THE RED DOOR swings open and, instantly, you are transported from the quiet of a cool West Hollywood summer evening and into Stevie Alger’s colorful world of “Art At The Afters.”

The 29-year-old native Australian’s living room is crowded with dozens of paintings and canvases in all colors and sizes, with some commissions already wrapped and signed, (1 of 1) by Stevie Alger. Considering the former swimwear model’s slight build, her volume of work seems colossal. Yet, it’s Alger’s tomboyish charm, an endearing energetic mixture of self-belief and disarming humility, that occupies the most space in the room.

“I’ve never thought I’m good at it, but I’m just confident in it,” Alger says, whipping paints together in a cup while seated on the floor as she works on a piece beyond the midnight hour. “I’m not living to impress anyone else. Like, it’s art! Let me just paint, bro, you know?”

One night, her living room TV is grooving ‘80’s disco; on another, it’s thumping house DJ festival sets. The couch seats an ever-changing cast of characters — creatives, entrepreneurs, and professionals all navigating the chaos and pressures of Hollywood hustle.

The constant is Alger, who’s built her own community of Los Angeles’ nightlife scene — as varied as the assortment of colors on her palette — by creating a space where art is the social glue.

“I just chill, I just zone out, and I just… I just can be me for a second,” Alger says of having people over as she paints. She admits that it still “feels weird” that people are impressed with her work. She spreads pinks, blues, and yellows across a canvas as she further reveals a humbling self-perception, likening her plaudits to celebrating someone who jumps rope for fun. “I don’t have to try for anything. It’s not like I’m a singer who has to try to do a good song. Like, maybe we all can do this.”

STEVIE ALGER IS delightfully comfortable in her own skin. That self-comfort anchors the freedom she paints with. Her style is influenced by abstractionism and expressionism, but when asked to define it herself, she scoffs at the idea of conformity. “I think someone asked me that early on,” she says, “and I was like, ‘Can I just be me?’ Like, why does art have to be this category of a certain type of painting? To me, it’s boring and it boxes you in.”

It’s 1:28 a.m. as she works on a faceless painting — the pinks, yellows and blues now coating the bottom and midsection of the canvas, with blobs of teal, olive green, violet, and titanium white all fixed where a face will eventually be. By 2:29 a.m., the piece is lying on its left side, the blobs neatly blending into a psychedelic mix.

“Honestly, just not giving a fuck, that’s my symbolism,” Alger says, her down-to-earth tone balancing the candidness of her words. “I don’t have a plan. I just do it.”

For many who have stared at a blank canvas before, that sentiment is relatable; for those more precious about process, it’s a potential demerit. Somewhat in defiance of her own independent nature, there are self-mandated principles that Alger, who’s now reading a mini manifesto off her iPhone, will follow. She will not make boring art or art that tries too hard. She will make art that makes people think, feel, and talk. And, she will “release my inner weirdo.”

“The work that survives,” she declares, “is either unforgettable or deeply human. And mine will be both.”

The reasoning for Alger’s approach, however, goes even deeper.

“I have night terrors, like, every night,” she explains. “I’ve always had real bad nightmares my whole life. It’s faces. I could watch dragons or zombies or aliens, it doesn’t scare me. But if it’s a person’s face, that’ll stick with me, and they stick for months.” Growing up, among the scariest were Green Goblin from Spider-Man and Dobby from Harry Potter. She tried combatting this fear by hanging dreamcatchers in her bedroom.

“My friend was like, ‘Stevie, do you think that you paint faceless faces because they haunt you?’” she recalls. “And I was like, ‘Holy shit! Maybe, like, subconsciously.’ I didn’t even know I was doing it, you know?”

Painting is a form of therapy for Alger, who hails from the Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia. Growing up, she’d often sit in corners and paint. “I’ve always been a creative person,” she says. “I don’t know, I just found peace in it. I don’t really know why.”

Alger remembers winning a painting contest when she was 7, and painting in a little gallery after school. As a teenager, while attending high school in Strasbourg, France, she’d make classmates personalized graffiti pieces, scribbling their names on canvas and using Sharpies to fill in details. “People would buy it off me,” she smiles, thinking about some of her earliest commissions. She moved to California in 2022, but, as a full-time marketing specialist, painting was only a hobby — until one night in late 2025.

It was 2 a.m. and she was back home with some friends after a night of partying. “Someone fell asleep in my room, so I tried to keep two other friends, like, entertained,” she says. “I had this canvas, and we were just talking and made these crazy little paintings.” She posted the pieces online, selling three for $50 each. The next night, she sold a handful of pieces for $100 each.

“And then,” Alger explains, “it just kept going.”

The requests rolled in — as strange as they increasingly became. Sexy Homer Simpson. Elmo on fire. A dragon. An Adderall-eating bull.

A friend gave her a bigger canvas, and she began trying bigger pieces. She shows an example of one finished product, playing a video of an L.A.-based content creator unveiling a painting Alger made of his dog. “Shout out, Stevie!” he chirps at the end.

Art At The Afters had unintentionally become its own phenomenon.

Alger’s stockpile of art supplies and radical hospitality means if you enter the red door, expect to partake in the painting, too. Phones are discouraged. “Granted, everyone’s a little bit buzzed, but everyone’s present,” Alger says, dabbing her brush into another mixing tray. “Everyone’s sitting down and chatting, and then the people who don’t want to paint, they just sit and watch, and they get mesmerized almost. Everyone says it makes them feel like a kid again.”

By March, Alger had sold over 100 pieces. She had her first-ever showing at The Continental in downtown Los Angeles in April. A vortex-like abstraction earned the most appreciation from friends and followers; the secret behind it is that she was simply messing around, painting the No. 8.

Alger hadn’t set out to rise through the fine art world, a famously insular space, so quickly. “It’s just it’s so like healing for me because I don’t really know where this is ever gonna go,” she says. “But it’s going somewhere.”

She sold her first collection and secured her first studio space in May. By June, she’d sold over 150 pieces and three more collections. In July, she joined up with a curator who’s representing her internationally, with an eye towards showing at Art Basel.

“Knowing that this could be my life, I would have followed this dream way earlier,” she says. “I’ve always suppressed it. I thought my way of getting art out was, like, going to be via marketing, graphic design. I thought, ‘painting, it seems so juvenile.’” She glides her brush across the canvas as she further reflects, recognizing the permission she’s given herself to embark on her journey.

“I just wanna be Stevie. I just wanna be seen for me and, like, me is okay,” she says. “When you’re not there to impress anyone, you end up impressing more people. I’ll never be the prettiest girl in any room, but I’ll be more fucking confident than anyone.”

STEVIE ALGER’S INSPIRATION is unplanned. Her subject matter is wide-ranging, including abstracts, solitary figures, boats, cowboys, and sports.

While she used to worry that art was too juvenile, it’s the child-like expressiveness she paints with that makes her art so compelling. She hates going into hotels and seeing plain, printed illustrations. “My stuff will never be printed, ever,” she says. “Once I make it, like, you’re gonna see the blobs on this. You’re gonna be able to touch it. And if there’s a mistake on it, I don’t even think there’s a mistake. I think that’s art.”

The definition of perfection is a perpetually moving bullseye that she’s never aspired to aim for.

“I don’t, by no means, think I’m a ‘perfect’ person,” she says. “It’s a bit of a funny word. But I think it’s just, like, being unapologetically you.”

That courage is why, as the clock reads well after 4 a.m., here she is surrounded by friends, experiencing her dreams at the times she used to fight nightmares. In her marketing work, she’s solo. “When I go out at night, I’m a social butterfly,” she explains. “I want to talk to people. I want to hang out because they’re joining my team.” Her team of supporters has helped propel what began as a small gathering into a career that she’s genuinely enjoying.

“I swear, my life makes no sense. I have so much faith that it’s working out the way it’s meant to be,” she says. “I just think I’m going to be something because, like, I believe in myself, because there’s no way that this is happening for no reason.”

Alger once feared the night. Now, she conquers it, armed with a paintbrush, dance beats, and some late-night wanderers, in one of the biggest cities in the world — and, soon, beyond.

“I don’t think you have to die anymore to be a famous artist,” Alger says. “Art can be so much more than an artist. Why can’t it be, like, a moment? Why can’t it be just fun? As a kid, whenever you paint, it’s like, ‘Oh, let’s have some fun and paint,’ right? Why can’t it still be that? It doesn’t have to be this whole, like, intense thing.

“It can be fun and successful. And maybe that’s the art of it. Maybe the art is the moment of having all your friends together and painting, and it’s not actually the pieces. Maybe it’s the story behind them.”

To get in touch with the author, reach out via email at kaelenwrites@gmail.com. To submit a story or documentary suggestion, please fill out this form. Thank you!

In 2019, Sports Illustrated sent me on assignment to follow NBA center Willie Cauley-Stein and art liaison Gardy St. Fleur around an Andy Warhol exhibit at The Whitney Museum of American Art and The Brant Foundation Center in New York City.

It is still my favorite story I’ve ever written.

I remember returning home to my Harlem apartment well after midnight and feeling deliriously inspired as I spent the next several hours writing. It is one of those pieces where I felt like I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing.

Since then, my relationship with art has deepened. I don’t claim to be an expert by any means, but consuming art (read: wandering aimlessly around art galleries and staring in awe at pieces) is one of my favorite hobbies and easily the most grounding.

There is more overlap between the fine art and sports worlds — from how they express their creativity to the social spaces they occupy — than many realize. Exploring that intersection, which feels underserved outside of “Art But Make It Sports,” is the intent of this vertical. Be warned, though: There will be stories housed here where the reporting begins with the intent of focusing on that intersection, but ends up producing a story unrelated to one or the other. Happy accidents, as one might call those.

Thank you for following along.

And thank you to all of the artists who welcome a conversation or two with me.

Welcome to The RPO Column. The idea here is simple: We have three topics. We RUN with one idea, PASS on another, and OPTION the other. After an amazing month, the 2026 World Cup is over, so let’s reflect — and look ahead.

Joan Monfort’s prophetic 2007 photoshoot of a baby Lamine Yamal being bathed by 20-year-old Lionel Messi portended a passing of the torch — Yamal’s Spain defeated Messi’s Argentina, 1-0, after extra time in Sunday’s World Cup final. While the embarrassing post-match reaction from the Argentines has deservedly (and unfortunately) stolen the spotlight from Spain’s impressive title run, Messi and Yamal closed the loop on their story with a touching embrace¹ amid the chaos:

Let’s briefly address Argentina.

Sorry, we’ve seen this behavior before. Since Enzo Fernández went live on Instagram with his bus full of teammates singing a racist chant targeting France’s Black players in July 2024, I have not held this group in decent standing. They’ve always been obnoxious winners and lousy losers, but they showed their asses constantly throughout this World Cup. It’s an unfitting finale for Messi.

Enough foolishness. Let’s celebrate!

The 2026 World Cup was the most exciting World Cup since Brazil 2014: RUN

Seriously. It’s been a while since we’ve had a tournament maintain such a high level of excitement from start to finish. (I promise that this isn’t simply a case of getting to watch every match because it was played in North America.)

Overall, this edition absolutely surpassed both Russia 2018 (geopolitics impact and only a few memorable games) and Qatar 2022 (geopolitics impact, plus it was played in November and December!). This World Cup had everything one could have dreamed of from a footballing standpoint.

• The stars shined brightest. Just look at the Golden Boot race leaderboard: France’s Kylian Mbappé (10 goals, 4 assists); Argentina’s Lionel Messi (8 goals, 4 assists); England’s Jude Bellingham (7 goals, 1 assist); Norway’s Erling Haaland (7 goals); France’s Ousmane Dembélé (6 goals and 2 assists); and England’s Harry Kane (6 goals, 1 assist). That’s as glittery as it gets. France’s Michael Olise also dropped 7 assists, surpassing Brazilian legend Pelé’s 56-year-old record for most at a single World Cup. Yamal might have underwhelmed in the numbers department (1 goal), but if you watched any of Spain’s matches, his impact and gravity were still obvious; he’s now the first teenager to win both the Euros and World Cup.

• The underdogs barked loud. Cabo Verde captured the world’s imagination during its incredible run into the knockout stage. Neither Spain or Argentina could beat Cabo Verde in regulation! Sidny Lopes Cabral curled in one of the most iconic World Cup goals — and followed it with one of the most iconic celebrations — against Argentina.

• Titanic matchups, thrilling rallies, and stunning upsets. England holding off Mexico at Estadio Azteca. Paraguay’s penalty-kick upset of Germany. Cabo Verde taking Argentina to extra time. Netherlands-Morocco going to penalties. Norway upsetting Brazil. Belgium’s ridiculous rally against Senegal. Portugal’s tech-boosted win against Croatia. Argentina’s comebacks against Egypt and England. Even the almost-pointless third-place goalfest between France and England. Spain-Argentina might’ve lacked the haymaker swings we all would’ve wanted, but it still proved dramatic. Cinematic competition.

• A trio of breakout stars were impossible to miss. Côte d’Ivoire forward Yan Diamondé and Switzerland midfielder Johan Manzambi were outstanding. Spain center back Pau Cubarsí, named the competition’s Best Young Player, anchored a defense that surrendered one goal across eight matches and had the courage to make one of the most clutch clearances I’ve ever seen during the final minutes of Sunday’s final. While no player has reached a level of breakout stardom that Colombia’s James Rodriguez enjoyed on the 2014 World Cup stage, I think Diamondé (who looks set for a move to Paris Saint-Germain) and Manzambi (who completed his transfer to Aston Villa) are names to monitor entering the next cycle. Cubarsí is already a mainstay with Barcelona — it’s easy to forget he, like Yamal, is only 19.

There’s plenty to address about the tournament’s shortcomings, but the on-field product was special.

