I don't care about anything other than the Knicks
The world's most-watched sporting event has arrived on American soil for only the second time in history, yet for many of its hosts, it has arrived quietly — almost invisibly. While Lionel Messi's image looms over Times Square and subway cars wear the colors of competing nations, the emotional attention of millions of Americans remains fixed on basketball and football, sports that have long claimed the country's deepest loyalties. The 2026 World Cup carries the memory of 1994's transformative power, but whether it can once again rewrite the American sports imagination depends on forces — a team's performance, a nation's curiosity — that no billboard or marketing campaign can fully command.
- On the very night the World Cup launched, thousands of Americans were standing on car hoods celebrating an NBA Finals comeback — a vivid symbol of where the country's heart truly lies.
- Half of Americans surveyed say they simply don't care about the tournament, and in some host cities, residents didn't even know it was happening.
- Ticket prices starting at $1,120 have locked out the families most likely to become soccer converts, undermining the grassroots enthusiasm organizers desperately need.
- Organizers and younger fans are betting that momentum will build — watch parties are forming, and 30,000 people registered for just 5,000 spots at a U.S. training session, suggesting latent interest waiting to ignite.
- The tournament's fate in American culture now hinges on how far the U.S. national team advances, with a deep run potentially doing what no marketing campaign has managed to achieve on its own.
On the night the World Cup quietly began, New York was consumed by something else entirely. The Knicks had just completed the greatest comeback in NBA Finals history, and the city erupted. It was a moment that said everything about what global soccer's most prestigious tournament is up against in the United States.
Messi's face towers over Times Square. Subway cars wear the colors of competing nations. The U.S. prepares to face Paraguay. And yet roughly half of Americans surveyed say they don't care. In Los Angeles, a taxi driver transporting journalists expressed genuine surprise that a World Cup was about to begin. Scottish fans arriving in Boston found that locals — including a postal worker — had no idea the tournament was happening at all.
This is the second time the U.S. has hosted the men's World Cup. The first, in 1994, sparked a genuine cultural shift and led directly to the creation of Major League Soccer. Organizers hope history will repeat itself, describing a "slow build leading to a frothy frenzy." Some younger fans seem ready — one first-time viewer said he was drawn simply by the novelty of it happening nearby, while others spoke of organizing watch parties and appealing to friends through national pride.
But the barriers are stubborn. The cheapest tickets to the U.S. opener cost over $1,100, pricing out the families with children already playing club soccer — precisely the audience most likely to care. Parents who wanted to attend said they simply couldn't justify the cost.
What changes everything, if anything does, is the U.S. team's performance. When the squad held an open training session, 30,000 people registered for 5,000 spots — proof that interest exists, waiting to be activated. Unconventional marketing efforts, including a player appearing on a fashion magazine cover, reflect the organization's awareness that reaching new audiences requires unusual moves. Whether the 2026 World Cup ultimately reshapes American sports culture, as 1994 did, remains genuinely uncertain. For now, in the long shadow of a Knicks championship run, it remains something happening just out of view.
On Wednesday night in New York City, thousands of people stood on car hoods in Manhattan while bars along the Santa Monica shoreline erupted in roars. The New York Knicks had just completed the greatest comeback in NBA Finals history, defeating the San Antonio Spurs. It was a moment that crystallized what the World Cup faces in the United States: a country where basketball and football command the emotional real estate, leaving global soccer's most prestigious tournament scrambling for attention.
The tournament is underway. The U.S. national team prepares to face Paraguay on Saturday. Lionel Messi's face towers over Times Square on a billboard. Subway cars in New York wear the colors of competing nations. And yet, for millions of Americans, the World Cup might as well be happening on another continent. A recent poll found that roughly half of Americans surveyed simply do not care about it. In New York, where the Knicks lead their Finals series 3-1 and could clinch their first championship since 1973 on the same day the U.S. plays, the choice is clear. "I don't care about anything other than the Knicks," one fan told BBC Sport. Another, wearing royal blue and orange, admitted plainly: "I'm going to be honest. I don't know much about soccer."
This is the second time the United States has hosted the men's World Cup. The first, in 1994, left a permanent mark on the country's sports landscape—it sparked a genuine cultural shift, boosted soccer's popularity, and led directly to the creation of Major League Soccer. More than three decades later, that same tournament has returned to American soil. But the public imagination has not followed. In Los Angeles, where the U.S. will play two of its three group matches, a taxi driver transporting BBC journalists expressed genuine surprise that a World Cup was about to begin. "Who's playing?" he asked. Banners hang from the airport. Murals celebrate Messi. Electronic billboards rotate through squad rosters. For those paying attention, the signs are everywhere. For everyone else, it remains invisible.
