The 2026 Fifa World Cup has attracted no shortage of criticism. Fans have complained about soaring ticket prices, scientists have warned of extreme temperatures, and pundits have clashed over everything from immigration policies to geopolitical tensions.
Depending on where you get your news, the tournament appears to be about almost everything except football.
Yet, as the competition unfolds, the real magic lies elsewhere. Beyond the commercialisation, corporate friction and political theatre, what has always made the World Cup special are the human stories that emerge along the way.
Long after the debates over ticket prices, politics and sponsorships have faded, what people tend to remember are the stories. Not just the goals or the trophies, but the journeys of individuals who capture our imagination and remind us why sport matters in the first place.
After Cape Verde’s remarkable draw against Spain, my son, who is a far more avid football fan than I am, remarked that the World Cup is made of moments like this.
As we watched the tournament together, I noticed something else. While I followed the matches, he was just as interested in the stories behind the players – where they came from, the obstacles they had overcome and the journeys that brought them to football’s biggest stage.
The more I reflected on that, the more I realised he was right.
Beyond the tactical battles and global headlines, the true spirit of the tournament lives in these individual journeys. Though distinct, the narratives unfolding on the pitch share a common thread: perseverance, opportunity and the humbling truth that talent alone is rarely enough.
When Cape Verde faced Spain in its historic World Cup debut, few expected the tiny island nation to avoid defeat. Spain was the overwhelming favourite and, admittedly, I knew very little about Cape Verde before the tournament.
Yet, like many watching, I found myself quietly rooting for the team. Perhaps it is human nature to want the underdog to have its moment.
Or perhaps, in some corner of my admittedly wild imagination, I was wondering what it might feel like if Malaysia stood on football’s biggest stage, defying expectations and taking on one of the game’s giants.
That said, judging by the predictions exchanged in our family World Cup group – for family honour and bragging rights rather than any financial reward, of course – few of us saw what was about to happen.
Standing between the posts was Vozinha, a 40-year-old goalkeeper whose path to football’s grandest stage was anything but conventional.
Before turning professional at 25, he spent years balancing local football with long hours as a bus driver and electrician, pursuing a dream many would have reluctantly abandoned.
Against one of the tournament favourites, he produced a string of world-class saves to secure a memorable draw. To the casual observer, it was a classic sporting upset.
To me, the beauty lay in the invisible decades that preceded it. We routinely celebrate achievements when they become visible, overlooking the countless hours of unglamorous sacrifice that make them possible.
Vozinha reminds us that perseverance is rarely flashy; it is the simple act of believing in something long before anyone else does.
Cape Verde then showed its draw against Spain was no fluke by holding Uruguay to a 2-2 draw.
Australia’s squad offers a different, but equally compelling, perspective on the human condition.
Awer Mabil was born in Kenya’s Kakuma refugee camp after his family fled civil war in South Sudan.
Nestory Irankunda was born in a refugee camp in Tanzania after his family escaped conflict in Burundi. Both eventually found refuge in Australia, where they were given opportunities that transformed their lives.
Today, they step onto the world stage not just as athletes, but as living examples of what can happen when talent is allowed to flourish.
Their stories are inspiring, but they also force us to confront an uncomfortable reality. Talent can be found almost anywhere. Opportunity cannot.
How many gifted young people never receive the stability, education or encouragement needed to fulfil their potential? What makes Mabil and Irankunda so inspiring is not just where they arrived, but what they reveal about the transformative power of opportunity.
It is an impact Mabil now pays forward through his foundation, which provides opportunities to displaced and disadvantaged children. Their lives prove that individual effort matters only when it is given a fair environment in which to flourish.
Of all the narratives to emerge from this World Cup, Raphinha’s is perhaps the most profound. Raised in Restinga, one of Porto Alegre’s poorest neighbourhoods, the Brazilian winger spent his youth playing on rough gravel pitches and crowded streets. Yet what makes his story remarkable is his honesty about his rise.
In interviews, Raphinha has openly acknowledged that many of his childhood peers were better footballers than he was. Some were faster, others more technically gifted, possessing the raw ability to go much further. Their lives, however, took different paths.
While Raphinha found the opportunities and breaks needed to build a professional career, those around him were trapped by poverty, drifted into crime or were overwhelmed by circumstances beyond their control.
We prefer comforting, linear narratives that suggest success is a simple equation of talent and hard work.
Life is rarely so tidy. Talent and work ethic are crucial, but so too are family structures, mentors, timing and the luck of being in the right environment at the right moment.
Raphinha’s perspective does not diminish his achievements. Instead, it injects a rare and refreshing humility into the conversation about success.
Ultimately, this World Cup is less about tactics and results than the people behind them. It is defined by a goalkeeper who refused to abandon his dream in obscurity, refugees who turned a second chance into global achievement, and a superstar humble enough to acknowledge the role fortune played in his success.
Perhaps that is why these stories resonate so strongly. They encourage us to look beyond the headlines and scoreboards and reflect on the people, sacrifices and opportunities that make achievement possible.
With 48 matches still to be played, there will undoubtedly be more stories to emerge, more surprises to unfold and perhaps a few more underdogs to capture our imagination.
After all, that is what World Cups have always done best.
And perhaps my son was right. The World Cup really is made of moments like these.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not represent that of Twentytwo13.