The World Cup should expand to 64 nations: PASS

Considering FIFA appears to be taking its cues from the United States in mixing insatiable greed with the soul of sport, hopefully it learns from the Americans’ mistake with the expansion of the College Football Playoff.

Don’t mess up a good thing you stumbled into. Do not expand — 48 teams is perfect.

The players are already playing too many games. Some are playing from 50 to 80 games in a calendar year. This has been something that coaches, players, and FIFPRO have warned about for years. The alarm was raised ahead of this World Cup, too, which marked the first to expand from 32 teams to 48. That problem only worsens by expanding the field and extending the tournament.

It’s a great problem for FIFA, which would see the World Cup balloon from 104 games to 128, meaning more TV revenue. According to BBC Sport, hydration breaks likely generated more than $250 million in ad revenue in the U.S. alone.

The grandiose number of teams also waters down the significance of reaching the tournament. This cycle, 206 countries competed for 48 spots, meaning less than a quarter of nations get in. Expansion would mean more than 30% of countries reach the World Cup — i.e., odds so favorable that even Italy could find a way to qualify.

Additionally, how many nations have the infrastructure to comfortably host 64 nations — and their fans — for, what would likely be, two months of games? Nearly 7 million fans attended the 2026 World Cup, setting a record. Are multi-host World Cups going to be the norm? (The U.S.-Canada-Mexico trio was the first multi-host since 2002 Korea-Japan; Morocco-Spain-Portugal have 2030.) The World Cup is already asking too much of the players physically, and it sounds ridiculous to increase the demands of travel during the summertime (in most of the world). Visa issues hampered teams and coaching staffs at the 2026 World Cup; perhaps it’s better in different countries, but that would be something to be mindful of.

The biggest beneficiaries from potential World Cup expansion are the pockets of stakeholders and TV executives. Not the fans. Every fan should be leery of how expansion could fundamentally corrupt alter the game beyond just three-minute “hydration breaks.”

The United States should host the 2038 World Cup: OPTION

Perhaps you are surprised this isn’t a PASS. The World Cup was amazing! It also sucked. We can hold multiple truths around here.

Ahead of the World Cup, a close friend of mine (American) confessed to our years-old soccer-obsessed² group chat that he was struggling with finding joy in the World Cup happening on American soil because of No. 45 brazenly (lol!) doing whatever the hell he wants at the expense of livelihoods, here and elsewhere. I spoke with Iranian-Americans about how they were reckoning with Iran participating in a World Cup while the U.S. wages war against it. Thankfully, for everyone, the games served as a sedative, even if only a brief one, once they kicked off. But the issues didn’t stop there.

The aforementioned visa issues faced by players and traveling fans (!!!) entering the United States were extremely disheartening. Players and staff from Iran (who headquartered its team camp in Mexico instead of the U.S., where its games were played), South Africa, Senegal, Iraq, Haiti, Côte d’Ivoire, Algeria, Cabo Verde, and Tunisia each were affected by visa issues.

A Somali referee was barred from entering the U.S., despite having a valid visa because ​of links to “suspected members ​of terror organizations.” FIFA president Gianni Infantino’s response? “Maybe sometimes it’s good as well to chill, relax. We work on everything, we try to resolve everything.”

He didn’t resolve much. The fans of Iran and Haiti were subjected to severe travel bans. The U.S. suspended giving out visas to traveling fans from Senegal and Côte d’Ivoire. Rights groups and supporter organizations repeatedly cited visa difficulties for fans from Morocco, Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, Uzbekistan, Algeria, Tunisia, and Cabo Verde. (It took Cabo Verde goalkeeper Vozinha having one of the greatest performances ever to grant his mother a visa!)

Pull up a map and you’ll notice the pattern: Many of the countries affected are African, Middle Eastern, or from the Global South. The United States has a history of subjecting travelers from these nations to greater immigration scrutiny than those from Europe or the Americas.

“The claim that FIFA has made welcome to the world, unite the world to World Cup,” said Ronan Evain, executive director of Football Supporters Europe, last week, “has largely failed.”

Even for many people here in the U.S., the effort to unite through soccer wasn’t a possibility because of how overpriced tickets were. That didn’t stop people from going (including me) — if you’re a diehard soccer fan, you’re not going to skip a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see a World Cup match. FIFA suckered people like me into overpaying as it generated a record $15 billion in revenue (exact ticket and hospitality revenue isn’t known yet, but it’s forecasted to be around $3.5 billion) from the tournament. For reference, the 2022 Qatar World Cup generated a record $7.57 billion in revenue for FIFA, with ticket sales earning $949 million.

Last, but certainly not least, is the proximity of FIFA to U.S. powerbrokers who are, undoubtedly, the best in the world when it comes to greed. Greedy American billionaire influence on club soccer across the world is already rotting soccer’s soul at an ownership level. Allowing the American government to have such (obvious!) influence on the World Cup is concerning — did you see No. 45 refuse to get off stage to let the Spaniards enjoy lifting the trophy?

OK, let’s breathe.

Does all of that stuff suck? Yes.

Amid all of that, did we find reasons for why the U.S. had potential to be a great host? Also, yes³.

Samuel Hymes, a dual Fellow at Harvard University and the Economic Club of New York, has worked as a Washington, D.C.-based strategic advisor within the sports diplomacy space during the World Cup. (“Best way I can say it,” he says.) Basically, his job is to “just try to understand different values because we're welcoming people to a different place. Within sports diplomacy, many people are aware of the idea of it, but putting the two words together is really meaningful to people that they see it from a different perspective, a new understanding of what they're doing.” That meant plenty of 3 a.m. calls with people from different time zones and countries in pursuit of getting a full picture.

There were positives. Moments of viral cultural exchange — for visiting fans who managed to avoid U.S. security and/or visa holdups — proved endearing, especially the Scots’ takeover of Boston, the Norwegians’ Viking row, and a Japanese fan discovering Buc-ee’s and Texas Roadhouse. Yamal hit up a Georgia Wal-Mart and Haaland embraced his inner Texan.

“He absolutely fell in love with the culture,” Hymes notes. “Not only the people, but the whole area as well, too. … We learned from the World Cup that smaller markets — like smaller markets in Texas, smaller markets in Kansas City — can really still leave a lasting impact [on visitors from other countries].”

Hymes forwards this impression to what it could mean for the 2028 Summer Olympics, which are being hosted in Los Angeles. A handful of cities outside of Southern California — New York City, Columbus, Nashville, and St. Louis — will also host some events.

“Overall, it's going to bring more transformative growth into areas that are considered flyovers,” Hymes says. “I think it's mostly about awareness. Think about outside of England, where everyone knows the cities from the soccer clubs. But how many people can name all the towns in France? Or how many people can name all the towns in Italy?”

Here’s where the argument for the U.S. hosting the 2038 World Cup gets more realistic. The infrastructure piece already gives it an advantage — there’s even an argument the U.S. could shoulder a 48-team tournament on its own. Hosting the 2026 tournament and then having the 2028 Olympics, along with co-hosting the 2031 Women’s World Cup, provides plenty of experience. The issue that Hymes points out is whether the U.S. will have grown passion for soccer domestically enough by then to further stamp credibility.

“The only thing that it’s dependent on,” he says. “Is the media going to talk about it?”

Major League Soccer is not considered a top league. An Apple TV subscription is required to view games, aside from 34 aired on FOX networks, for a league that boasts the biggest name in the world in Messi, whose career is in its final chapter. Even with MLS slagging, though, soccer is clearly a much bigger draw now than the last time the U.S. hosted the tournament in 1994. FIFA claims that it filled its venues to 99.7% capacity at the 2026 World Cup, so interest exists. Plus, the USMNT’s run had the country watching at a record-setting pace, while (wrongly) yelling about Folarin Balogun’s red card and weirdly blaming Christian Pulisic for the Belgium loss.

So the potential, investment, and infrastructure are all there. As No. 45’s administration tries to swing its leverage against FIFA to win the rights to hosting the 2038 World Cup, there are obvious pros and cons.

“Before this World Cup, we were in the third longest drought in our country's history for not hosting a global sporting event,” Hymes says. “That is 24 years. The last one we had was 2002 in the Winter Olympics, and the ‘94 World Cup.”

If the current administration has its way, then the world will be back in 12 years. The United States has proven that it’s capable of hosting the biggest sporting event on Earth. The question is whether, by then, it will allow the world to experience the World Cup how it was always meant to be experienced.

Editor’s Notes

1. I do not own the rights to that video. It belongs to FOX. I will be nice to Alexi Lalas and never tweet mean things about him ever again, just do not come for my Substack. Apparently, the FOX broadcasts were amazing the rest of the tournament! I almost exclusively watched via Telemundo, so… congrats.

2. S/O to The Lads. “Soccer-obsessed” is just code for “I subject my friends to my inner stream of chaotic thoughts surrounding my favorite sport.”

3. To be clear, if you’re hung up on one or many of the previous issues mentioned, that’s a good thing. You have a conscience. I don’t make the rules, but my requirement for entry into World Cup performative fandom would require every person to reckon with those mentioned issues before being allowed to root for any team. And learn what a f*cking red card is!

Only 11 people have ever been born in Antarctica.

José Manuel Valladares Solis is No. 6.

Since birth, José has found himself in the middle, forced to choose a side. “If we think about 11 people,” he says, “if we do the math, we can put five in the left, five in the right, and in the middle we have six, which is me.”

Argentina and England will meet in Wednesday’s World Cup semifinal — marking their sixth-ever meeting in the tournament and first since 2002 — with a berth to the final on the line. It’s the latest chapter in one of international football’s most storied rivalries.

For José (whose nickname “Six” commemorates his birth order among native Antarcticans), Wednesday is a culmination of lifelong grappling with his identity, which he describes as “Native Antarctican by birth and conviction; Argentine by blood; and British through a paradox of international law.” Coincidentally, his reckoning comes on soccer’s biggest stage, where many have celebrated multinationalism this summer.

“One team,” Six says, “invented the sport that I love; the other team is the current champion.” Meanwhile, he can’t help but consider how his beloved Antarctica fits within the frame as two global soccer powers take the pitch.

ARGENTINE POLAR DOGS & A “MAGICAL” BIRTH

BELIEVE IT OR not, Antarctica helps inform why Argentina-England is such a heated rivalry.

Jostling over Antarctic territory began in earnest during the early 20th century. Britain asserted the first formal claim of sovereignty over the Falkland Islands Dependencies in 1908. Other nations followed suit, staking their own claims.

In 1959, 12 countries, including Argentina, Chile, and the United Kingdom, signed the Antarctic Treaty, freezing existing territorial claims and reserving Antarctica for peaceful purposes and scientific research.

But Argentina and Chile felt more ambitious about the South Pole than their peers, viewing Antarctica as a natural extension of South America. In the 1940s, both countries established overlapping territorial claims — which also overlapped with Britain’s. Argentina even established civilian settlements, most notably at Esperanza Base, which featured housing and a school.

Enter Six.

In the late 1970s, Argentina began arranging for pregnant women to give birth at Esperanza Base, with Emilio Palma’s birth the first to occur there in January 1978. Argentina’s aims spurred Chile to also institute the practice.

On January 24, 1980, Six was born at Esperanza. But it took a miracle.

Six’s father, an Argentine army colonel, was one of the country’s first Antarctic explorers — no GPS, internet, or mobile communication to explore the frozen terrain. Six’s father “was very proud, very Argentinian, very patriotic.” But Six says the colonel didn’t shy away from expressing how exploration efforts posed a significant risk, noting the lack of hospitals, airports, and general infrastructure.

But higher-ups brushed aside the colonel’s concerns; those worries proved correct when a fire damaged the Esperanza Base’s facilities. Luckily, an emergency radio call reached Buenos Aires about a pregnancy complication, connecting despite wintry winds traveling over 200km/h (or ~124mph).

Six’s father, already skeptical of the Argentine junta government’s plan, was upset. He asked the president for help, but was told, “If we are lucky, the help will get there in three months.” So, the colonel improvised.

A 14-person crew flew in on two helicopters and headed toward Esperanza. A journalist who joined the trip to document Argentina’s Antarctic presence rode in a tracked snow vehicle below — but it got stuck in an ice crevasse.

Six’s father relinquished his helicopter seat to the journalist. “From the crew, the only one that have experience in Antarctica was my father,” Six says. “He got a sled — he got the Argentinian polar dogs — and with his sub officer, [he] start[ed] the way to Esperanza Base by Earth in a sled.”

While the colonel’s dogs dashed along the dangerous icy landscape, his wife went into labor early. The clock ticked.

Half an hour… 45 minutes… an hour… an hour and a half…

“My dad did not arrive,” Six says. “My mom got worried. When my father arrived, I was already born — kilo and a half, six months pregnancy. Nowadays, premature babies have a hard time to survive, and I survived in a fire base, without nothing. I mean, I think it's meant to be.”

Of the 11 born in Antarctica, Six is the only one born within the Antarctic British Territory and the only British citizen; he says that, according to British law, the other 10 native Antarcticans also were born within the same territory, but are not British citizens. All of the others were planned births that arrived on time. Six arrived early.

“It’s other 10 native Antarcticans; it’s other seven Argentinian native Antarcticans; it’s other three Chilean native Antarcticans,” he says. “But it’s only one and only British native Antarctican, which is me.”

His mother insisted that it was divine intentions for his birth to happen early, essentially, without any neonatal infrastructure.

“My mom,” Six fondly recalls. “She smiled and she said, ‘Well, I believe that Antarctica has something that it’s difficult to explain with words. Something magical or mystical.’”

“YOU TOOK MY ISLANDS, I’M TAKING YOUR GAME”

IT DOES NOT take long to realize that Six is unapologetically himself. Across each conversation, his voice rises with excitement, he double-checks for clarity (he’s self-conscious of his English, which isn’t bad at all), and smiles a bunch. “The idea,” he cheerfully says of his goal in sharing his story, “is to spread the word and try to come up with a positive message, basically.”

