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Jamie Druley, a 51-year-old car salesman from Indiana, described himself as “obsessed with the NFL”. That was until the antics of Scotland’s “Tartan Army” in Boston piqued his curiosity. “I thought to myself: I’m going to watch this World Cup and find out what drives these people to travel thousands of kilometres and spend thousands of dollars’,” he told the BBC. The result: his wife was texting him from the bedroom to turn the volume down whilst he was shouting in front of the telly. At work, the matches were playing in the showroom, and the England v Argentina semi-final descended into raucous betting with his boss, who placed a bet on the result of Sunday’s final.
A passion born between the showroom and the sofa
The father of three embodies a groundswell that has been sweeping across the United States since the kick-off of this World Cup, co-hosted by the country.
The father of three embodies a groundswell that has been sweeping across the United States since the kick-off of this World Cup, co-hosted by the country. His journey as a new fan is marked by these small shifts which, taken together, tell the story of a cultural revolution: late-night text messages from his wife, exasperated by his shouting; matches constantly playing in the car dealership; and soon, perhaps, a season ticket for Fort Wayne FC, the local club that has just opened a brand-new 9,200-seat stadium.
30 million viewers, an all-time record
Druley is not an isolated case. Fox reported that 30 million American viewers watched the United States’ defeat by Belgium, making this match the most-watched English-language football broadcast in American history. Across the tournament as a whole, an average of 5.1 million Americans watched the 72 matches broadcast on Fox, FS1 and Tubi — a spectacular 92 per cent increase compared with the 2022 World Cup, according to figures from Nielsen Media Research.
Courtney Silbaugh, a 33-year-old mother from Pennsylvania, epitomises this transformation. “I watched all but six of the matches,” she says. Having previously described herself as “not a sports fan at all”, she now says she is “obsessed” with soccer. “I tried American football, but it didn’t work out. I’ve been to baseball matches, but I don’t have a great view, so it’s hard to follow the ball.” Football, however, passed the test with flying colours.
‘Hey Jude’ in the kitchen and YouTube when she wakes up
Heather Earhart, 54, a banker and grandmother also living in Indiana, has become a fan with a passion that surprises even her. Her son-in-law is a secondary school football coach, her grandchildren play the sport, but until then she’d been “scratching her head” in the stands. The World Cup changed everything. “I’ve fallen completely in love with this English thing, with ‘Hey Jude’ and ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis,” she tells the BBC. She now plays these songs whilst doing the housework and rushes to YouTube every morning to check the scores. Better still: she’s watched tutorials to learn “how to kick a ball, how to put spin on it, and the rules”. She’s thinking of supporting a Manchester club or Jude Bellingham’s Real Madrid, and is looking forward to returning to a football pub in Indianapolis “with some idea of what I’m watching”.
What next?
This surge in interest comes at a strategic moment. The MLS continues to grow, infrastructure is expanding — the Fort Wayne stadium is the latest example — and the American audience has proven it can rival the major, long-established football markets. It remains to be seen whether this enthusiasm will survive once the World Cup spotlight fades. Jamie Druley, for his part, has already made up his mind: he’ll be at the stadium next season. And if he’s not alone, the impact of the 2026 World Cup on American soccer could well be the most lasting in its history.