed alone at 1:15 AM watching a game 5,000 miles away and the only person who knew I was watching was my mom, who called from another time zone to ask why I was eating crackers at midnight.
\n\nThe part I can’t even explain is this: I’m going to do it again in three days. The next match. I’m going to clear my Tuesday night again. I’m going to put the laptop on the pillow. I’m going to forget to put the beer in the fridge. And I’m going to sit here and watch 22 people chase a ball and pretend I’m fine about doing it alone, because that’s the only way I know how to do anything anymore.
\n\nI’m writing this at 1:18 AM. The cat upstairs is finally asleep. The neighbor on the other side just turned their light off. My chest is doing the tight thing again. My stomach is in slow circles. I’m going to go brush my teeth and go to sleep and pretend I didn’t just write a thousand words about a soccer game that nobody in my life knows I watched.
\n\nVerdict
\nI know this isn’t a big thing. I know there are real problems in the world. But I just keep showing up to the same empty bed with the same warm beer and the same jersey from 2018, and tonight it hit me like a wall I keep forgetting to brace for. I see anyone else out there doing this alone.
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