That optimism wasn’t always there. With his father in the Argentine military, Six’s family lived all over the country; “I only spent two months of my life in Antarctica,” he says. “They got the plane and they took me to Argentina.” Growing up, he wanted to and followed in his father’s footsteps, joining the army, too. For most of Six’s early life, Antarctica wasn’t at the forefront of his identity. It was simply the land where he’d be born.

“I would say, until I quit the army,” Six says, “I was 100% Argentinian.”

Argentine identity carries a powerful sense of national pride. It might not be unique to their culture, but it is distinctive. So it makes sense that Six felt so passionate — especially given the political climate at the time that influenced what being Argentine meant.

Two years after Six was born, the Falklands/Malvinas War broke out. Argentina’s military junta, which had seized power in March 1976, invaded the British-controlled islands roughly 300 miles off the coast of Argentina. The regime was losing control and faced mounting civil unrest and criticism, so it banked on seizing the Malvinas as a way to earn favor.

Six’s father was barred from fighting by the Argentine leadership, because, Six says, “he knew that my father will never surrender.” The British recaptured the territory and the conflict ended after 74 days, leaving 649 Argentines, 255 Brits, and 3 Falkland Islanders dead. Protests across Argentina spread in the following days, leading to the end of the junta dictatorship and Argentina restoring democracy in 1983.

But the Falklands/Malvinas War did more than restore democracy — it left a wound with a group of people that takes an exceptional amount of pride in its cultural identity.

“I understand why, because I know Argentinians — I'm Argentinian, too,” Six explains. “They feel like [they need] revenge.”

The soccer pitch is where those feelings have played out. Since the conflict, plenty of history has been written about England and Argentina’s clashes.

The first time the teams met in 1966 — the first and only year England’s men have won the World Cup — Argentine defender Antonio Rattín’s dismissal for dissent and police escort off the field helped inspire the introduction of yellow and red cards. But it’s what happened in the aftermath of the Falklands/Malvinas conflict that elevated the matchup into an iconic, contentious rivalry.

During the 1986 World Cup in Mexico, only a few years removed from the Malvinas conflict, Diego Maradona scored two quarterfinal goals against England to lift Argentina to a 2-1 win: the highly controversial “Hand of God” and the impeccably stunning “Goal of the Century.” Years later, Maradona would admit, “This was revenge. We all said beforehand that we shouldn’t mix football with the Malvinas, but that was a lie — an absolute lie. We thought about nothing else. It was much more than eliminating England from the World Cup.”

That encounter was encored by a controversial David Beckham red card after a challenge on Diego Simeone in the 1998 World Cup. Then in 2002, Beckham scored a redemptive, decisive penalty after a foul by Mauricio Pochettino on Michael Owen.

Although the English won the last head-to-head matchup, Argentina has won three World Cups (1978, ‘86, and 2022), earning more notable results than England. “As someone who grew up there,” says Six, who began playing soccer in Argentina at 11 years old, “it’s a religion.” Lionel Messi is widely considered the greatest player of all time, with no British products coming close.

The Argentines love singing “el que no salta es un inglés” which translates to: “He who does not jump is an Englishman.” Revenge — going into Wednesday’s kickoff, at least — has been sweet.

“You took my islands,” Six says of the Argentine mindset, “I’m taking your game.”

“IT IS HOW I FEEL”

AS ARGENTINA EARNED symbolic vengeance on the pitch, Six began expanding his horizons.

In 2007, Six moved to the United States because he was a member of an international student program. His father had passed away, and his solidified identity began to evolve. “I was very proud about Argentina,” Six says. “I never cared about the rest of the world. My center was Argentina, you know? I really believe I changed for better. I learned when I was 27 that the world was bigger than Argentina, start knowing that people from different parts of the globe, they were similar to me, you know? So I start changing.”

While studying at Hodges University in Fort Myers, Florida, Six’s visa was nearing expiration when he befriended a Texan man named Zach, “my American angel,” who helped him learn about a British law that, because he had been born in the British Antarctic Territory, allowed him to apply for British citizenship.

His Florida friends urged him to avoid London and instead move to Newcastle, noting Argentine defender Fabricio Coloccini played for the city’s Premier League club at the time. (Argentine striker Carlos Tevez was shining for Manchester City at this time, too.)

In 2011, Six moved to Newcastle. “Coming from a military background, knowing about the Malvinas War,” he remembers wondering, “how the hell they are gonna be treating me? They were super friendly, super polite, and I tried to explain to my Argentinian friends. In Argentina, it’s a big deal. In the U.K., it’s not. It’s one more conflict that they have. They have a war against Argentina, against France, against — how many wars do they have?”

Upon arriving in England, he recalls playing on a pickup soccer team started by a new friend, Henry. The team featured players of Mexican, Colombian, and English descent.

“I think football, or soccer, has something mystical or magical, too,” Six says, “which is getting people together.”

He stayed in England for three months before moving to Spain. But, he says, “my connection to Britain was never about how long I lived there. It’s part of my legal identity.”

Seeing the world softened Six’s heart. It also inspired him to consider and reckon with his identity.

“I'm not half Argentinian and half British,” Six says. “I'm a native Antarctican, 100% completely native Antarctican. Also, I'm Argentinian. Also, I'm British. It's not half and half. It is how I feel.”

“Living between those two worlds,” he later adds, “shaped the way I see identity, football and even friendship.”

Six’s pride is in defiance of what governing bodies across the world fail to recognize. The Antarctic Treaty, signed in 1959 in Washington, D.C., does not address the status of Antarctic-born people because, well, it was written under the assumption that the continent had no permanent or indigenous population. They are granted no distinct political recognition, nor are they granted representation in governance over the continent — that responsibility rests with the Consultative Parties to the Antarctic Treaty.

Six, and other native Antarcticans (who each have numbered nicknames based on their birth order) have formed the Native Antarctican Foundation to raise awareness and dispute that their omission from Antarctic Treaty System leaves them unrecognized.

“Imagine that, to get citizenship, it can be by soil or by blood,” Six explains, “and Argentina and Chile send people to [be] born in a place that they don't have the sovereignty.” Essentially, he argues that the countries tried to game sovereignty rules to their advantage, leaving the resulting human beings, like Six, legally and existentially awkward.

Of course, that awkwardness and subsequent reckoning with identity has made personal life more complicated for Six than perhaps it would be if he’d just been born in Argentina. Ahead of Wednesday’s game, he shared an A.I. graphic of himself wearing a split jersey between Argentina and England.

“First one that comment was my brother, who is part of the armed forces in Argentina,” Six says. “He called me through the phone, ‘What are you doing wearing an English shirt?!’”

While he acknowledges comprehension for why Argentines are not in agreement with his split loyalties, Six’s optimism and hope for people to put aside their differences, within reasonable context, pushes through. He reflects on how inclusive the Beautiful Game is and even how Antarctica is one of the most collaborative environments in the world. He hasn’t returned to Antarctica since leaving at 2 months old. He says he simply hasn’t had the opportunity.

“In Antarctica,” Six explains, “Ukrainians and Russians are not shooting each other, [they] are cooperating. Chileans and Argentinians, or Argentinians and British people, they cooperate.”

“I'm [going to] continue trying to explain that together we are stronger,” he adds. “You know, why we need to split?”

Perhaps Six, who now resides in Spain, is meant to always stand within that gap. In the face of an existential paradox, that’s exactly where he seems meant to be.

“I was a baby,” he says. “I just decided to come to this world in that part of the globe. And from the 11, it's the only case that was not planned. I think maybe God put this mission on me, you know?”

^{Video courtesy of José Manuel Valladares Solis}

Sport may be one of the last shared cultural languages, capable of unifying almost anyone, regardless of gender, race, religion, or political beliefs.

“Sport doesn’t live in society simply as performance,” TAPE TUESDAY guest Dr. Daniel T. Durbin says. “We have to communicate about it.”

STORY: On GeoSports, 82-0 & Sports Media

As time, society, technology, and culture evolve, the ways we tell sports stories — and, in turn, how they’re consumed — evolve, too.

“You have a whole generation now,” Durbin says, “for whom sport is not defined as: No. 1) the NFL, No. 2) everything else, and No. 3) anything that’s not American. It really has changed the sports experience, and back to what you’re interested in [regarding the role games like 82-0 and GeoSports play in the sports media landscape] as well. One of the things is that they create community. So much of what we can do now with sports is frame it around whatever our momentary interest is.”

This week, Dr. Durbin, director of USC’s Annenberg Institute of Sports, Media, and Society, guides us through a fun examination of how community and narrative are inseparable elements of sport that make it an essential part of society. He explains why games like 82-0 and GeoSports have a role in today’s evolving sports media landscape, and represent a noteworthy evolution in how fans gather, participate, and experience sports together.

_{HOUSEKEEPING
Cover Art: Basketball (Convention Hall, Philadelphia) (1935), by Michael Leone (American, 1906-1982)
Music: “Loosin’ Up” by Wendy Marcini; “Ruby” by Ennio Mano
Host/Produced/Edited: Kaelen}

Welcome to The RPO Column. The idea here is simple: We have three topics. We RUN with one, PASS on another, and OPTION the other. With the United States knocked out of the 2026 FIFA World Cup, I decided to quit yapping in my group chats, spare those poor suckers of my thoughts, and just write them out instead. Enjoy!

All that fuss over Folarin Balogun’s red card proved to be a gargantuan waste of time.

The United States men’s soccer team was undone by mental lapses and, ultimately, outclassed by one of Europe’s best in a 4-1 drumming against Belgium in the 2026 World Cup’s Round of 16. This marks the second straight World Cup the USMNT has been dumped out in the Round of 16 (and aside from failing to qualify for Russia 2018, the fourth straight time the team has bowed out at this stage).

To call the result deflating feels like an understatement.

A spectacular 4-1 opening win against Paraguay set the bar and the hype unreasonably high, while a win against Australia to comfortably clinch reaching the Round of 32 maintained optimism. In retrospect, though, the difficulty of the Australia result and the infamous 2-0 win over Bosnia-Herzegovina should have been clear warning signs.

The USMNT is in the exact same spot that it was last cycle — capable of emerging as the best from among the world’s scrappiest, yet still unworthy of sharing the pitch with the world’s classiest.

As the U.S. Soccer Federation once again licks its wounds and faces many of the same tough questions hanging over it from four years ago, below, we address some of those issues.

The window for USMNT’s current generation is shut: RUN

The USMNT’s 26-man World Cup roster ranked among the youngest at the World Cup, tied for 12th with Bosnia-Herzegovina. (26.38 years old, per Redditor Safe-Pea-1832.) And that’s with 38-year-old defender Tim Ream dragging that number in the more experienced direction.

Coach Mauricio Pochettino’s regular starting XI at the 2026 World Cup looked like this:

Goalkeeper: Matt Freese, 27 years old (NYCFC, MLS)

Defenders (right to left): Alex Freeman, 21 (Villarreal, La Liga); Chris Richards, 26 (Crystal Palace, English Premier League); Ream, 38 (Charlotte FC, MLS); Antonee “Jedi” Robinson, 28 (Fulham, EPL)

Midfielders: Tyler Adams, 27 (Bournemouth, EPL); Weston McKennie, 27 (Juventus, Serie A); Malik Tillman, 24 (Bayer Leverkusen 04, Bundesliga)

Forwards: Sergiño Dest, 25 (PSV Eindhoven, Eredivisie); Christian Pulisic, 27 (AC Milan, Serie A); Folarin Balogun, 25 (AS Monaco, Ligue 1)

This XI has an average age of 26.8, which means this is a lineup presently in its prime. Four years from now, U.S. stalwarts in Robinson, Adams, McKennie, and Pulisic will be on the other side of 30. Outside of the preferred XI, midfielders Gio Reyna (23 — Borussia Mönchengladbach, Bundesliga) and Sebastian Berhalter (25 — Vancouver Whitecaps, MLS) were Poch’s favorite subs during the tournament. For whatever reason, fullback Joe Scally (23, Borussia Mönchengladbach, Bundesliga), wingback/forward Tim Weah (26 — Marseille, Ligue 1), and midfielder Brenden Aaronson (25, Leeds, EPL) couldn’t break into Poch’s rotation. Most of these players, if they feature, will be on the backend of their primes by the time the Spain-Morocco-Portugal World Cup starts.

On Monday, Belgium left star winger Jeremy Doku and legends Romelu Lukaku and Kevin De Bruyne on the bench, and still dominated in every facet. Whether you’re a Eurosnob or an MLS apologist, Monday simply wasn’t a good day for either faction of U.S. Soccer fandom. Pulisic and McKennie are Serie A starters (we can discuss the current quality of the league on another day); Adams, Richards, and Robinson are Premier League starters. Robinson is the only player of that group who played well; the rest underwhelmed on the biggest stage where they were expected to lead the way. Ream and Freese each had “what are you doing!” moments that led to goals. Freeman, an MLS alum, and Berhalter had decent outings, though.

Regardless of league, there simply aren’t many u25 USMNT players currently inspiring much confidence for the next cycle, not at the levels that this group reached. Of course, things can change in an instant and a new star could emerge years from now — just look at Freeman, who only made his national team debut last summer and ended up a crucial contributor at the World Cup. As is the case with Balogun, there could also be a dual-national out there who can’t break into a top national team and sees a pathway with the USMNT. The latter method isn’t unethical. However, its mercenary nature is an inexcusable demerit against the level of development that the U.S. federation has long been incapable of.

Below are a handful of names that might be worth keeping an eye on/have been mentioned at reputable places and/or Reddit:

• Noahkai Banks, 19 (FC Augsburg, Bundesliga): a 6’4” center back. Not much more to say here, other than, Thank you, Footy Gods!

