Andrew Helms | The New Republic
June 2018 | 8-minute read
The U.S. lost that day, but that game, that bar, and that photo epitomize what I used to love most about American soccer. There’s a beautiful irrationality to the whole enterprise. We knew that we weren’t going to win the World Cup, but the sliver of hope that we might get to watch one more game was enough to unite a group of strangers in a strange place.