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 traveled up New York to Cooperstown, then across the border to Ottawa, then and finally 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 quarterfinal 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 Final in our hotel rooms. I was had been rooting for Netherlands from the beginning Netherlands all tournament and they made it all the way to the final and then but 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 ball reaching Iniesta in the box desperately beyond all Dutch defenders and my heart sinking as he volleyed it past the keeper and hearing then my dad cheer in cheering from the adjoining room. I’m not sure why he was cheering for Spain. room more with gloating than with joy.

Six years later in the summer I turned twenty I visited Montreal again, this time without family and just but with two of my friends. We took a redeye flight and dallied in sleepy stupor while we waited for our Airbnb apartment in the Plateau to be ready for checkin. We explored spent ten days in Montreal exploring the city and drank drinking beer on the apartment balcony in the muggy heat of August and heard hearing the electricity crackle on the cables hanging over the street. Frank Ocean had just 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. it. Ever since that trip I was bedridden for days get a yearly flu shot in hope of never getting sick like that again. But I remember that visit fondly. My sister brought me coffee and medicine and let me stay in the loft, in the only bedroom of the Airbnb. She had recently moved out of her apartment following uncomfortable altercations with her flatmate. I lay mostly bedridden for days aching and sweating, sweating and 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. seen.

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.