Nothing matches the magic of your first World Cup — the hazy nostalgia of childhood, summers that felt endless, and the colossal idols you thought would never fade.
In what feels like a blink, those childhood heroes are now cutaways in the crowd — Ronaldo, the original, alongside Roberto Carlos and Kaka — silvering legends in suits rather than swaggering in boots. The twinkle’s still there. The knees ache a bit more.
Tournaments once so clear now blur into adult ambivalence, postcards pinned along your life’s timeline, the detail growing grainy. The one you sprinted home from school for, the barbecues with your mates, the one you watched in your first home. Each summer ended with a wink, a shootout or a “why didn’t he square it?”
As an adult, the World Cup cycle seems to spin by faster, yet so much has shifted since Qatar four years ago — a tournament lived through a sleep-deprived haze in soft-play centres and binge-watching Bluey. These past few weeks have brought an unexpected joy.
Because, yes, nothing rivals your first World Cup, but nothing rivals the first World Cup you truly share with your child either.
Just in time, our almost six-year-old is head-over-heels for the beautiful game — marvelling at its greatest stars, hooked by a cast of new characters in vibrant kits, kidsplaining their celebrations to us. What a privilege to help shape those earliest football memories with him.
We thought it might not happen — and that would have been fine — because you can dress them in Three Lions babygrows and joke about Project Mbappé, but the love has to grow naturally, through playground-grazed knees and the intrigue that sparks among young mates.
“Who’s better, Messi or Ronaldo?!” The eternal question.
Four years ago, any attempt to watch together met the same stubborn toddler resistance as suggesting a midday nap. Now we’re knee-deep in Panini swapsies, reeling off an all-star French attack, and pointing out the flags and badges of all 48 nations. Shiny Brazil!
Of course, the way he experiences this World Cup differs from our childhoods, which differ from our parents’. “Grandad saw Pelé at Goodison Park?” Poignant for Grandad as an Evertonian; astonishing for the little one because his favourite YouTuber — Chuffsters — pulled a 99-rated Pelé icon card.
This isn’t a bedtime-friendly World Cup on this side of the pond — no late nights yet and no dashing into school early as the class teacher wheels in a chunky TV to catch Senegal shock France.
Instead, it’s about climbing into our bed at first light with his little brother, listing yesterday’s fixtures and predicting which star will score — a thirst quenched through highlights packages. A hearty hit of goals before breakfast.
Waking up last Wednesday felt like Christmas morning. Every clip unwrapped another stunning display. Kylian Mbappe, Erling Haaland, LIONEL MESSI GOT A HAT-TRICK! And though he’s the same age as many of their parents, it’s still Messi who resonates with today’s kids — his shirt dotted across Sunday morning pitches.
But for all that’s different, the core things stay the same.
Filling sticker books and scribbling on wallcharts, unboxing football figures — we’ve two Bradley Barcolas spare, if anyone needs? — hours in the garden as Harry Kane or Jude Bellingham, trying to recreate the tournament’s greatest goals. This could be the summer we buy a new fence.
It’s seeing your heroes come alive on screen and falling for unexpected new ones. Where can you find a Vozinha shirt?
Enjoying the game through your kids’ eyes casts it in a different light — blissfully unaware of modern football’s ills, of politics, ticket prices or hydration breaks. Just the pure magic of the sport, an innocent curiosity to know more, the irrepressible urge to “Siuuuuu!” down supermarket aisles.
Football can be tribal and divisive, but at heart it unites — whether it’s supporters from across the globe embracing in a Mexico City fan park or a dad and his young lads gathered around a sticker book in Manchester.
The World Cup is a phenomenon that spans generations. My grandpa died earlier in the tournament — his last interaction with the boys was posting some England stickers picked up with his weekly shop. The sadness eased by a small, thoughtful gesture — and that’s how they’ll remember him.
Whether our young football anorak will remember this tournament, who can say — and it doesn’t really matter. That’s the gift of childhood: living in the moment. By next week he might have moved on; maybe we’ll be chasing Pokémon again. We’ll enjoy that together too.
Right now, it’s a beautiful satisfaction to experience this World Cup through his wide-eyed wonder and to treasure this passion we share.
So, here’s to this summer. For me, this is the one that will last forever.