• Cavan Sullivan, 16 (Philadelphia Union, MLS): This is probably the most rational Reddit analysis I’ve ever read when it comes to tempering expectations for a teenage attacker being touted as The Next Big Thing. Anyway, Poch turning to Reyna, who’s not very mobile but remains a gifted dribbler, is a sign that the USMNT is lacking in dribblers. Let’s hope Sullivan lives up to his potential.

• Diego Luna, 22 (Real Salt Lake, MLS): I felt extremely bad for this guy getting left out of the World Cup squad — Telemundo ads featured him prominently a month ago, and I once snagged a pic of a World Cup-themed rideshare car with his face plastered on it. That said, maybe he’s around in 2030, in his prime, to contribute in the attack. The U.S. likely could’ve used him in some capacity vs. Belgium.

• Caleb Wiley, 21 (Chelsea, EPL): Being a youth player associated with Chelsea used to mean something. But since arriving from MLS’ Atlanta United, Wiley has bounced around both Strasbourg (six appearances) and Watford (15 apps.). He could be a potential Jedi understudy in a few years.

• Damion Downs, 22 (Southampton, EFL Championship): In case Balogun falls off, perhaps this guy steps in. Although, these comments about his output and career moves are a little concerning.

• Cole Campbell, 20 (Borussia Dortmund, Bundesliga): If you support a top European club, there’s a decent chance you’ve fielded a player developed by Dortmund. The academy produced Pulisic — perhaps Campbell could be the next star American winger to emerge from BVB.

STORY: The Rise of USMNT's Alex Freeman

The players are solely at fault for the performance: PASS

I think two things are true here: 1.) the USMNT players looked timid and got outplayed, 2.) Pochettino got out-managed.

There’s simply no defending this:

There’s also no defending this:

These are player mental lapses that can’t happen. It’s a deep lack of decisiveness and an unfortunate revelation that the moment was simply too big for some.

That said, let’s be very honest: While it’s encouraging that many members of the USMNT play in Europe’s top leagues, there is currently no superstar who would unquestionably feature in a starting XI for any of the top nations — even though, as we just established, this USMNT starting XI is in its prime. The Adams-McKennie-Tillman midfield trio performed well through previous games, but got completely overrun by Belgium’s Youri Tielemans, Nicolas Raskin, and Hans Vanaken. The Belgians telegraphed seemingly every pass. The USMNT players had very little confidence on the ball and were easily dispossessed any time they tried dribbling by the Belgians. Worst of all, the U.S. players rarely easily controlled the ball with their first touch, which, to me, is the best indicator of the lack of quality. The lights looked too bright for the USMNT and Belgium’s quick response to Tillman’s equalizer seemed to numb them.

Pochettino has coached this roster for nearly two years — he is surely aware of his players’ limitations. His $6.8 million salary reportedly makes him the third-highest paid World Cup coach. He is regarded as being one of the best tacticians in the world; Jedi Robinson is, perhaps, the only player on the USMNT roster who can say his standing among his positional peers is comparable to Poch’s standing among fellow coaches.

Poch’s system set the table for the USMNT’s thrashing of Paraguay. It’s up to a reader’s discretion how much credit Poch deserves for the U.S. scoring early against Paraguay and Australia and maintaining those advantages. Regardless, Poch is paid to be the difference maker on the touchline because the USMNT lacks one on the pitch. He failed to be that on Monday against Belgium.

The lapses in the USMNT backline felt eerily reminiscent of the routine mental lapses in Chelsea’s backline when Poch was in charge. The burden placed on isolated ballcarriers and a lack of dynamic attacking patterns — which allowed Belgium to sit back defensively and play passing lanes — felt eerily similar to what made Poch’s Chelsea attacks annoyingly anemic. I won’t speak for Tottenham fans, but I would bet their squads experienced similar issues under Poch. That said, for someone getting the full Poch Ball experience for the first time, it would appear blatantly obvious to call out the players for not doing their jobs. For those subjected to Poch coaching their clubs before, these are simply typical symptoms of his management.

Monday’s loss to Belgium drops the U.S. to 1-7 against European opponents since Poch took over. At some point a trend is more than that. Similar to the defensive lapses and stagnant movement of off-ball players in possession, it’s now a habit.

Poch is now 17-11-2 since taking over the USMNT. Until this World Cup run, I felt mostly indifferent to him leading the team — I was familiar with his pedigree, aware how stale his tactics can get and his inability to make strong in-game adjustments. His decision to leave out midfield reinforcements was a talking point when he announced the World Cup roster; it might have left him helpless Monday. And while benching Dest for his mental lapses makes sense, pulling him for Reyna — who, despite limited athleticism, did aid possession and helped gain a bit more control of the midfield — was puzzling, considering Dest could be trusted to at least hustle up and down the flank (up to your discretion how effectively). It felt like Pulisic would have been the player to pull, but Poch — the one paid the money to make such a courageous decision — didn’t do so. He did not adequately set up his players to succeed.

Christian Pulisic choked: OPTION

It’s tough for me to say that Pulisic “choked” when it looked obvious (!!!) from the outset that he’s not 100% and his skillset, respectfully, is entirely dependent on his athleticism. (He told reporters he twisted his ankle and knee “in one play.” This, after already being hampered by a calf injury during the tournament.)

However, Pulisic took the pitch Monday, and fair or not, he’s the face of USMNT and this generation of players. He bears the burden of the hype and expectations — and knows this well by now. He left himself open to scrutiny by playing (even if it’s unfair) in what was billed as the biggest match in USMNT World Cup history.

Pulisic didn’t play well. ESPN says he lost possession 11 times in just 45 minutes. Fotmob said he went 2/6 on dribbles and was dispossessed twice. He got hooked after 59 minutes.

This isn’t basketball, though. Singular players who can take over a game and flip it on its head by themselves are excruciatingly rare. Pulisic, occasionally capable of those gamebreaker moments in years past, is simply not that player anymore and hasn’t been for a few years. The injuries have mounted; who knows if the weight of the expectations have, too. It’s a disappointing end to Pulisic’s World Cup, but I think saying he specifically choked is hyperbolic.

As spring gave way to summer and the American sports calendar crept toward its annual lull, group chats around the country exploded.

First came GeoSports. In May, the daily sports geography trivia game went viral on Twitter/X, earning more than 150,000 single daily users just one week after launch. Then, as the NBA Finals tipped off in early June, 82-0, a stat-based, NBA roster-building game, went viral.

“You play it, usually, by yourself,” Frank Michael Smith, creator of GeoSports says. “However, it’s actually a multiplayer game in disguise.”

Former NFL coach Jon Gruden squinted through a five-minute round of GeoSports — “a great mental game,” he lauded. Indiana Pacers star Tyrese Haliburton crumbled online at his 82-0 lineup falling short of perfection; 10 days later, the iconic Inside the NBA crew signed off their season by playing a round on-air.

The rapid rise of both online browser games magnified the growing appetite for sports content that incorporates fan participation rather than solely observation.

“We want to build a very large community of sports fans,” Bar Almog, CEO of PlayVault, an Israeli gaming company powering 82-0, says. “I think that's what's most exciting about this thing, to take the most classic debates in the world and turn it into something that you know every sports fan in the world can enjoy.”

Everything that 82-0, created by software engineer and NBA superfan Roy Saar, and GeoSports have accomplished is a strong reflection of how sports remain a communal service, even in a hyper-fragmented content landscape.

Community and word of mouth turned a pair of solitary games into a shared experience, sparking debate and competition among hundreds of thousands.

For these browser-based games, there are no email campaigns or push notifications. “This game,” Smith says of GeoSports, “is only really living on X threads and in group chats. Those are both very social functions.”

“I think that's why the community play here is very, very strong,” Almog says of 82-0. “There are no strings attached. You don't have to do something special in order to play, but you can come back and go whenever you want. I think that's what makes it so, so special.”

DOCTOR DANIEL T. Durbin’s first job was on a newspaper’s sports desk. He dabbled in radio and in news, too, but the media market in Los Angeles “was insane.” So instead, he pursued a Ph.D in classical rhetoric at the University of Southern California. The itch for sport never went away. Sport’s role as a public, communal act of shared engagement and narrative maintained his interest.

In July 2009, he proposed that USC create the Annenberg Institute for Sports, Media, & Society, where he’s currently the director.

In his opinion, games like 82-0 and GeoSports are more significant and impactful than credited. “We think of them as just being games,” Durbin says. “These become life for people, and they become as important as sport.”

Sport, Durbin explains, is a fundamental and essential part of culture and human psychology. And narrative, since Pheidippides ran the first marathon in ancient Greece, has always been baked into sport.

“We need sport,” he says, “and every culture that has ever existed has needed sport. Sport is definably a public activity that is engaged in public communication. There’s performance at the center of it, but there are rules that set up the performance, and then there’s public communication that gives meaning to the performance. All sports really exist in the stories — not in simply the act, but the act that is reconstructed as a story.”

This is the hook for sports fans at every level. Sports games allow the spectator to become the player — the main character of the arc, actively the hero or villain of the narrative — making it a meaningful experience in its own right.

For GeoSports, 82-0, and fantasy sports, performance exists within the statistics, allowing spectators-turned-players to recreate a new story out of it, a story that fosters assembly and becomes sport.

“I think they play a pretty important role in building community,” Smith says. “It sparks conversation, you know? Also, what’s the use of watching all these sports all the time if you can’t put this ball knowledge to the test? All dudes like to sit around and be like, ‘Where’d he go to school?’ This is kind of like the next level of that.”

Smith came up with the idea for GeoSports while playing Map Tap, a daily geography game, with family and friends. “I was like, ‘What if I added a sports trivia twist to this, where you had to figure out the answer to the sports trivia question, and then you had to know the geographical location as well?’” he recalls thinking. He played around with some coding on Claude and made a playable version. “Got it out there, and the internet did the rest,” he says. “Really, I did not expect it to blow up so fast, but here we are.”

Before GeoSports and 82-0, Immaculate Grid, a daily sports trivia game featuring a 3x3 grid, swept the internet in 2023. And before group chats became a normalized texting format, Sporcle, which emerged in 2007, had been a longtime online favorite for sports junkies testing their acumen. Where 82-0 and GeoSports are distinct from the others is the additional social elements: There are scores, streaks, and daily resets to restart group chat debates every day.

Fantasy sports, however, set the blueprint for today’s browser-based games. Fantasy goes back well before the internet started and stands at the center of the intersection of competition, storytelling, statistics, and community.

“They create the opportunity to create these sports stories that have the legitimacy of numbers, but they have the narrative of accomplishment, success, failure, championships, and all the other things that we identify with sport,” Durbin says. “The people who join in these communities can gather around these stories, and it’s the same stories: Winning and losing, accomplishment, failure, wise choices in the athletes that you pick, bad choices in the athletes picked, and so forth.”

Back in the early 1990s and early 2000s, Durbin urged others to invest in fantasy sports, which, he admits, “was a bit more dicey … a much bigger risk at the time” compared to the Apple stock he was putting money into.

“You could see that fantasy sports were just going to dominate,” Durbin says, “because they create such a powerful community, and a community that is played as if it is the sport.”

Today, that level of community carries import. Society, despite global connectivity, is more fragmented than ever. Isolation is not just an anecdotal concern, but a widespread, data-confirmed crisis. These trends of division have also polluted the sporting ecosystem, namely broadcasting.

In the past, audiences gathered around one shared broadcast. Now, fans are stretched across streaming services, regional networks, and exclusive rights deals that fatten the pockets of league and media executives at the viewership’s expense. Shared sports culture has become increasingly reliant on a handful of tentpole events, some of which feature draws unrelated to sport to garner attention from mass audiences (ex: Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show). It’s become less common for American sports fans to watch and discuss the same games at the same time.

The Super Bowl illustrates both the power of shared experience and how rare it has become. By the 1980s, the NFL had built the Super Bowl into an unofficial American holiday for everyone to get together. By the 2000s, more groceries sold during Super Bowl week than any other on the calendar. The league and Monday Night Football rose to prominence, in large part, by building around the dysfunction in the booth between Howard Cosell, “Dandy” Don Meredith, and Frank Gifford, three broadcasters with contrasting personalities. “It made it must-see TV,” Durbin says. “You had to watch to see what the latest thing Howard Cosell was going to say, and the latest way Dandy Don Meredith was going to pop his bubble.” The reactions and discussions about them became an extension of sport living within society.

Over the years, ESPN became the central sports television hub. But as cord-cutting and streaming services emerged in the late 2000s and early 2010s, the hub began disintegrating, and casual fans fell by the wayside. “At that time, you couldn’t yet quite see the complete breakdown of the power of major networks in the United States,” Durbin says, “and major networks kind of defining what our communal sport experience was.”

“I grew up watching SportsCenter every morning,” Smith says. “I grew up watching PTI, Around the Horn, SportsNation. It seemed like it was going to last forever, and I don't know… There's just new versions of it now.”

Personality-driven content, especially after the start of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, has helped fill the vacuum that the decentralization of sports content has created. Creators have built armies of supporters, taking their own swaths of fans that, a decade or so ago, wouldn’t have had to seek them out. For example, Smith boasts over 1.4 million YouTube subscribers and 1.9 million TikTok followers.

“I think fans are accustomed now to need things immediately,” Smith says of the modern sports content landscape. “I'm not going to wait until PTI tomorrow to hear Mike (Wilbon) and Tony (Kornheiser) debate, ‘What's the problem with the Spurs? What do they need to do in Game 2?’ It's like you're going to get that almost as soon as the game ends on all the short-form feeds, so immediacy is the biggest thing.”

GeoSports and 82-0 may not create the mass live audiences of sports on cable television. But they offer shared experiences, generating thousands of gathering places over texts and social media that are built around the same daily prompt.

