Opinion: This generation of football fans separate footie from FIFA

The electricity had gone out again in our neighborhood on the east side of Bucerías, sending people out onto our dirt road to wait for the fans to spin back to life and the lights to come back on.

The neighborhood kids drifted toward us with footballs tucked under their arms while parents sat outside fanning themselves in the thick evening heat.

Me being English means the teenagers in the neighborhood know I’m always good for a footie conversation. Usually, that means debates about the Premier League, arguments over who Mexico should start up front or listening to them explain why their generation watches highlights on TikTok instead of full matches.

But this time, as they knocked a ball around between parked motorcycles, the conversation shifted toward the World Cup, and something surprising emerged.

A generational shift in perception about the World Cup

The boys, ranging from about 13 to 17 years old, still love football with the same intensity that generations before them did. They play for hours in our dusty street until it gets too dark to see the ball.

They wear worn-out jerseys of Chivas, América, Barcelona and Manchester City. They know every skill move, every transfer rumor and every controversial refereeing decision before most adults do.

But unlike their parents and grandparents, they don’t seem especially excited about the World Cup.

“We love football,” 17-year-old Ángel told me while balancing the ball against his ankle. “Just not all the fake stuff around it.”

That feeling came up repeatedly as the group and I talked.

Football versus the politics and economics that surround it

For older generations in Mexico, the World Cup carried a near-sacred energy. Families gathered around televisions, streets emptied during Mexico matches and entire neighborhoods celebrated goals together.

The tournament felt larger than sport, as though it were a collective emotional event capable of briefly making people forget politics, money problems or everyday stress.

But this younger generation has grown up online, connected to the global world in ways previous generations simply weren’t. They don’t just see the matches. They also see the corruption allegations, sponsorship deals, political controversies and billion-dollar branding campaigns attached to the sport.

“My dad only knew football from TV,” José, 15, told me. “We see everything now. We see the money and the ugly side.”

At 14, Emiliano already speaks about FIFA with remarkable cynicism.

“They talk about peace and unity every World Cup,” he said, shrugging. “But everything is money.”

Another teenager, 15-year-old Diego, rolled his eyes.

Separating sport from spectacle

“Yeah. It’s stupid, and it makes me mad,” he said. “FIFA gave a peace prize to Donald Trump, but I know what he really thinks about me. FIFA acts like they represent all of us; that’s not true when they give an award like that.”

The others nodded.

Several mentioned outrage over ticket prices, saying the World Cup increasingly feels designed for the wealthy and corporate guests rather than ordinary fans who actually live and breathe football year-round.

“Who can actually afford to go?” asked Ángel. “No one I know!”

Others mocked what they described as performative messaging from FIFA and major sponsors online.

“Every company suddenly cares about equality because football is popular,” José laughed. “Then, after the tournament, they disappear.”

A mature awareness among younger viewers

What struck me most wasn’t their anger so much as their awareness. These teenagers haven’t fallen out of love with football itself; they’ve simply become harder to impress with the spectacle surrounding it.

Social media plays a huge role in that shift: Their grandparents experienced football mostly through television and newspapers; today’s teenagers consume the sport alongside a nonstop stream of commentary, criticism and global news.

They see luxury suites beside poverty. They see political hypocrisy discussed in real time. They see players become influencers and clubs become corporations.

“We still watch Mexico, but not every other game,” one younger boy chimed in from the sidelines. “We’re not stupid.”

At their age, I certainly wasn’t thinking that deeply about football governance or billion-dollar sponsorships; I was just excited for kickoff.

Yet, despite all their skepticism, the game itself still transforms the street every evening.

As darkness settled over the neighborhood and the power remained out, the conversation faded and another match began.

Flipflops became goalposts. Younger kids chased rebounds into ditches while the older ones argued over fouls with dramatic intensity worthy of a World Cup final itself.

The romance is gone, but the love is still real

And in that moment, it was obvious that football still matters enormously to them. Maybe even more than before. The difference is that this generation no longer sees the World Cup purely through romantic eyes.

They can hold two truths at once: Football remains beautiful, but the machine built around it often feels artificial, commercialized and disconnected from the communities that love the game most.

“The football is still real,” Ángel said before jogging back into the game. “It’s everything around it that feels weird now.”

Writing this now, I realize how impressed I am by their awareness of a world far beyond this dusty dirt road in Bucerías.

Despite growing up in a less-than-modest neighborhood, where power outages still send everyone outside at night, they speak confidently about global politics, corruption, inequality and the difference between what they believe is right and wrong.

Whether you or I agree with all their opinions, there’s something admirable about a generation that still believes principles should stand for something.

Their parents saw the World Cup as pure magic. These kids still see the magic. They’re just no longer blind to what’s happening behind the curtain.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.