Author: alaskaadmin

NEW YORK — Allow me to imagine a scenario for a moment. Indulge me with this fantasy. Months from now. Perhaps years. When the World Cup is long gone. I will be having coffee at my favorite spot in downtown Manhattan, a Puerto Rican establishment right by the historic Stone Street, paved in the late 1700s and one of the oldest streets of the city. I’ll sit down with Erling Haaland, Vozhinha, Jude Bellingham and Rodri and drink Mazapán lattes (look it up). Bad Bunny’s “Nuevayol” plays in the background, and so we listen. Sit. And then reminisce about the summer of 2026 and the World Cup that was. “Fellas,” I’ll say. “Let me ask all of you something.” And they will look up, put down the morning’s brew and listen to the following. Do you remember Gio Reyna’s trivela against Paraguay? How it beautifully swerved from the outside of his foot, thus electrifying the entirety of America? Did Folarin Balogun’s story make you feel proud, not just as a fan of the game, but of what the game represents? Is John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the anthem or should it be Alive, from my hero Eddie Vedder and my all-time favorite band, Pearl Jam? Was Raúl Jiménez’s first World Cup goal months after the death of his father a piece of poetry that made you sink to the ground with emotion? Did Julián Quiñones’s story — a Colombian-born player turned into one of Mexico’s brightest stars – become a blueprint for the fact that identity is more than just a birth certificate? Or Canada’s Stephen Eustáquio, also dealing with the heartache of losing both parents (something I sadly know too well), did his winner against South Africa in the Round of 32 shake you to your very core? Or how about Morocco’s Ayyoub Bouaddi, at 18 years old, how is it possible that he created that level of midfield magic against the Brazilians? Or anyone? Did you feel slightly Congolese when Yoanne Wissa scored the nation’s first ever World Cup goal in that draw against Portugal? Did you hear the Azteca from wherever you were in the continent? Did you feel the intensity of its people as the anthem and “Cielito Lindo” played through millions of Mexican voices? How good is 17-year-old Gilberto Mora? No, really. Aren’t you inspired by his journey and what may come? Could he maybe join you in Madrid one day, Jude? Also, Jude? How did it feel to sing Wonderwall in the altitudes of Mexico City or listen to your country serenade you with a song so iconic such as “Hey Jude,” that it now has two meanings because of your name, do you realize how much you’re loved? Did England’s incredible victory against El Tri become the ultimate display of sacrifice, will and guts? Speaking of love, is there a better word than can describe the Tartan Army’s relationship with their Scottish team? Or Boston? Or Miami? Or anywhere in America? Why can’t I go to sleep without thinking about Amad Diallo’s historic goal for his Ivory Coast or Julián Álvarez’s majestic winner against Switzerland? Why do I not care if Norway’s Andreas Schjelderup meant it or not? Or if I can’t stop analyzing the illustrious creativity of the genius Michael Olise? Is there a better highlight to show young players than Cucho Hernandez’s relentless fight to win the ball from Uzbekistan’s Jakhongir Urozov near the corner flag, recovering it and then placing a pinpoint assist for Jaminton Campaz? Is there a better show of strength and will than the Netherlands’ Brian Brobbey? Can we keep playing on loop the persistence and dynamic ability of the Swiss Johan Manzambi? Do I need to reflect more on Lionel Messi’s emotions after the final, or can I just remember everything else before? Can I save his magic, including Argentina’s first goal of the World Cup, which was against Algeria? And by the end, it became a historic hat-trick? Is Golden Boot winner and all-time leader Kylian Mbappé real or is this a simulation? Which goal can I select that will make me think he perhaps isn’t mortal? His stoppage-time winner against Senegal, which made him France’s all-time scorer? Or the history breaker against England in the third-place playoff? Speaking of that match, Jude – my goodness? Have you recovered? Was your goal so good it took a piece of you? Back to you Erling. Do you realize that your goals, especially the one against Brazil, ignited a nation towards a global Viking row? Is your social media presence tired of generating more and more fans? Do you realize the commotion and excitement that you created for millions of people and turned them into Haaland disciples? Does your partner, Isabel, approve of your “Whiskey Raccoon” holding an empty liquor bottle that you brought back home