“With all this fragmentation, people are looking for a sense of community or for sport that they can engage in,” Durbin says. “You can more actively engage in sports conversation and sports enactment when you play these games.”

ALMOG AND ROY Saar are longtime friends. Based in Israel, they have to wake up between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. locally to catch NBA games. “It’s hard when you have young children to keep up with,” Almog jokes.

When Saar’s 82-0 creation gained traction, he sought Almog, whose company, PlayVault, specializes in puzzles and strategy games. They chatted and Almog agreed to help scale it.

“It started off as a cool project for friends and family with a brilliant idea,” Almog says. “Sometimes the best ideas start off as something that you don’t even think how big they could possibly become, and this is what I think is most beautiful about this whole thing.”

Non-sports entities are growing increasingly aware of sports’ draw, too. As Front Office Sports’ Ellyn Briggs wrote in her May piece titled “Is Sports Coverage the Solution to ‘Google Zero’?,” Vanity Fair’s sports issue earlier this year “underscores a broader shift impacting all media brands” with regard to storytelling.

Content houses are going where stable community is.

Sport is one of culture’s last shared languages and can open the door to different elements of culture, such as celebrity, politics, economics, travel, and fashion. Sport is narrative unto itself, whether expressed in a documentary, a magazine profile, or a web-browser trivia game. The success of GeoSports and 82-0 suggests fans aren’t just looking for more content; they want new ways to participate in sports’ narratives.

Sport remains one of the few things millions experience together. (The 2026 World Cup, generating record viewership numbers, is a great example of how sports are capable of bringing together people who wouldn’t typically consume them.)

“Sport exists in the storytelling,” Durbin says. “How do you tell stories when you don’t have the central story?”

Today, media widely lacks communal experiences that occurred when everyone was watching the same television shows every night. Despite the fracturing that’s occurred in the streaming era, people are desperate for community. Sport, more than any other realm of culture, offers shared rituals.

“We have a mission right now of creating these type of games with a lot of depth to make it very, very fun and create a very unique ecosystem around sports,” Almog says. “We are kind of in the intersection of new genre that is rising right now. We want to double down on that and build a very large community of sport fans.”

As people search for a sense of community and sports conversation that they can actively engage in, these games provide that space.

“What sport offers is a community where you can celebrate achievement, accomplishment, championships,” Durbin says. “Where you can agree in pain over failures, where you can always hope to work through your failures to get to some sort of success.

“That’s all community engagement, and these games offer the opportunity to create that kind of engagement, where, to a great degree, it just doesn’t exist anymore in culture.”

Writing is my practice of understanding others. Understanding others requires context. Too much context can be overwhelming. Whether someone is the biggest celebrity on the planet or a stranger on the street, I believe everyone has a story — and subsequent perspective — that sentences and paragraphs, no matter how detailed, can fully capture. Even without editors to redline my ramblings or word counts to contain myself, plenty gets left on the table.

In creating this space, the intention is to do the best job possible at sharing full context and perspective, whenever possible. We all learn and consume things differently, so instead of just writing very long-winded articles (thank you to those who read anyway!), Tuesdays here are now going to be known as TAPE TUESDAYS, where I’m going to share conversations I have with subjects, too. It should provide additional context and serve as a more consumable medium for those who would rather listen to someone than read.

Iranian Fans, Team Melli & the Regime

The first edition of this features actor/writer and human rights activist Nazanin Nour and comedian Tehran Von Ghasri — clearly true professionals in their respective fields, considering how entertaining and informative they each are. My chats with them take place the days after Iran made its 2026 World Cup debut. We discuss reactions to the match, the history of Iran, the nation’s current political state, and what they hope you, me, and everyone else who isn’t part of the diaspora should take away from watching Iran compete on United States soil in the midst of a conflict.

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Cover Photo: Richard Heathcote/Getty Images
Music: “Loosin’ Up” by Wendy Marcini; “Starry Night” by Harry Noda; “Ruby” by Ennio Mano
Host/Produced/Edited: Kaelen}

Scoring, in soccer, is precious. When the ball hits the back of the net, there’s a collective expression that instantly captures the yearning and gratitude for experiencing such a fleeting moment. It’s an emotional contagion unique to the beautiful game that’s difficult to name, but impossible to forget. When Iran right back Ramin Rezaeian poked out his right boot and tucked away Team Melli’s first goal of the 2026 FIFA World Cup, that feeling swept through the crowd of 70,108 inside SoFi Stadium, like a wave crashing against the shore.

“It’s kind of unmistakable in soccer or in football,” Iranian-Canadian actor/producer Tara Grammy says, two days after attending Iran’s opening World Cup match against New Zealand in Los Angeles. “That moment when all the Iranians would stand up, it was really, really cool.” Her voice begins to drift. “You forget in those moments, you forget…”

For that moment — and another, if you count midfielder Mohammad Mohebi’s 64th-minute equalizer — Tara and every member of the Iranian diaspora witnessing Iran’s scrappy 2-2 draw could briefly allow themselves to be present, disentangled from the exhaustion over the unrest happening off the pitch back in Iran.

“I was proud with the comeback,” Sina Maghsoodnia, a Persian-American collegiate goalkeeper who also attended the match, says two days later. “But they should have won! They had a lot more chances, they were on the attack a lot more.”

PODCAST: On Iran's World Cup, History

“When Iran scored their first goal, everybody went nuts in the stadium,” Nazanin Nour, an Iranian-American actor/writer and human rights activist, says the morning after. Nazanin and some friends caravanned together, then scattered to different seats around SoFi for the match. “The overwhelming feeling was a pride of being Iranian and wanting to win the game,” she adds. “But also, showing how we felt.”

Iran’s World Cup debut marked the culmination of an unavoidable collision between sport and politics. The weight and tension of the nation’s fraught political situation felt palpable in the buildup to kickoff both inside and outside of the stadium. Here was Iran competing in a World Cup match on United States soil as a war that, hours beforehand, was supposedly ending back home. It’s the first time in history that a World Cup host has received a team it’s actively engaged in war with.

“It’s weird,” Tara says. “I mean, there’s no other word for it. How do you reconcile being a sports fan and being an Iranian? It’s really hard.”

The opening match offered a platform for voices to be raised and heard in space where they could be best publicized and, perhaps, best understood. As Iran’s players took the pitch for warmups there were cheers; during the anthem, plenty of boos (although TV broadcasts drowned them out). Different sections experienced varied interactions. Flags unfurled, backs turned, and eyes cut cold glares. There were tongue-in-cheek mutterings and open bickering — the understandably leery reactions of people seeking resolution triggered by discord sown originally by the hands of invisible powers.

“We’re all on edge,” Tara says. “Especially in the diaspora, and everyone’s suspicious of everyone. Everyone’s calling everyone a regime supporter, calling everyone this, calling everyone that. It’s… it’s tough.”

Members of the Iranian community have spent the past month reconciling with Iran’s men’s national soccer team competing at the World Cup in the United States amid the backdrop of war, unrest, and confusion. While Americans have grown exhausted of the Donald Trump administration’s months-long, haphazard conflict with Iran, the Iranian diaspora has simultaneously dealt with much deeper, more painful feelings regarding the latest iteration of an underlying Islamic Republic regime responsible for numerous human rights abuses against its own citizens across nearly 50 years of power, including the killing of more than 50,000 of its own citizens earlier this calendar year.

In global culture, sport is meant to serve as an escape from the brutal stress of civic failures. And while millions of soccer fans across the world can watch the World Cup with varying levels of detachment, the Iranian diaspora has had to attempt intricate mental gymnastics at making sense of political misgivings that have squarely impacted them and their team. They’ve even had to consider what message rooting for Iran or simply wearing their national team’s jersey might send.

For 90-plus minutes across three games, perhaps mercifully, they’ve been able to put aside conceptual differences and shared emotional pain, and be united as fans simply enjoying the thrill of competition. “Honestly, we had the time of our lives,” Tara exclaims. “I don’t know how else to tell you how much fun it was.”

“It doesn’t mean we root for the government,” Nazanin says. “It just means we want our team to win.”

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How to move beyond the Iranian regime’s leadership remains a divisive topic within the diaspora. Nazanin expresses understanding for all perspectives, even those she might not agree with. “Everybody’s feelings are valid,” she says, “and they all stem from pain and trauma and love for country.” It’s in the very face of that emotional dissonance that she’s found reason to allow herself to root for Team Melli. “I’m not,” she says, “going to let this regime take away my joy and my pride in being Iranian, and being able to celebrate something that should be joyous and unifying.”

That pride underscored her motivation the night before Iran played New Zealand. At around 7 p.m., Nazanin surfed last-minute ticket listings with the excitement she held as a child watching Team Melli on TV with her father and sister during the 1998 World Cup. On that June afternoon, inside an Irish bar in Arlington, Va. full of United States fans, Nazanin and her family, sporting Iran team kits, were the only ones celebrating as Iran, then competing in its first World Cup in 20 years, defeated the USMNT, 2-1, in a match dubbed “the mother of all games” between the two estranged countries.

Since then, Iran has only missed World Cup qualification once (2002). However, just as consistent as Iran’s tournament appearances are its concurrent political entanglements or issues that make it almost impossible for supporters to not feel conflicted.

Last year, when tickets dropped for Iran’s matches in Los Angeles — known as “Tehrangeles” for being home to the largest population of Iranians in the world outside of Iran — Tara and her husband couldn’t resist. “‘Once in a lifetime, Iran’s playing, we gotta go!’” Tara remembers thinking. “We got tickets — and they were stupid expensive, but we’re like, you know, eff it.

“Then everything went to shit.”

On December 28, 2025, Tehran’s Grand Bazaar (described as “the economic barometer of Iran”) found itself engulfed in strikes and protests after the collapse of the rial, Iran’s national currency, against the dollar. Soaring inflation had left perturbed shopkeepers and merchants unable to purchase goods. Ordinary citizens and laborers joined their protests, with uprisings occurring across all 31 Iranian provinces, including 111 cities and towns. The crowds progressed in calling out, not only for economic repair, but for total regime change, posing the biggest threat to the Islamic Republic since its 1979 inception.

On January 8, 2026, Iran’s government cracked down, staging a total, nationwide internet blackout to isolate the country, and its 90 million citizens, from the global internet — specifically the west, to avoid instigating demonstrations. Telephone lines and SMS services were cut, too. People tried connecting to Starlink terminals, something already criminalized under the current regime, punishable by death.

From within those shadows, the Islamic Republic regime — responsible for the highest rate of executions in the world — carried out its evil against its own people. Rooftop snipers. Tactical vehicles armed with heavy machine guns. Bird shots. Machetes. Batons.

As many as 30,000 people were killed by regime servicemen in the streets of Iran on January 8 and 9 alone.

30,000 people.

By January 24, that figure rose to an estimated 50,000, including 300,000 wounded.

“Same playbook,” Nazanin says of the regime’s horrifying, routine tactics. “Turn off the internet, massacre, and slaughter.”

The administration ran out of body bags. Security forces entered medical facilities to detain injured protestors, a tactic used to scare the wounded from receiving medical care. The regime blocked burials and seized bodies, denying families the right to mourn. According to TIME, the only comparable recorded massacre occurred during the Holocaust, on September 29 and 30, 1941, when Nazi death squads executed over 33,000 Ukrainian Jews by gunshot in the Babyn Yar ravine.

On February 7, thousands in Berlin, Germany, gathered to protest in support of the Iranian uprising. A week later, on February 14, thousands gathered in downtown Los Angeles to protest the Islamic Republic’s regime, calling for the United States to show support and solidarity with the people.

“I just want people to believe Iranians and amplify Iranian voices,” Nazanin says. “Believe you can be anti-U.S. foreign policy, you can be anti-imperialism, you can also be anti-Islamic Republic. That’s what I hope more people start understanding and practicing, and not just holding it as a theory.”

Esfandiar, an author, grew up obsessed, intertwined with the world of soccer. At 6 years old, he watched as Iran won the 1990 Asian Games in Beijing. A former halfback (a position today known as defensive midfielder or a No. 6), Esfand had dreams of playing professionally. He still remembers constantly seeing members of the local pro team walking around his hometown of Mashhad, a northeastern Iranian city. “At that time,” he says, “football was more connected to our daily life.”

Soccer is the biggest sport in Iran, rivaled only by wrestling, which traditionally has carried more importance. He moved to the United States over a decade ago. The World Cup being announced in North America — and the chance to potentially see Iran play in the tournament — should have been a means for celebration.

“None of my friends [are] talking about the World Cup,” Esfand insists over the phone in late May, a few weeks before the World Cup kicked off. “I’m talking a bunch of people, like 15, 20. None of them! Nobody even thinking about it.”

On February 28, the United States and Israel launched coordinated, large-scale airstrikes against Iran, unleashing 900 strikes over 12 hours. Trump followed through on threats to intervene if Iran’s regime brutalized its citizens, while Israel said its objective was to deter the Iranian regime from building nuclear capabilities. Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khameni, who’d been in power since 1989, was killed in the strikes. But the path forward remained unclear; instead of resolution, Trump and the United States instead spent months seemingly more concerned with controlling the Strait of Hormuz than aiding the Iranian citizens Trump had claimed he’d rescue. The day after the U.S.-Israel strikes, Mehdi Taj, president of Iran’s soccer federation, told Varzesh3. “What is certain is that after this attack, we cannot be expected to look forward to the World Cup with hope.”

For Iranian supporters, there’s a tinge of this hopelessness hovering over the buildup to the tournament seemingly every cycle. Ahead of the 2022 World Cup in Qatar, the Women, Life, Freedom movement commenced in September. Mahsa Amini, a 22-year-old woman from Iran’s Kurdistan province, died while in custody of “morality police.” She’d been apprehended for breaking Iran’s dress code for women by not wearing her hijab properly. Widespread protests carried through into November, with demonstrators appearing outside of Iran’s matches.

