Opinion: My complicated relationship with the 2026 World Cup

I carry a cherished memory in my mind. I was 10 years old, sitting in my parents' living room in Tijuana during the 1994 World Cup. My older sister was beside me, and on one Saturday morning, she painted my face with the colors of two flags: the United States on one cheek, Mexico on the other.

It was the first time the United States hosted the international event and the first World Cup I truly remember enjoying. But my love for soccer had started even earlier. Many Sunday mornings, I sat with my father in front of our television to watch futbol. He taught me the rules of the game, but more importantly, he taught me how to love it. He passed down his loyalty to Chivas, our Mexican club, and his passion for the Mexican national team.

As the years passed, World Cups became markers of different stages of my life.

I watched matches from France 1998 in a classroom at school, trying to focus on lessons while secretly thinking about the games. During the Japan-Korea Cup in 2002, I gathered with friends and stayed awake through the night, waiting for broadcasts that came at strange early morning hours. We were exhausted, but happy.

Later, I became a journalist, and my love for soccer only grew stronger. I watched Germany 2006 and South Africa 2010 on my own or at parties, following every storyline and upset with the curiosity of both a fan and a reporter. Then came Brazil 2014, Russia 2018 and Qatar 2022, which I watched with my son. Just as my father once did for me, I tried to pass along the love of the game and the complicated pride of cheering for two national teams: Mexico and the United States.

As a little girl, I used to wonder when the World Cup would return so close to home. So when it was announced that the 2026 tournament would be hosted by Mexico, the United States and Canada, I thought I would feel joy. I expected excitement. I expected pride.

Instead, I feel conflicted.

It is impossible for me to separate the celebration of the event - which starts on June 11 - from the reality surrounding it. In Mexico, violence has scarred daily life for decades. Thousands have died in the so-called war on drugs and thousands more have disappeared. Families continue searching for answers, for justice, for loved ones who never came home. Even soccer stadiums have become places of protest, where people hold signs demanding that the missing not be forgotten.

How can anyone ignore that pain just because the world is coming to watch games?

On the northern side of the border, things feel unstable in different ways. Many families struggle under the weight of rising prices for groceries, gas and housing. Political division is constant. Leadership often feels disconnected from ordinary people. The promises of prosperity and unity sound hollow when so many are simply trying to survive.

Recently, I noticed World Cup merchandise appearing in stores near me. Shirts, cups, banners, souvenirs, bright reminders that the countdown has begun. But instead of feeling excited, I felt something unexpected.

Nothing.

I have no desire to buy overpriced tickets to attend a match, even though I live only hours away from some of the host stadiums. I do not feel the usual urge to plan watch parties or mark dates on the calendar. For the first time in my life, I am not even sure if I want to watch the tournament on television.

That realization surprised me.

The World Cup has always been more than soccer to me. It was family. It was childhood. It was staying up late with friends. It was bonding with my father. It was sharing something beautiful with my son. It was identity, memory and belonging.

Now, when I think of the 2026 World Cup, I do not feel proud.

I feel ashamed that such a joyful event can exist beside so much suffering. I feel disappointed that the sport I love can be wrapped so neatly in marketing while people struggle outside the stadium walls. And I feel sad that something that once brought me pure happiness now leaves me emotionally distant.

Maybe I will watch after all. Maybe once the first whistle blows, some of that old magic will return.

But today, I am still mourning the excitement I thought I would feel.

Navarro is community opinion editor at The San Diego Union-Tribune. She is a transfronteriza who lives on both sides of the border.

Copyright 2026 Tribune Content Agency. All Rights Reserved.