My Daily Bread and Circus in 2026.

Written By Kaylé Barnes

When the 2026 World Cup began, I was still riding the high of my first love, Arsenal FC, securing our first Premier League trophy in 22 years. Starting on Tuesday, May 19th, I began mainlining the “Collective Effervescence” of the mandem (gender-neutral) from around the world reveling in not just the destination, but the journey. However, as the days between securing the league and the spontaneous parades and celebrations increased, I became more anxious about what was to come.

This is the least excited I’ve been for a World Cup since, well…the 2022 World Cup. This World Cup is different and worse because I feel complicit in all of the harm being done by my government, and it pisses me off.

In a just world, the U.S. would have been stripped of its hosting duties and the games redistributed to our neighbors to the North and South. We don’t deserve the world’s greatest party while our government is wreaking havoc domestically and abroad. Alas, in this timeline, we’re burdened with the reality of the corrupt and cartoonishly callous. It’s been a lot and has taken away the unbridled joy I’ve felt in my younger years, peaking in 2014 when I met my spouse, had fewer responsibilities to shift my schedule around watching 5011 matches and more, and the hope and vibes of the Obama years were high in Washington, D.C.

Nevertheless, I knew I’d end up watching, because I’m weak.

BUT I did start a running list of things that pissed me off, ranging from the big and existential (the U.S. doing general fuckery at home and abroad) to the petty (a player’s hairstyle being wack).

I watched the U.S. Men’s National Team’s inaugural match at a watch party and was touched by the great turnout and hope. The intergenerational, diverse (at least for San Francisco) crowd and the numerous people of all backgrounds sporting kits from the four-time World Cup champion-winning U.S Women’s National Team. Despite having flashbacks to dreamy World Cups of summers past, I just couldn’t tap into the enthusiasm or giddiness. Perhaps I’ve become too much of a Euro snob, but I think it’s the weight of the numerous, heavy injustices being inflicted on just about every sector of society. It’s hard, if not impossible, to feel excited about this party when it feels like the house is on fire.

Nonetheless, the world showed up while Rome burns, all the better for our bread and monthlong circus.

I ate my delicious, if overpriced burger, sipped my sparkling wine, and took in the sights, including a sweet group who appeared to be supporting Paraguay, based on one person’s Paraguayan flags tucked into their braids, flapping proudly in the San Francisco wind. My dissociation ended abruptly when I heard the familiar refrain of a chant I’ve heard and sung for decades at this point, “What do we think of shit…” Whereas I sing this song full-throatedly in honor of Tottenham Hotspur, a football team in London that almost got relegated last season, a group of guys was hurling the chant against…Paraguay.

At that time, #41 according to FIFA rankings, Paraguay.

I have a special disdain for the category of American soccer bros whose braggadocio resurfaces every four years (maybe more frequently if they’re watching the Gold Cup, I don’t know, it’s no longer my culture) and who think the best way they can support their national team is by punching down on other countries because I can never simply watch international football without thinking about power imbalances, historic beef and legacies, and national myths. I’m thinking of the type of loser who wears a t-shirt that proclaims “Back to Back World War Champions” to a World Cup watch party.

After the match, I exchanged some words with the group and told them they could support their team without being [insert your preferred expletive]. They countered that it was a shitty country*, and I responded. Call me woke, but I fucking hate bullies.

The U.S. Men’s team would go on to trick folks before a red card controversy and a complete dismantling by the Red Devils. Shout out to Leandro Trossard forever.

Kits and Cards and Magazines

The defiant part of me knows that even with all the bullshit that FIFA and this current administration can muster, football still belongs to the people, and while you can rig which countries get to host or even, allegedly, specific matches through fraudulent calls, not even FIFA can fabricate the joy of watching a Cabo Verde go toe to toe with the mighty Spain or Argentina or of seeing Mbappé take command of the pitch** like its his kingdom.

From athletes like Socrates of old to Hector Bellerin or Irvine Jackson of the Socceroos and managers like Egypt’s Hossam Hassan, who use their platforms to stand up for others, it’s a reminder that the beautiful game persists because it’s not just bread and circuses; it can also be used to promote bread and roses.

Here are some of the best things I came across during this World Cup

*The irony is not lost on me that a few weeks later, the Paraguay national team would show their entire ass by playing violent, anti-football against the French national team, and then that a Paraguayan politician went on to spew some of the most laughably racist vitriol I’ve witnessed in a minute. In 2026, this is a real feat!

** This was before Spain made France look absolutely pedestrian and human in the semifinals. RIP Les Bleus.

Kaylé Barnes
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