“I couldn’t even support the national team, to be honest, especially during that moment,” Esfand says. It’s clear that he’s still, understandably, in pain, as if emotional wounds are still fresh. There’s also a hint of weariness at the appalling nature of the regime’s cruel tactics.

“After [the] Qatar World Cup,” he says, “football is gone for me.”

The regime’s actions following this year’s massacres furthered his disillusionment. Iran’s domestic soccer leagues resumed play in late January, but did so in empty stadiums — a tactic suppressing any chance at the people using domestic games as a platform for protest. “They basically killed this emotion,” Esfand explains, “because they are scared [of] — really scared — thousands [of] people gathering together in the middle of the city. It definitely has a potential to be a protest easily.” Players looked expressionless during games. The Persian Gulf Pro League — Iran’s top-flight men’s soccer division — only suspended play once the war with the United States broke out. Seventeen players on Iran’s 26-man World Cup roster hadn’t played regular games since February as a result.

There’s a clear level of sympathy for the position the players find themselves in. Many expect them to raise awareness to the Islamic Republic’s ruthless actions. “There’s this part of me, because I’m an artist, I kind of understand how hard these players work their entire lives,” Tara says. “This is their dream and they’re from the same soil as I’m from. How do I know how I would react if I was raised in that society, and under all of that pressure, and then have this big goal? I don’t know how I’d react, so there’s a bit of compassion that I have for them, just as human beings.”

“It’s understandable that people want others to step in and influence where they can, because of how hard life is over there right now,” Sina adds. “But they’re football players. Let them play football. Like, you don’t have to be angry at them for not making it political, in my opinion.”

When asked if people felt the national team represented the Iranian people, the government, or something in between, most land in between. Tehran Von Ghasri, a Black-Persian comedian whose father is from Iran, explains that confusion over trying to answer this question is something “every Iranian is feeling” this summer.

“Some are on one extreme, and some are on the other,” Tehran says. “But most Iranians are just feeling that in between, where it’s just, you just don’t know. That feeling has made a lot of people lose composure. It’s frustration. It’s bitterness. It’s anger. It’s all the things, and it’s targeted towards players. I wish things were different. I wish that I too could be as proud of the team of my father’s national origin as I see other countrymen are of theirs.”

“A lot of people don’t see them as the national team right now,” Nazanin says, “because they think they’re controlled. The government or the regime has their hands in everything — which they do — and they try to control the narrative with athletes, and they do use them to their benefit for PR.”

There are multiple instances of the Iranian government intimidating and killing athletes. During the 2022 Qatar World Cup, families were threatened with imprisonment and torture if players failed to behave after some players refused to sing the national anthem or protested the regime. Earlier this year in March, five members of the women’s national team refused to sing the anthem during an Asia Cup match; Australia granted them asylum. During the regime’s crackdown in January, Saleh Mohammadi, a 19-year-old national team wrestler, was executed in a public hanging after being found guilty of killing two police officers and moharebeh (waging war against God), the latter of which results in death sentences for protesters and the regime’s opponents. Two young wrestling champions — Parsa Lorestani, 15, and Irfan Kari, 20 — were also killed by their government during the January protests.

“When the government executed them,” Esfand says, “they not just killed them, they basically killed the hope.”

When the Iranian men’s soccer team arrived in Los Angeles ahead of its World Cup opener, players wore “#168” and “#Minab” pins to commemorate the lives of the 168 Minab elementary school kids killed by a missile strike on the first day of the U.S.-Iran conflict. But there hasn’t been any outward demonstrations pointed at the regime — at least not anything obvious. Some expressed great appreciation for the players wearing the pins condemning the United States’ heinous act. But Iranians wonder if, given the clear risk, there will be any condemnation of the regime.

“That shows that their speech is stifled or that the government wouldn’t let them do that, even if they wanted to,” Nazanin says. “So that’s what bothers people, is that double standard. It’s like, yeah, show that we should always hold people responsible for that war crime. But also, we should hold the Islamic Republic responsible for their crimes against humanity and war crimes. That’s also why it makes it difficult for some people to root for the team, because they see that they’re being used as propaganda by the regime as well.”

Processing these complications are what make rooting for the Iranian national team such a challenge across the diaspora. And while there may be changes for many, depending on what’s happening with the regime, there’s a sense of loyalty present in some form.

“While my affinity for the team isn’t the same, my true feelings of pride will never allow me to root against Iran,” Tehran says. “So, I see a lot of people rooting for the opposite team, and I just don’t have that in me. I’m not built like that. I will always root against the Islamic Republic regime, but I can never root against Iran or the Iranian people. They are not one in the same.

“With sports, just like always, politics just becomes commingled.”

Standing in the middle of everything are 26 men experiencing the dream of every professional soccer player. With that, they are shouldering the weight of their peoples’ emotional exhaust and political angst, plus navigating under the lingering watch of an oppressive regime. All of that is stacked atop the personal pressure of performing on world football’s biggest stage.

“If you take a break, take a step back, they’re just people, too,” Sina says. “And it’s up to them whether they want to advocate politically about something, share their opinions on something. In the end, it’s just a job. Like, yes, you have social standing by being popular, but it’s up to the person to — if they want to — step in the limelight or not, because then that becomes their life as well.”

It’s been quite a journey for the Iranian men’s soccer team. On March 25, 2025, Team Melli became the first nation to qualify for the 2026 World Cup, marking its fourth straight appearance. Qualifying proved to be the smoothest part of the ride; by the end of the year, warning signs for an uneven road became apparent. In late November, Iran boycotted the World Cup draw hosted in the United States, citing visa denials — including one for Mehdi Taj, the soccer federation’s president. But a few days later, national team head coach Ardeshir Amir Ghalenoei and a delegation arrived in Washington, D.C. for the draw, which placed Iran in Group G with Belgium, New Zealand, and Egypt.

Then, the January massacres occurred. Amid the turmoil, the Kino Sports Complex — home of FC Tucson in Arizona — was chosen as Team Melli’s home base for the World Cup. A week later, the U.S. conflict began. Trump told reporters, “I really don’t care” if Iran plays in the World Cup. FIFA President Gianni Infantino spoke with Trump and claimed the President had assured him the Iranian team would be welcomed for the competition, but the next day, Trump said he didn’t believe it was “appropriate” for Iran to participate. He suggested it could be a risk to the players’ “own life and safety.”

“Certainly,” a statement in response from Iran’s team read, “no one can exclude Iran’s national team from the World Cup; the only country that could be excluded is one that merely carries the title of ‘host’ yet lacks the ability to provide security for the teams participating in this global event.” Talks to move Iran’s base camp to Mexico kickstarted shortly after, although it wasn’t until mid-May, less than a month before the World Cup started, that an agreement to house the team in Tijuana was reached. Meanwhile, Trump escalated the war, specifically in the Strait of Hormuz, where 20 million barrels of crude oil and petroleum products pass through daily (or over $600 billion in annual energy trade). On June 1, 2026, Iran finalized its World Cup roster — star striker Sardar Azmoun, the nation’s second-leading all-time scorer, was left out after expulsion from the national team for posting a picture on social media with Dubai ruler Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum.

So many of those issues would foreshadow the obstructions the Iranian team would deal with once the tournament kicked off. Due to travel restrictions, Iran was only allowed to travel the day before their matches, flying up from Tijuana to Los Angeles for its first two games, then immediately flown home afterward. Sina, who spent four years in Serie A giants Juventus’ youth academy, explains that the hasty itinerary put Iran, which has already had minimal on-field experience this year, at a disadvantage. “The buildup to game day is more important than game day,” Sina says. “Like, preparing yourself for the day leaves you prepared for the day. Restricting us from being able to do that is just like that’s like they’re literally preparing us to lose. So it’s really a fight of honor, I’d say, [for] the Iranian national team to show that, even with all these setbacks, we can still perform. So I just hope they do.”

Mexico welcomed the Iranian team with open arms. That hospitality thankfully extended to members of the coaching staff who couldn’t travel with the team to Los Angeles for the first match against New Zealand. “They’re fighting from a point of instability off the rip,” Sina says. “I think all the restrictions — just, like, how the [U.S.] government has done to our government, like sanctions and such — it’s keeping the team down, and it’s making them fight from an underdog position. That’s really hard.”

While there have been many positive reasons to celebrate widespread, welcoming moments of cultural exchange amid what some are referring to as “The Diaspora World Cup,” Iran’s experience serves as a template for the exact opposite. After Iran’s opener against New Zealand, forward Mehdi Torabi’s single-use visa expired (the rest of the team had received multiple-entry visas), leaving his status for the remainder of the tournament in doubt before he was issued a new one.

“Everything,” striker Mehdi Taremi, the Iranian team captain, said, “is like a disaster, actually, for us.” He would add: “We don’t have support and I think FIFA has to help us more than this.”

Of course, Iran isn’t the lone team to experience visa issues or have its travel plans strangely hampered. But Iran’s head coach senses a heightened level of mistreatment. “Our team,” Ghalenoei told reporters through an interpreter, “is the most oppressed one in the whole World Cup.”

“It’s gotta be weird for the players to be in a country that just bombed your homeland and that you have friction with,” Nazanin says. She points to the discriminatory, unfair nature of how the U.S. government would quickly ferry Iran back to its team base, but notes that the inconvenient itinerary is nothing compared to those in Iran under oppression and risking their lives. “I think all of us should be able to hold those multiple truths and not see everything as just black and white,” she says. “And I find that most people can hold the multiple truths — it’s just that the loudest voices are the ones that get the most attention, and those are always going to be the most extreme from anything, whether it’s American politics, Iranian politics, etc.”

Some of the loudest opposers of the Islamic Republic have made their presence known at Iran’s matches by waving the lion and sun flag. The flag became a major talking point, not only at the World Cup, but within the diaspora as it reckons with how to move forward. Iran is one of the oldest countries in the world, with the land bearing over 5,000 years of history. Over 2,000 years ago, the region first unified as a nation in 625 BC, and the Persian Empire first emerged in 550 BC. In 1935, Reza Shah Pahlavi ushered the land’s name change to Iran, as recognized today. The lion and sun flag represented monarchical Iran until 1979, when the Islamic Republic was formed. The regime’s current flag has an Arabic scripture in the middle. “The exiled Crown Prince (Reza Pahlavi), the son of the last shah of Iran,” Nazanin explains, “had issued a call to action [in January, urging] Iranians take to the streets, come out on the 8th and the 9th, and show your support for wanting the regime gone.”

FIFA ultimately banned the sun and lion flag from being flown during Iran’s matches. While FOX broadcasts have avoided displaying fans waving them in the stands, plenty of them, including Nazanin, have found a way to get them into stadiums.

“For me raising that lion and sun was telling FIFA, ‘You can’t tell people that they can’t be proud of their culture and bring the symbol in,’” Nazanin says. “People in Iran died hoisting the lion and sun up during the January protest and massacre. That’s the easiest form of protest and act of solidarity I can show.”

Tehran researched and learned that FIFA only permits the current official national flags of participating countries. “But,” he says, “I would say this to FIFA: I understand where you’re coming from, but you need to understand where the people are coming from. This is a very unique moment in time and in history… this is one of those times where these kind of rules need to go out the window, because it’s not one size fits all. There’s no size that fits this.”

That flag issue informs the other one entangling Team Melli — ahead of their group-stage finale, both Egypt and Iran complained about playing in Seattle the same night as planned celebrations for LGBTQ+ Pride. Same-sex relations are illegal in the Islamic Republic.

“We respect all of the LGBT people,” Taremi told reporters after the match. “That’s their own idea. It’s not about us. We are here to play football. We respect all of those guys.”

Nazanin envisions a day in her lifetime where the regime’s punitive laws no longer restrict her people’s way of life.

“We have thousands of years of history,” Nazanin says. “They’ve only been around for 47 years. They’re not going to be around for that much longer… It might not be today, but it’s going to be sometime in my lifetime. I believe so. They’re going to fall.”

Following an engrossing scoreless draw against Belgium at SoFi Stadium last Sunday, Team Melli left a handwritten note in the locker room:

From the ancient Persia of thousands of years ago to the civilised Iran of today, the spirit of Iran remains alive and steadfast.

We came to Los Angeles with pride, competed with honour, and leave with dignity.

Thank you, Los Angeles, for your hospitality. And thank you to every Iranian who gave their heart, voice, and soul for Iran throughout these 180 minutes.

May peace, respect, and friendship prevail among all nations.

The note, written in blue ink, also included a pair of hearts, along with red #168 and #Minab — further acknowledgment of the February 28 missile strike on the Shajarah Tayyebeh Girls’ School that left 168 dead.

Despite unfair treatment concerning visas and inconvenient travel itineraries, Team Melli expressed thankfulness as it departed Tehrangeles. The team’s note led evening newscasts. But the team’s display of gratitude isn’t the only impression that the Iranian community hopes that people take away from the team’s World Cup campaign. Everyone expressed hope for further understanding and compassion for the diaspora’s current state.

“I hope they use their cutie little fingers, and go online and learn about what’s happening in Iran and why is it that everyone’s so up in arms,” Tara, taking a mother’s warmly instructive tone, urges. “I hope it inspires them to learn more about the people of Iran, and what they’ve been going through, and the experience of being Iranian.”

Adds Tehran: “What I hope is awareness. That people go out and research and understand where the source of frustration and the causation of all this anger is, learn more about the atrocities of the Islamic Republic regime and how much of a criminal enterprise it is and how they have hijacked an entire nation.”

“I just want people to have empathy,” Nazanin says, “and understand more about the evils of the regime and the repression and that the people of Iran are resilient and smart and talented — and their talent and voice is always restricted by this regime.”