and will she let you keep it in the house or will she make you put it in the basement? Also, did you know Erling — that in my Peru, nearly 500 Peruvian babies who were born this summer now have your name? Now that’s DEDICATION. That’s impact. When you stop sipping on your latte, Erling, as a striker, can you explain to me how Haiti’s Wilson Isidor was able to produce that kind of power with his goal against Morocco? Or the piece of art that was Cape Verde’s Sidny Lopes Cabral against Argentina? Does anyone realize that the latter essentially broke the internet? It made us all believe in something bigger than ourselves, right? How about those incredible comebacks? From Belgium’s over Senegal or Gabriel Martinelli’s winner against Japan? Did you feel alive with Ecuador’s historic win over Germany? Or Paraguay’s? How about Curaçao’s Eloy Room? Did his 15 saves against the aforementioned Ecuador suddenly create a window for him and his beautiful island to be globally recognized? Wasn’t it just a thing of beauty to see so much resilience? Speaking of resilience. Hey Vozinha? Do you want another coffee? By the way, how is your life now? No, really? Do you understand that your heroics, your insane performances and those of your teammates at this World Cup impacted so many of us? Are you wishing you went back to normalcy? Perhaps, part of you does? Or are you taking it all in? Is it okay for me to tell you that what you did, for me and millions of us, absolutely became a reminder of why we love this game of ours in the first place? Are you okay with the fact that your life will never be the same again? Is it fine for me to tell you that we are so grateful for what you and the Blue Sharks did? Is there a perfect way to express the fact that your national team became the muse, the proverbial star of this World Cup? Do you also remind Rodri, the World Cup champion sitting next you, that he may have won this whole thing but La Roja never went past you? Do you cheekily remind him of that? Speaking of Spain, Rodri, what makes this team so special? Why should the rest of the footballing world admire not just the way you play football but the way you treat others and the game—do you think about your impact? How does it feel to know that you are the ultimate general of an army that wonders us all with possession and intoxicates you with the relentless pursuit of getting it back? Do you contemplate another way, or is this the only way to live? Is this the way we should all see the game? What was Pau Cubarsí born with that makes him such a giant, despite only being 19? Speaking of that generation, is Lamine Yamal okay with the fact that his three-year-old brother Keyne is the actual hero? Can we remember the words you said of Ferran Torres, how he was so unappreciated by so many Spanish fans but in the end, his winner ended up deeply embedded in history? Can we put that in our photo album? Lastly, fellas. Is there a perfect, singular way to describe what we witnessed this summer? Or is it really just a mosaic of reflections? An island of treasures? Or should we just use a Pearl Jam lyric here and simply say, “Hail, Hail the lucky ones, I refer to those in love yeah…” Because quite simply, World Cup moments. I want you to know: we all fell in love with you. Don’t worry, boys. I’ll get the check.​Latest Sports News from FOX Sports

NEW YORK NEW JERSEY STADIUM — I’ve often joked that ranking World Cups is like choosing between your children: They’re all different and unique. You don’t love one above another. It just doesn’t work that way. The 2026 FIFA World Cup was the sixth, men’s or women’s, that I’ve had the privilege of covering. The first five took me to Brazil, Canada, France, Qatar, Australia and New Zealand. Each was incredibly special. Years earlier, as a young professional, I hoped to cover one, one day, if I worked my ass off and maybe got a bit lucky. Until this summer, I couldn’t have picked a favorite if my life depended on it. But a home World Cup like this summer’s? That was a new experience for me, just like it was for most of my colleagues. The feeling is hard to describe. We all went into it knowing full well that it’s probably a once-in-a-career thing. Now the biggest, most spectacular World Cup of all time is over. And as I sit here typing in a mostly empty 80,000-seat arena after Spain beat Argentina in Sunday’s final, watching La Roja’s players on the field below me celebrate their well-deserved triumph with their families, I’m filled with gratitude — and maybe a little sadness, too. Part of that is exhaustion, having been on the road and away from my family for almost two full months. That will subside. The