"Nobody cared whether you're on the right or on the left, everybody was singing and enjoying the day together." That's Seattle Sounders head coach Brian Schmetzer describing June 19 at Lumen Field — 66,925 people in red, white, and blue watching the US beat Australia 2-0, then belting out Take Me Home Country Roads in unison. If you're trying to explain what soccer means to Seattle, that's the clip you show.
Schmetzer, 63, grew up in Seattle watching his German-born father play in ethnic leagues against Hungarians, Polish, and Italian sides. He played for the Sounders himself when they were a North American Soccer League outfit in the '70s and '80s. He's watched the sport claw its way from the NASL collapse in 1984 through indoor leagues, the 1994 World Cup bump, the launch of MLS in 1996, and the Sounders' expansion debut in 2009 — which broke attendance records five years running. He's seen every phase. That afternoon in Seattle, he says, was "a high watermark."
This didn't come from nowhere
Seattle's soccer roots go back to the 1890s, when Welsh, Italian, and German immigrants brought the game over with them. Lumberjacks and miners played it. That immigrant foundation is still visible today — locals point to the city's multicultural makeup as one reason the sport feels so natural there. As creative Himi Martin puts it: "People from all over the world call this city home, and what they bring with them, their mix of cultures and perspectives, all connected by one game."
The infrastructure backs it up. Fields everywhere. Goals in parks. Indoor facilities doubling as soccer venues. Isaiah Harris, an 800-meter runner who recently moved from Maine, noticed it immediately — every practice site had a soccer league running alongside it. That's not something you manufacture with a marketing campaign. It accumulates over generations.
The Sounders' matchday march — fans and the Sound Wave marching band walking from Pioneer Square to Lumen Field before every home game — has become something rare in American sports: a genuine supporter tradition that predates the social media era and doesn't feel performed.
What the World Cup could actually do
The 1994 World Cup on US soil directly accelerated MLS's creation. Schmetzer thinks 2026 — with the US co-hosting — could "supercharge growth" in the same way, only bigger. The math is hard to argue with: roughly 1.5 billion people are expected to watch the 2026 final, against around 230 million for the Super Bowl. American football has no equivalent global competition. Soccer does, and for one summer it'll be played in American stadiums.
Jen Barnes, founder of Seattle's women's-focused sports bar Rough & Tumble and co-owner of semi-pro side Salmon Bay FC, watched the clips of the Australia game from a distance. "It makes me cry every time," she said. Barnes wasn't even there. That's how much reach the moment had.
For anyone tracking US soccer's commercial trajectory — and the betting markets that follow it — June 19 in Seattle was a data point worth keeping. Sell-out crowds, national television moments, and cross-demographic fan bases don't just feel good. They shift investment, sponsorship, and long-term league value. MLS expansion fees have already climbed from $150 million to over $300 million in recent years. A successful home World Cup could push that conversation into entirely new territory.
Schmetzer said it himself: "There was so much positive energy, people with tears in their eyes." After 135 years of buildup, Seattle didn't need the World Cup to validate its soccer culture. But the World Cup is coming anyway — and it's going to find a city that's been ready for decades.