That resilience pulled Iran back on Friday against Egypt in Seattle’s Lumen Field. Iran went down 1-0 within the match’s first five minutes, then suffered heartbreak when Taremi missed a penalty. But there, once again, was right back Ramin Rezaeian — the 36-year-old smashed in a close-range finish to tie the score.

Then, in stoppage time, an Iran free kick bounced around the box. Center back Shoja Khalilzadeh thought he’d won it — until VAR ruled him offside by mere inches. It might not have counted, but the feeling did — the same collective surge that swept through SoFi last week. Regardless, Friday’s 1-1 draw against Mo Salah’s Egypt means Team Melli is on the cusp of becoming the first Iranian squad to reach the World Cup knockout rounds.

“My passion for the team has only [grown] more,” Sina proudly said after Iran’s World Cup campaign started, “because it’s like one of the only representatives of us right now in the world that’s not in a super negative light.”

“Our people are strong and resolute,” Nazanin says. “We’re very proud, because we know what we come from, and we know that this regime is just a blip in the radar of our history.”

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ALEX FREEMAN’S JOURNEY to the 2026 FIFA World Cup is a whirlwind.

A year ago, Freeman ascended from academy prospect to one of Major League Soccer’s best players, breaking into Orlando City SC’s starting XI at right back. Last June, the United States men’s national team called him up for the first time — a USMNT teammate quipped that he’d never even heard of Alex before. Less than six months ago, La Liga’s Villarreal CF acquired him in the winter transfer window, then qualified for Champions League.

Now, Freeman, 21, is set to represent his country in a World Cup on home soil. If his career continues on its current trajectory, perhaps everyone will know his name by the end of summer.

“The main thing is to take your opportunities,” Freeman told GOAL’s Ryan Tolmich in February. “You never know when you'll have one again.”

Three days before his World Cup debut, his mother and stepfather, Rochelle and Jake Hinkle, are being gracious with their morning, recounting Alex’s path before flying from Florida to Los Angeles for the USMNT’s opening match against Paraguay at SoFi Stadium on Friday night.

There’s no doubt that things have accelerated beyond comprehension.

“It does sometimes feel like I’m watching a movie and there’s people playing me and Alex and the rest of my family and everyone who’s been along this journey,” Rochelle says. “But also, a part of me has seen the hard work and the dedication — all the long rides, all the trips, missing prom, or missing high school things, and just sacrificing for his dream.”

FROM ATHLETE TO SOCCER PLAYER

THE HINKLES’ SOUTH Florida home in Plantation has caught the bug that so many Americans have over the past decade or so. Soccer is a family-wide obsession. “We watch soccer, upon soccer, upon soccer,” says Rochelle, a Liverpool fan, “in this house.”

So the significance of Freeman joining Villarreal in late January is not lost back home. Rochelle even attended the May 2 match against Levante when Villarreal clinched a Champions League spot for next season. Freeman started at right back, delivering one of his best performances since joining El Submarino Amarillo.

“The level of play is a lot higher,” Rochelle says. “You can tell by the speed of the ball, the technicality of how they play, you have to make quick decisions. That’s what Alex kept saying to me, ‘Mom, these guys play very quick. You just have to make quick decisions and be more communicative — but, in Spanish!’”

Per The Athletic’s Tom Bogert, Villarreal’s approaches for Freeman during the MLS season were rebuffed, before finally landing on a $4 million fee (which could potentially rise to more than $7 million). He’s played in nine matches (three starts) for Villarreal, whose home stadium, Estadio de la Cerámica, holds a capacity of 21,332. He was competing on of makeshift pitches inside baseball stadiums in front of 15 people not too long ago.

“It’s like he jumped onto a different train track,” Jake says. “And it hasn’t stopped yet.”

Jake, a Manchester United fan, was Freeman’s first-ever soccer coach, serving as a volunteer down in Tamarac, Florida. Not many kids could keep up with Freeman, who grew up playing central striker and right winger, in local rec leagues. Teammates gravitated to him and their parents would tell Jake that if Freeman wasn’t around, they didn’t feel like they had a chance. It’s not too surprising; watching interviews today, Freeman’s confidence is infectious and unmistakable.

Back when Freeman was 7 years old, Jake was connected with Roger Thomas, a former Jamaican national team midfielder overseeing a youth soccer system in Parkland, Florida. A step up in competition, Freeman played travel ball with Thomas, while also playing travel basketball, for a couple years. He did all of this, while also competing in other sports, like baseball and tennis.

“It was chaos,” Rochelle says, her past exhaustion palpable.

Freeman seemed gifted at every sport. Plenty of that is credited to his genes — his father, Antonio, is a one-time Super Bowl champion who played nine seasons as an NFL receiver and led the league in receiving in 1998.

“It didn’t matter,” Antonio says, laughing. “Footballs, basketballs, baseballs — he kicked it up against my furniture, and it drove me crazy. Everywhere we went, no matter what, he was kicking stuff.” American football, despite Antonio’s success, was never on Alex’s radar.

By the time Alex turned 12, soccer became his singular focus. He was invited to try out for Weston FC, one of the nation’s largest youth soccer academies, located just 20 minutes outside of Fort Lauderdale, Florida. (Club alumni include Alejandro Bedoya, Aidan Morris, and Martha Thomas.)

Alex made the team, but at the first practice, was informed he would be an alternate, meaning he couldn’t play in the team’s first six games. Alex didn’t let it deter him. He saw the level of other Weston cadets and wanted to do what was needed to catch up.

He trained hard with Mirco Gubellini, a former Italian soccer player who became director of coaching at Weston in 2015. Rochelle and Jake credit him for being “the initial match” to light Alex’s “whole fire for soccer.”

“He took him from an athlete,” Jake says, “to a soccer player.”

Alex gradually earned more and more minutes. He wasn’t necessarily a standout on the team, but Weston FC invited him back the following year. Once again, he was named an alternate instead of a regular starter. But Alex kept pushing. After sitting a few times, he started the first match he was eligible for and established himself as a key player, showing a knack for making winning plays throughout the season. Alongside Noah Allen, he helped lead Weston FC to the Development Academy playoffs in California.

Momentum felt real.

THE TRYOUT

SOCCER ICON DAVID Beckham finally launched his MLS expansion club, Inter Miami CF, less than a half-hour away from Alex Freeman’s hometown of Plantation, Florida. It was the summer of 2019, and Freeman was flying off his second season with Weston. Inter planned to hold academy tryouts ahead of the club’s inaugural MLS campaign.

But Freeman didn’t get to put his best foot forward. During tryouts, Inter Miami coaches deployed him at central midfield instead of his natural positions of striker and right winger.

Inter Miami selected a handful of Weston FC players, but not Alex. Momentum felt as though it had screeched to a halt.

Even Antonio recalls that Alex was “devastated” after getting denied. “That’s what he wanted,” Antonio says. “And, as a parent, I didn’t know what to tell him, except there’ll be another opportunity.”

Rochelle remembers Alex being unhappy about the decision, but says it didn’t break his spirit.

“I feel like that was a thorn in Alex’s side,” Rochelle says. “He just saw it as another barrier that he was willing to break down. You put a door in front of him, he’s like, ‘Alright, fine. I’m just gonna break this one down, too. You’re not gonna keep me back.’”

Back with Weston, along with a few other players whom Inter Miami rejected, Alex would get some immediate revenge. The two academy squads faced head-to-head. Weston won. “Needless to say,” Jake recalls, grinning, “it was exciting for the parents.”

Then the world, and Weston’s season, paused as the COVID-19 pandemic broke out. The next step for Alex, however, was quickly approaching.

THE MOVE

JAVIER CARRILLO HAS always had a good eye for talent. Orlando City even created a brand-new role for him last year, Head of Player Development, after helping 13 academy products graduate to the men’s first team since joining the club’s staff in 2019.

Carrillo, a Lima, Peru, native who once played midfield at Florida Atlantic University, first heard about Freeman as a member of Weston FC’s U12s. Freeman was one of the academy’s kids flashing legitimate potential.

When cross-state rival Inter Miami passed on Freeman during tryouts years later, Carrillo, then Orlando’s assistant academy director and U17 head coach, was surprised. He was already luring another Weston product, goalkeeper Isaac Delgado, when Delgado’s father reached out to Jake. Would you consider sending Alex to Orlando? That led to a conversation with Carrillo, who pitched the idea of Freeman joining Orlando City’s academy — on one condition.

Carrillo wanted Freeman, who’d grown up idolizing Lionel Messi, to convert from an attacker to right back. Even before Freeman sprouted into the 6-foot-2, 174-pound man he is today, his combination of speed, size, willingness to crash the box, and smooth dribbling screamed outrageous potential.

“It was exciting, because of his physicality,” Carrillo says. “He was always going forward and creating chances, and [had] good finesse touch.”

Ultimately, convincing Freeman to give up being a focal part of the attack didn’t prove too challenging. Convincing Rochelle to let her 15-year-old son leave Plantation to live three hours away in Orlando with a host family, at the height of a global pandemic, was understandably a bit more difficult.

“I wasn’t done mothering him,” Rochelle says. “And for us to live in two locations for soccer seemed weird at the time, because we’d never been through this process — we didn’t know anyone who had — and it was all new to us. So him moving gave me a lot of discomfort.”

Freeman really wanted to make the move and pushed for it. Jake did his best to convince and woo Rochelle into letting him go. But the key to making it happen was Suzanne VanMarter, whose son initially played the same position as Freeman. She put Rochelle’s nerves at ease and willingly hosted Freeman during his time with Orlando.

“If she wasn’t there,” Jake says of VanMarter, “it probably wouldn’t have happened.”

Once everyone was on board, Freeman says he had a reckoning. If he put his mind to it, he realized, he had immense potential as a right back. Carrillo’s system emphasized rotating the ball, getting him up the pitch as an extra attacker, utilizing his goal-scoring and creativity. Suddenly, legendary defenders Cafu and Dani Alves became his new idols alongside Messi, inspiring his development into a versatile modern fullback who could attack and defend.

“I’m so happy that he listened,” Carrillo says. “Not only did he listen, he embraced it, right? He tried to work on it, he tried to understand the position, understand what we were asking from him, and the rest is history.”

Orlando City’s U17s won the MLS Next Cup in 2021. Freeman played a crucial role, scoring eight goals and adding 15 assists across 30 appearances. He describes that championship run as what’s shaped him into the player he is today.

“The combination of focusing a lot of their play on him and then winning the first MLS Next Cup at the U17s,” Jake says, “was probably the light bulb moment where you think, ‘OK… there is something more unique going on.’”

THE DEAL & THE BREAKTHROUGH

AS ALEX FREEMAN captured the MLS Next Cup, Rochelle undertook setting the table for him to go to college.

“I was making sure his grades were good,” she laughs, “getting his transcripts together, sending videos to different colleges because for soccer, you have to recruit for yourself.”

Freeman signed a letter of intent with the University of Louisville. “I was getting ready to do the Kentucky Derby, getting my hat for Mother’s Day,” Rochelle recalls. But before she could take a step towards Churchill Downs, Freeman had a message.

Orlando wants to talk to you guys.

Orlando wanted to make a deal. A few agents had suggested that Freeman should consider signing it, while Rochelle pondered the college-to-MLS path.

But Orlando displayed strong conviction for Freeman, offering what Jake says was a guaranteed four-year homegrown contract, which included a fifth-year club option. The rationale for Freeman signing made even more sense when considering that, in the worst-case scenario, he would have been 21 when his contract ran out, allowing him to go to college at a young age.

“No one has a crystal ball,” Rochelle says. “Do I believe in him? Of course, and I still do. He’s an amazing, hard worker. Every door that’s been put in front of him, every barrier, he’s been able to break down. But it is about being patient. None of this has happened overnight. It’s been a long journey. A lot of ups and downs.”

A mother’s intuition is rarely wrong. Freeman spent three seasons with Orlando City B, the club’s reserve team, making only three MLS appearances for a combined 11 minutes. On April 29, 2023, he made his MLS first-team debut in the 93rd minute against LA Galaxy.

As Jake says, though, not everyone can be a teenage superstar, like Lamine Yamal. “At the end of the day,” he remarks, “maybe those three seasons at MLS 2 gave him the ability to really hone in defensively and learn what he needed to learn there. I think his was just what he needed to get him where he’s at.”

It required plenty of patience, but Freeman finally broke into the first team in 2025. In the second match of the season, he earned his first-career start against Toronto FC. The day of the match, without letting Jake and Rochelle know, he sent out a text: Don’t be late. They were in the stadium well before he got in behind the Toronto defense and laced his first-career MLS goal.

That evening, the floodgates which seemed stuck for so long as Freeman climbed the ranks of the reserves, finally opened.

“It just seems,” Jake says, “like that fever pitch that that created that night, it hasn’t stopped.”

Freeman played 29 matches (26 starts) in 2025 for Orlando City, registering six goals and three assists. He was named an MLS All-Star, Young Player of the Year, and featured in the 2025 MLS Best XI.

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Midway through the MLS season, Mauricio Pochettino and the USMNT called Freeman up for his first cap in a friendly against Türkiye. Throughout his career, Poch has a decent track record, at least at club level, when handing young defenders cracks at the starting XI. He kept Freeman up for the U.S.’ CONCACAF Gold Cup run and started him in the final against Mexico.

“Alex is player with little experience,” Pochettino said during the tournament. “But in soccer, the desire, the capacity and the talent usually rise above experience.”

Pochettino has kept Freeman in the fold. In a November friendly against Uruguay, he scored twice. First, heading in off a corner. Later, he danced through the Uruguayan defense before firing from inside the penalty area for his brace.

A few months after the MLS season, Orlando City sold him for a club-record homegrown fee to Villarreal, who play domestically against Spanish giants Barcelona, Real Madrid, and Atlético Madrid. After finishing the 2025-26 campaign third in La Liga, Villarreal will compete in Champions League against some of the best clubs across Europe next season.