memories won’t: The way the United States men’s national team ran out to an early lead against Paraguay in the first World Cup match on U.S. soil in 32 years, then ran away with the match en route to a historic 4-1 victory that captured the imagination of the American public. How the upper deck at Seattle Stadium began vibrating when VAR awarded Alex Freeman’s goal in the USA’s 2-0 win over Australia, the first time the U.S. had ever won two straight World Cup games. I was in Los Angeles to witness Canada, led by American coach Jesse Marsch, win a World Cup knockout game for the first time in that country’s history. A couple of days later, in the San Francisco Bay Area, Mauricio Pochettino’s 10-man U.S. squad not only survived a red card against Bosnia and Herzegovina but actually padded its lead on the way to a 2-0 win — just the second knockout victory in this country’s history, even if it came in the new round of 32. Unfortunately, that was as good as it got for the World Cup co-hosts. By the time you read this, it will have been more than two weeks since Pochettino’s team squandered an incredibly rare opportunity with 50 million in the U.S. watching live, getting embarrassed, 4-1, by Belgium, even after striker Folarin Balogun was controversially allowed to play by FIFA despite the red card he received against the Bosnians. It’s still difficult to understand how the home team, playing in front of another incredible crowd up in Seattle, was so unprepared for that game and so unable to find a way back when things started to go so horribly wrong, despite having the most decorated and handsomely paid coach it’s ever had. It was the largest margin of defeat the U.S. has suffered in a World Cup knockout match since 1934 and will probably remain so for decades. Yet despite the ugly loss, the Americans surely won millions of new fans this summer. For other countries, the World Cup continued. I was fortunate enough to see England and Norway’s hard-fought quarterfinal in Miami, and while the battle between the sport’s two most lethal pure center forwards — Harry Kane and Erling Haaland — didn’t materialize, it was a treat to watch Jude Bellingham steal the show with both of the Three Lions’ goals in a 2-1, extra-time win. That night, writing in a hotel lobby between bites of a Cuban sandwich, I was struck by England’s fans cheering for Switzerland as passionately as they had for their own team hours earlier. They wanted no part of Lionel Messi and Argentina, one confirmed. That fear soon proved justified. For me, the highlight of this World Cup came in England’s next match. Say what you will about Thomas Tuchel’s tactics after his Three Lions took a 1-0 lead over the defending champions, but watching La Albiceleste claw back two goals in the last five minutes, plus stoppage time, with the incomparable Messi setting up both, is not something I’ll ever forget. And not just because an Argentine journalist sitting to my right in the press box — where merely applauding politely is usually forbidden — removed his shirt and began swinging it around his head in celebration. On the streets of Atlanta afterward, one comically inebriated English fan challenged every Argentine he saw to a fistfight. Fortunately for him, all were too drunk on victory to oblige. Which takes us to Sunday’s grand finale. If every World Cup tournament is special, the final is on another level still. While Sunday’s didn’t match the drama of the 2022 decider I saw in Lusail, Qatar on Dec. 18, 2022 (no, I didn’t have to look up the date), there’s always this cosmic energy surrounding the title bout. You know more than a billion people across the globe are tuned in, that history is being written in real time before your very eyes. I can vividly recall where I watched every final since I caught the soccer bug as a kid. Getting to work the last two men’s versions in person is an immense privilege, an aspirational milestone everyone in this business works toward for years or sometimes decades before finally getting there — if they ever do. For someone raised in New York City, Sunday was the ultimate full-circle moment. In my early 20s, I covered MLS games across the parking lot at the old Giants Stadium. A decade before that, on a similarly sunny, sticky summer afternoon in 1994, I saw my first World Cup game in the same building, with my father. Soccer in mainstream America was a curiosity then. As these 39 days have proven, this is a soccer country now. Although I hope to cover more World Cups in the future, this one will be impossible to top. That’s the magic of the World Cup. It’s the memories that make them great.​Latest Sports News from FOX Sports