Walking through the neighborhood of Recoleta, Buenos Aires, I pull my jacket tighter against the cold. It is winter in Argentina, but today, June 16, the faces I pass are livelier, more excited. Excited chatter fills the streets, and from the European-style apartments lining the avenues, huge Argentine flags are hung from the balconies. In Argentina, today might as well be a national holiday: Argentina’s first game in the 2026 World Cup competition. Coming off a monumental championship victory in 2022, combined with widespread expectation that this will be Messi’s last “Mundial,” Argentina is buzzing with anticipation.

Unfortunately, I am battling a cold, and upon arriving at my homestay in the quiet Colegiales neighborhood, I tuck myself into bed, pulling the game up on my laptop rather than joining the festivities in a popular Palermo bar with my friends. Outside my window, I hear the celebrations as Messi scores and Argentina wins.

The next game is played 6 days later, on June 22, against a tough Austrian team. It is a Monday, and despite my recovery from my cold, as Monday approaches, my mind is not on the game. That day I am supposed to take a final exam at 2 p.m., followed by another long class from 3:30 to 7 p.m. However, as I bend over my desk, reviewing my knowledge of 20th-century Chilean politics, my phone buzzes with two emails from my university.

The first is news that my final exam has been postponed to Wednesday because of the game. The second is that my long evening class won’t begin until “the current champion finishes its game.” Reading the emails, I laugh out loud. I text my closest friend back home in the United States, telling him how different it is here—my final has just been moved for a soccer game. He texts back: “Bro, that is genuinely crazy.” But if you know Argentina, it isn’t that crazy. Porque acá, el fútbol es religión. Here, soccer is religion.

In the midst of experiences like these, it is hard not to join in the festive atmosphere. Although I was never a soccer fan growing up, I find myself studying lineups, betting on scores against my host family, and walking to San Telmo to find myself a nice Messi jersey. But more important, I find myself reflecting on that saying—acá, el fútbol es religión—in a different way. In a world that seems more divided than ever, the World Cup offers a powerful opportunity to foster a more inclusive global community. 

Pope Leo XIV recently prayed specifically for the value of sports, saying “May those who play, train, or cheer discover in sport a universal language that brings cultures together, unites people and sows respect, solidarity, and personal growth.” Leo’s message is particularly well timed, because the World Cup was invented for this exact purpose. The first-ever Mundial was held in 1930, in Uruguay under the FIFA president, Jules Rimet. Rimet, a devout Catholic, is a legend in soccer history, having served as FIFA president for 33 years. The World Cup trophy was named after him until 1970, honoring his crucial role in developing the tournament. Deeply inspired by Pope Leo XIII’s “Rerum Novarum,” Rimet envisioned the World Cup as an initiative to “unite people from all different races and social classes.”

On the 135th anniversary of “Rerum Novarum,” Pope Leo XIV promulgated a new encyclical titled “Magnifica Humanitas.” In 1891, Pope Leo XIII was writing during a world that was changing forever, in the middle of the Industrial Revolution. Now, we are perhaps facing a new industrial revolution, with the advent of artificial intelligence. Pope Leo XIV’s new encyclical celebrates the magnificence of our human nature in a world where we have “never had such power over ourselves.” He impels us to not only remember but to celebrate that which makes us human in times when technology blurs the lines between human and machine.

Perhaps the World Cup this year can offer us a special space to reflect on this distinction. As a lifelong sports fan, I think there are few things as human as sports. For two hours, we fans share space, eat too much food and scream our lungs out over a game that, intrinsically, is nothing more than a game. But for us, it is never just a game. It is part of our identity, a source of connection, a chance to escape from the stressors of everyday life. In English, this powerful energy is reflected even in our speech. Often, when speaking about our team’s performance, we use collective pronouns. For true fans, it is never “The team didn’t play well today,” or “The team is looking strong this year,” but “We didn’t play well today,” and “We are looking strong this year.” Of course, we are not members of the team. But nonetheless, the team is ours.

The World Cup is the beauty of sports on a global level. Once every four years, our disparate team identities merge into a national one. I have noticed this especially during my time here in Argentina. At other times, contention between fans of La Boca and River Plate can occasionally escalate to violence. But for two months, everyone wears the blue and white stripes. Everyone sheds the same tears, from either victory or defeat.

Despite the joy, the challenges to our shared humanity persist, even in light of such a powerful uniting event. The United States, designated as a host country, denied 15 visas to staff of the Iranian national team over tensions between the two countries, prompting outrage at the lack of hospitality displayed by the host nation. Stories like this, contrary to both the goals of the founder, Rimet, and the urging of Pope Leo, can serve to remind us why the World Cup is so important, and what its purpose is supposed to be.

The World Cup is a chance to celebrate the culture of another country, a chance to forget the divisions that exist in normal times. I have shared many laughs with friends over social media posts from this year’s World Cup, from the Scottish fans drinking Boston dry to German @FreddyLA7’s excitement at his first U.S. visit. 

This World Cup, I am reminded of why we play sports, and why the World Cup was created. In times of such division, I hope that it serves as a reminder of the need for true connection. It is hard to imagine anything more human.

Daniel Berkes is a rising senior at Boston College studying international studies with a concentration in ethics and social justice, along with a minor in Hispanic studies. He is currently studying abroad at the Universidad Torcuato di Tella in Buenos Aires, Argentina.