“Alex is getting to play against people that he watched growing up,” Rochelle exclaims. “Which is insane!”

All of that has led Freeman to SoFi Stadium, where he will make his World Cup debut. When the USMNT officially selected him as its youngest member this cycle, he called Carrillo. “Obviously,” Freeman tells him, “this journey couldn’t have started if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m super happy for him,” Carrillo says. “For him to experience this, a World Cup in his country, if you ask him two years ago, he would be like, ‘You’re crazy!’ That’s the amazing thing about this. You never know what can happen because things change so fast. I think he’s gonna do great.”

Freeman seems willing to take

“I feel like for a player of my caliber that’s an up-and-coming guy who’s just trying to prove himself, I feel like you’re gonna have pressure on you no matter what,” Freeman says. “It’s about how you handle the pressure and what you can do with it and how you can put it to your advantage.”

Only 26 Americans — including six players who were not born in the U.S. — get the opportunity to represent their country on The Beautiful Game’s biggest stage. The rarity of this moment, which seemed even more unlikely over a year ago, is awe-inspiring for Freeman’s parents.

“The chances of your child actually making a World Cup roster, that’s lotto ticket and lightning all on the same day,” Jake says. “I think being there Friday will be unbelievable.”

“There are not a lot of words that I can use to articulate how I actually feel about this,” Rochelle says. “Sometimes, when you start to talk about it, you get so overwhelmed, and yeah… we’re just super excited and proud of our son.”

Alex Freeman, Antonio’s son, has skyrocketed from Major League Soccer academy starlet to World Cup starter in the blink of an eye.

“Man, it’s been so quick,” Antonio says, his astonishment percolating through the phone. “He was No. 2, then was No. 22, and then he was No. 30. I’ve got all these [club] jerseys, and now I’ve got all these U.S. jerseys, and, now, I’ve got a Villarreal jersey, and he’s only 21 [years old].”

Alex has distinguished himself from his father’s shadow, overcoming early disappointment to embark on his own path to superstardom. His whirlwind ascent will presently culminate in starting at right back for the United States Men’s National Team at the 2026 FIFA World Cup.

Antonio will be in attendance at Los Angeles’ SoFi Stadium when the USMNT open group-stage play against Paraguay on Friday night. He hopes catching Alex’s World Cup debut will go more smoothly than his trek to Alex’s first professional start for Orlando City SC last March.

The three-hour drive up from south Florida’s Fort Lauderdale to Orlando went smoothly — until Antonio missed an exit. Thirty minutes before kickoff, he parked and walked up to the stadium. But, that’s when he realized he’d headed into the Citrus Bowl, which was bustling with a car show; Orlando City’s Inter&Co Stadium is a 25-minute, mile-long walk away. Antonio had already parked.

“I started running,” Antonio recalls. “I said, ‘Oh, man, I can’t run. I’m out of shape.’ Then I started walking fast, and then I saw those little scooters that you get on.”

He tried scanning the scooters over and over and over again. Nothing. Fifteen minutes until kickoff. He tried calling an Uber. No dice. He conceded and just speed-walked the rest of the way.

Pouring sweat, Antonio finally reached the correct stadium — three minutes of the game had already passed. He’d missed the player intros and the chance to hear the crowd roar as his son’s name was announced in the starting XI. A little bummed, Antonio settled into his seat and did what any proud dad would do: He pulled out his phone and started filming.

Then it happened. In the 35th minute, Alex got behind the Toronto FC defense. He slotted a low shot past Toronto’s keeper, scoring his first MLS goal in his first start. As he slid into a celebration, Antonio went wild in the stands.

@mlsnextproNothing like scoring your first goal in @Major League Soccer, especially in front of your dad 🥹 What a moment for @Orlando City SC’s Alex Freeman, son of former @Green Bay Packers wide receiver and Super Bowl Champion Antonio Freeman! #mlsnextpro #mls #orlandocity #greenbaypackers #family

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“I was there for the magic,” Antonio says. “Maybe not the magical moment [of player intros], but I was there for the magic.”

One season as a regular starter for Orlando City was all Alex needed. He’s now a USMNT regular — the youngest member of the World Cup squad — and, in late January, completed a transfer to La Liga’s Villarreal CF. The top-flight Spanish club will compete in Champions League next season.

“Take your chances,” Alex told FOX 35 Orlando’s Aaron Page ahead of his Villarreal move. “You don’t know when it’s gonna come next or when somebody is gonna come and steal it. As a young pro, when you get the chance, you’ve gotta take it and be able to give 100%.”

For Freeman father and son, seizing the moment when opportunity presents itself has always come naturally. There is only ready, never not.

A BASKETBALL TOWN

ANTONIO FREEMAN STOOD on the side of the road. It was a late August night in 2004, and his Toyota Land Cruiser had stalled just two miles from his house in Baltimore County.

Irritating, but the transmission leak didn’t completely spoil his mood. His son, Alexander, had just been born.

Earlier that day, the NFL preseason had also just kicked off. Freeman, 32, was unsigned, but just over a week later, agreed to a one-year contract with the Miami Dolphins. Until that point, he’d spent his entire nine-year career with Mike Holmgren and Mike Sherman’s Packers and, for one year, Andy Reid’s Philadelphia Eagles, who employed West Coast-style offenses. As if age wasn’t a concern, adjusting to a new system weeks before the season started, after a decade of a scheme he was familiar with, proved too daunting a mountain to climb.

“I’ve learned Spanish for nine years, so I’ve just got to work on learning French now,” Freeman quipped to the Miami Sun-Sentinel at the time. The Dolphins ultimately released him before the regular season, unofficially marking the end of his NFL career. But perhaps learning French is overrated when you can already speak the language of Super Bowl Champion.

Freeman finished his NFL career with 477 catches for 7,251 yards and 61 touchdowns. He caught 10 career postseason touchdowns, including three in two Super Bowls. He lifted a Lombardi Trophy. He spent eight of his nine seasons with the Packers, leading the iconic franchise in receiving from 1996-1999. He also led the NFL with 1,424 receiving yards in 1998.

Many football fans best remember him for one of the greatest catches in NFL history, his bobbled walk-off score dubbed the “Monday Night Miracle.” (“He did WHAT?!”) Packers fans might argue that his then-record-setting 81-yard touchdown catch in Super Bowl XXXI was even sweeter. (Editor’s note: Sadly, the NFL has done everything in its power to prevent you from posting videos on Substack.)

In 2009, the Packers inducted Freeman into their Hall of Fame. Not bad at all for a former third-round pick, the ninth receiver chosen in the 1995 NFL Draft, yet the only one to ever earn First-Team All-Pro honors.

In another universe, though, Freeman wouldn’t be dunking footballs through a field-goal post as he celebrates a Super Bowl touchdown. He’d be dunking a basketball through a hoop in the NBA Finals.

Freeman is an East Baltimore native.

“Baltimore,” he says, “is a basketball town.”

He proudly references a couple Charm City high school powerhouses. Dunbar. Southern. Lake Clifton. He rattles off legends and standout contemporaries. Sam Cassell, his “summer basketball coach.” Muggsy Bogues. Reggie Williams. David Wingate. Calvin and Pat Williams. Donta Bright. Michael Lloyd.

“Those guys were around,” Freeman says. “So we dreamt basketball.”

Freeman, who attended Baltimore Polytechnic Institute (b.k.a. “Poly”), belonged among that collection of stars, even if his didn’t burn brightest of them all. A 6-foot-1 guard, he was capable of scoring at a very respectable volume.

“I just went into my senior year thinking, ‘Hey, if I can put up 27 [points per game] this year instead of 22, you know, I can get me a basketball scholarship.’”

SLEEPER OF THE YEAR

AS THE NEW guy on Frank Beamer’s 1988 Virginia Tech staff, of all the coaches, Michael Clark got assigned the scouting perimeter with perhaps the lightest recruiting stamp.

At the time, Baltimore County, Baltimore City, and southwest Virginia had some good recruits, but wasn’t considered a hotbed for elite football talent. The first-year defensive coordinator dug in anyway.

In a world where a million passing camps, Hudl reels, and message board recruiting sites didn’t yet exist, Clark commandeered the best scouting tool he could find: a subscription to The Baltimore Sun.

“Different era, different time,” Clark says over the phone, the now-retired 70-year-old taking a break from volunteer golf coaching duties. “There could be a good apple, but it got passed over.”

For any competent coach, however, nothing will beat the eye test. Clark was attending practice for a Baltimore area all-star game, scouting a receiver from McDonogh High. But, to Clark, he wasn’t the best receiver on the field. Some kid from Poly named Antonio Freeman running effortlessly smooth routes clearly was.

Clark conducted his newspaper research. The stats were good: 47 catches for 1,079 yards, and nine touchdowns. The Sun had named Freeman Offensive Player of the Year across its 104-school coverage radius. USA Today named him an honorable mention All-American.

SuperPrep Magazine tabbed Freeman the Mid-Atlantic Region’s “Sleeper of the Year”; his only confirmed football offer was from James Madison University, an I-AA school.

Freeman was a late-bloomer in football. “I always wanted to get on the field,” he says. “I didn’t know I would be good. I just knew I was an athlete.” He played football for two seasons at Poly (“I was a backup,” he jokes), and was largely motivated to play football because one of his best friends, running back Jeremy Smith, was on the team.

Poly head coach Augie Weibel — a local icon who led the school to 14 conference titles — was no-nonsense. Old school. A Sun writer once said Weibel’s offense consisted of four plays: Gut, Trap, Blast, and Counter. (All downhill run plays.)

“We ran the Power-I, out of a three-back system,” Freeman says, chuckling. “(Receivers) were called ‘ends’ because we were at the end of the line [of scrimmage]. Nine times out of 10, we would be in a three-point stance.”

But during Freeman’s senior year, Weibel opened up his offense, transitioning to an I-formation attack and unlocking the passing game, with Freeman as the focal point.

Weibel had liberated his scheme. However, he was still using 16mm film to record his teams, refusing the transition to tape. “I remember Augie pulling the projector and the film,” Clark recalls, “and saying, ‘Why don’t you put all those films on and see if you see anybody that catches your eye.’ I kind of took Augie’s word for it.”

As Clark did his due diligence, football wasn’t even on Freeman’s mind. “I'm still looking forward to basketball,” he recalls. His goal: land a scholarship (or, push come to shove, attend nearby Towson State and hoop there). Clark convinced Billy Hite, then V-Tech’s assistant head coach responsible for recruiting the DeMatha area, to go watch Freeman and Poly play basketball against Southern, one of Baltimore’s powerhouses.

“They might’ve gotten their butts kicked, but (Freeman) was hanging,” Clark says. “And these were 17-, 18-year-olds who were playing above the rim.” Hite was sold. Clark set up a home visit, to the shock of Freeman.

Freeman’s family lived in a house right off of North Avenue, which cuts across the I-40 and through Baltimore city. Clark parked his car and walked down a street of row houses before knocking at the door. Freeman’s mother, Rotha, made sure everything looked and smelled good. “She was real nervous,” Freeman recalls.

Clark offered Freeman a full-ride scholarship to Virginia Tech. Freeman estimates the value was around $80,000 for four years, or $105,000 if he needed an extra year.

“I wanted to say, ‘Man, I’m trying to wait until basketball. The [football] season’s over, bro,’” Freeman admits. But his parents — who affectionately call him “Buttons” — sitting in the room was too much. Rotha had worked retail at a Hudson’s Department Store, and his father, Clarence, worked for the Baltimore Gas and Electric Company. The chance to relieve them of any financial burden was too good to pass on.

“You don’t turn down one thing in hopes of another and win too many times in life,” Freeman says. “So, my journey went to Virginia Tech, and I became a football player.”

THIS KID’S ON THE GRIND, MAN

CLARK STRUCK GOLD in signing Freeman.

“We very early knew this was a good signing,” Clark says. “He walked into the system and very early was a receiver that people were talking about.”

Freeman enjoyed a standout Virginia Tech career, earning second-team All-Big East honors in his junior and senior campaigns, and eventual enshrinement in the school’s Sports Hall of Fame.

Clark departed V-Tech in 1993, and in 1995 took over Division-III Bridgewater College, where he coached for 26 seasons and became the winningest coach in Old Dominion Athletic Conference history. The same year Clark took over at Bridgewater, the Packers selected Freeman with the 90th overall pick in the NFL Draft.

Over 30 years later, though, Freeman now spends more time talking about the legacy of Freeman sporting success than anything that he’s personally accomplished in the past. What Alex has achieved — at such a young age, on such a massive stage, and in short time — has, understandably, left his Super Bowl champion father in awe.

“It wasn’t like I was focused since I was 14 or 15 to be a pro football player,” Antonio says. “My athleticism and being in the right place at the right time, it landed me places. I wasn’t on the grind. This kid’s on the grind, man.”

When he was Alex’s age, Antonio recalls ascending with Virginia Tech against peers of the same cohort. Alex is barely old enough to drink in the U.S. and a few years ago wasn’t playing at the highest pro level of his sport.

“That’s the amazing part for me, because I still look at him as my son,” Antonio says. “And the ascent to playing with grown men — you know, not only pickup at the park, we're talking about some of the best in the world, with a strong shoulder, and cats two times my size! These are grown men!”

Nonetheless, Antonio thinks Alex is living the dream. Few parents are better equipped to speak from such experience, achieving at a dizzyingly high level in sports. But Alex is seemingly on an accelerated program that could, perhaps, lead to him surpassing his father. He’s already forged his own path and overcome early let-downs to transform into something new; he initially wanted to be an attacker, like Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo, and score goals. Now, he may very well be one of the best young defender prospects in the world.

“Every adjustment he’s had to make,” Antonio says of Alex, “he’s made.”

In that regard: like father, like son.