We Built It for This
Last night felt different.
The United States opened the 2026 World Cup with an emphatic 4-1 victory over Paraguay. The scoreline was impressive, but it was the performance that stood out. Confident. Organized. Mature. Dangerous. For long stretches, the United States looked like a team that belonged on the biggest stage in the world. That may surprise some people.
For years, American soccer has been an easy target. We've been told our players are soft. That our culture doesn't understand the game. That our success has limits. And while criticism can sometimes be fair, those opinions often ignore what has been happening beneath the surface for the last twenty years.
I've watched it firsthand. My son is 19 years old. I've spent the last fifteen years on sidelines, training grounds, tournaments, and stadiums across this country. I've watched the level rise. I've watched players leave home as teenagers to chase opportunities in Europe. I've watched American kids dedicate themselves to mastering a sport that previous generations simply didn't have access to in the same way.
Many of the players representing the United States today were those kids. They left home. They lived abroad. They competed against the best. They struggled. They grew up.
Four years ago, at the 2022 World Cup, we saw flashes of what this group could become. Today, those same players are four years older, four years wiser, and finally beginning to look like the team many believed they could be.
No, this doesn't mean America is about to win the World Cup. But it does mean something is changing.
Tomorrow, I'll attend Japan versus the Netherlands with my son. It will be a special moment for us because thirty-two years ago, I attended a World Cup match in 1994 with my own parents when I was 17 years old. I still remember the excitement. The crowds were incredible. The atmosphere was unforgettable. But if we're being honest, most Americans in those stadiums were there because it was an event. They weren't students of the game. They weren't spending weekends watching leagues from around the world. They weren't debating tactics, player development pathways, or pressing systems.
Today is different. Millions of Americans grew up playing soccer. Millions more now watch it every week. Kids know who the stars are. Parents understand the game. Local clubs are producing talent. Professional pathways exist. The United States isn't becoming Europe. It isn't becoming Argentina or Brazil. And that's okay.
We're building our own soccer culture. One community at a time.
Which brings me to last night at TUPPS Brewery. We gathered to watch the United States open its World Cup journey. The atmosphere was electric. Fans packed the brewery. Cheers echoed throughout the property. Strangers celebrated together. At halftime, I walked outside and noticed something that made me smile.
The Chupacabras Pitch isn't even finished yet. We haven't held a grand opening. We haven't kicked the ceremonial first ball. Yet there were at least fifty kids running around on the turf, creating their own games, laughing, competing, and doing exactly what kids do when you give them a ball and a place to play.
So much for us kicking the first ball. That's perfect. Because that is exactly why we built it. Not for ribbon cuttings. Not for photo opportunities. Not for ourselves.
We built it for community. We built it for families. We built it for watch parties, pickup games, tournaments, friendships, and memories. We built it for the next generation of players who will grow up loving this game even more than the generation before them.
Last night, the United States took another step forward on the world's biggest stage. And at the same time, fifty kids took their own small steps forward on a soccer pitch in McKinney, Texas. That's how the game grows. That's how culture is built.
And that's why Pitchside exists.