I’ve been to Montreal several times now. The first was in the summer of 2010. I had just finished middle school and my family was moving from the suburbs of New York to something like a suburb of Victoria, BC. We’d travelled from New York to Cooperstown, then to Ottawa, then to Montreal. On the other side of the world, in South Africa, the World Cup was underway. We watched most games but we missed the infamous knockout game between Ghana and Uruguay because we were driving in some sunny Canadian countryside. We listened to the drama unfold over the radio.

On our last day in Montreal, before flying to the West Coast, we watched the World Cup final in our hotel rooms. I was rooting for Netherlands from the beginning and they made it all the way to final and then lost to Spain in extra time. I watched it with my family at the hotel we were staying at. I remember the sick feeling of disappointment when that goal went in and hearing my dad cheer in the adjoining room. I’m not sure why he was cheering for Spain.

Six years later in the summer I turned twenty I visited Montreal again, this time without family and just two of my friends. We took a redeye and dallied in sleepy stupor while we waited for our Airbnb in the Plateau to be ready for checkin. We explored the city and drank beer on the balcony in the muggy heat of August and heard the electricity crackle on the cables hanging over the street. Frank Ocean had dropped Blonde one week earlier and it seemed like every boutique we visited was playing it.

Another eight years later in 2022 I visited Montreal again, this time to visit my sister who’d moved there to study law at McGill. It was November but the World Cup was happening again because it was in Qatar, where summers are very hot. My sister was recovering from a cold or a flu of some sort and soon I caught it too. I was bedridden for days and I lay aching and sweating, watching the World Cup on my laptop. Luis Chávez scored one of the best free kicks I’ve ever seen, I don’t remember much else.

Today is July 9 2026 and tomorrow my wife and I will fly to Montreal while Spain duel Belgium in the World Cup quarterfinals. This World Cup I’ve followed more closely than most others. I’ve watched most of the games and even attended one in Seattle. The last time I watched so many World Cup games was sixteen years ago, in 2010, when my parents were organizing our move from the American East Coast to the Canadian West. Now I’m in charge of planning my travels and somehow managed to book our return flight on the day of the final. If the game goes to penalties like it did last year, I might have to watch it on my phone while we board the plane.