Larry Freedman, co-chairman of the Los Angeles World Cup Host Committee, frames the situation with cautious optimism. "I think we have had a slow build that is leading to a frothy frenzy," he said. The theory is that excitement will compound as the tournament progresses, that the novelty of hosting such an event will eventually break through the noise of basketball, American football, and the thousand other claims on American attention. Some younger fans do seem primed for it. Isaiah, visiting from Sacramento County, said he had never watched a World Cup before but planned to this year, drawn partly by the fact that it was happening in Los Angeles. "It will be something different," he said. Mahon, another younger supporter, spoke of watch parties already being organized, of trying to convert friends who weren't soccer enthusiasts by appealing to national pride.
But the barriers are real and immediate. Ticket prices have become a serious obstacle. The cheapest seats for the U.S. opener cost $1,120—roughly £836. Families have been priced out. In downtown Los Angeles, Chris and Angie, who have two daughters playing club soccer, said they were thrilled to have the World Cup in their area but would watch from home. "The ticket prices and availability are a whole other subject," Chris said. Brennan and his wife Erica, also with children, echoed the sentiment: they wanted to attend but could not justify the cost.
Scottish fans arriving in Boston for their team's return to the World Cup after 28 years away encountered a different kind of invisibility. One supporter, wearing a Scotland shirt, went to mail a letter and the postal worker asked if he was on holiday. She did not know the World Cup was happening. Another Scottish fan noted that while the pubs were excellent, "I don't think anyone knows that there is a World Cup on." The disconnect is striking: a global event of immense significance, unfolding in American cities, largely unknown to the people living in them.
What happens next depends partly on forces beyond the tournament's control. If the U.S. national team performs well, if they advance deep into the competition, the support will likely build. The team held an open training session this week and 30,000 fans registered for just 5,000 available tickets—a sign that interest exists, waiting to be activated. The organization has tried unconventional marketing too. U.S. international Malik Tillman recently appeared on the cover of a fashion magazine in a hat that resembled an elongated mushroom. Defender Chris Richards acknowledged the strangeness of it but saw the point: "Ultimately it's about exposure." If such efforts reach new audiences, and if the American team gives those audiences reason to care, the 2026 World Cup could yet reshape how the country thinks about soccer. But that outcome is far from certain. For now, in the shadow of the Knicks' championship run, the tournament remains a foreign thing in a foreign land.
Citas Notables
I think we have had a slow build that is leading to a frothy frenzy— Larry Freedman, co-chairman of Los Angeles World Cup Host Committee
Ultimately it's about exposure. I'm always up for expressing ourselves in different ways— Chris Richards, U.S. defender
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does basketball matter so much right now? Is it just that the Knicks are good?
It's not just that they're good—it's that they're on the verge of winning their first championship in 53 years. That's a once-in-a-lifetime moment for a city. The World Cup happens every four years, but this Knicks run is happening now, on Saturday, the same day the U.S. plays Paraguay. You can't split your attention like that in a city.
But the World Cup is the biggest sporting event in the world. Shouldn't that override everything?
It should, maybe. But America doesn't experience soccer the way the rest of the world does. Basketball and football are woven into the culture here. Soccer is still the new thing, even after 1994. For most Americans, it's not in their bones yet.
What about the families who want to go but can't afford tickets?
That's the real tragedy. You have parents with kids in club soccer who are desperate to take their children to see the World Cup in their own country, and the cheapest ticket is over a thousand dollars. You're pricing out the people who might actually become lifelong fans.
Do you think the U.S. team doing well would change things?
Almost certainly. If they make a deep run, if they're playing meaningful matches in the knockout stages, the momentum builds on itself. People who weren't interested start paying attention. But if they go out early, the tournament becomes background noise.
What's different from 1994?
In 1994, soccer was a complete novelty in America. Now it's familiar but not beloved. We have MLS, we have youth soccer everywhere, but it hasn't translated into the kind of passion that basketball generates. The World Cup is trying to light that spark again, but it's fighting against 32 years of entrenched sports culture.
Is there any chance this tournament actually changes things?
Yes, but it requires everything to go right—good marketing, affordable access, and most importantly, the U.S. team playing well enough that people can't ignore them. If all three happen, maybe. But right now, it feels like the tournament is happening in a parallel universe that most Americans don't know exists.