The World Cup arrives every four years, transforming casual observers into sudden enthusiasts. As someone who typically ignores sports, I found myself drawn to the tournament's narrative arcs — the underdogs, the villains, the penalty shootouts that feel like cinema. Watching matches in crowded bars or alone at 3 a.m., I discovered a peculiar pleasure: fandom without history, loyalty without baggage. There's freedom in picking a team because you like their jersey color or their goalkeeper's mustache.

The games themselves became background theater, a shared language with strangers. I learned offside rules from TikTok and celebrated goals I didn't fully understand. The bandwagon isn't shallow — it's an entry point. By the semifinals, I was texting friends about VAR decisions with genuine outrage. The tournament ended, the bandwagon emptied, but something shifted. Next time, I might actually watch the qualifiers.