Soccer has a dedicated following in Seattle with or without the World Cup

In 15 days, millions of soccer fans will turn their attention to Seattle, as the city hosts six of the men's FIFA World Cup 2026 matches. But those who built this soccer city know its truest reflection won't be seen on TV or at Lumen Field, redubbed Seattle Stadium for the tournament.

It will be on one of Seattle's public soccer fields.

Thousands of recreational soccer players of every age, gender, nationality and language descend upon these fields every week. They don't play for money or international acclaim, but for pure love of the sport and the friends they share it with.

This was on display last Sunday at Georgetown Playfield, a bustling turf soccer field in South Seattle. Dozens of athletes played there sunup to sundown, sharing different explanations for what soccer means to them.

All agreed on one thing, however: After the World Cup's final whistle blows and the cameras disappear, Seattle's soccer teams will still be on these fields, rain or shine. Because for players like 62-year-old Alyson VanderToorn, "Soccer is life."

9 a.m.

After two hours of running, 22 sweating, red-faced Minh Tan FC teammates ended the "friendly game" they've played almost every Sunday at Georgetown Playfield for a decade.

Minh Tan, a 54-year-old Boeing technician who lives in Burien, grew up playing soccer in Vietnam. He created the team after moving to Washington, and it grew quickly by word of mouth, all because "their favorite sport is soccer," he said. Today, more than 40 men between the ages of 16 and 72 from countries including Vietnam, Cambodia and India are members.

Almost no weather is too severe for the group, including snow. That Sunday morning - chilly and gray - was "a beautiful day," Tan said.

"They love it. On weekdays, they work hard," Tan said, watching his teammates catch their breath. "When we play together, we're joyful together."

9:30 a.m.

A referee's whistle drew two teams onto the field, including GenFlex, a group created by mothers who met on the sidelines of their children's soccer games.

"We said, ‘Wait - we want to play too,' " VanderToorn said as she tucked shinguards into her socks.

VanderToorn had "never touched a soccer ball in (her) life" until age 33. Since then, the sport and GenFlex have become pillars of her life.

"It's some of my best friends, my social groups, it's our mental health therapy," she said. "You really have to play together, and together we're better."

11:30 a.m.

Only 15 minutes into the next game, a player subbed out, panting.

"They're really fast, and they're really young, and they're really good," she said of their opponents, to laughs from her teammates.

Triss, a substitute for that match, jogged off the field.

As a gender-nonconforming person, Triss said it has been difficult watching the presidential administration's efforts to bar transgender athletes from sports. But those efforts seemed to have emboldened Seattle's soccer players - including professional ones - to be even more supportive of their trans teammates, she said.

"I always feel like people have my back," said Triss, who asked to use only her first name to protect her privacy. "(It has) brought people closer."

12:15 p.m.

At halftime, players flopped on the ground or rubbed sunscreen onto sweaty faces. Julia Sullivan gratefully accepted an orange slice from a teammate.

Sullivan, 31, of Columbia City, started playing recreational soccer while studying urban planning at the University of Washington. What started as a respite from the "grad school grind" became a beloved hobby, Sullivan said.

When it comes to the men's World Cup, however, Sullivan has no interest.

Seattle could see more than 700,000 visitors throughout the tournament, but lacks the infrastructure to support them, Sullivan said. It's unclear what the long-term consequences could be for residents of the Chinatown International District.

2 p.m.

After halftime, Athenas team manager Kim Smith, 52, proudly pointed out her 19-year-old daughter and teammate, Ky, running across the field.

At 28 years, Smith, of Shoreline, is the team's most tenured member. She joined before she had kids, and continued after recovering from two births and a torn ACL. Her daughters learned how to kick a soccer ball as soon as they could walk, and now play competitively - including with their mom.

For Ky, it still feels weird calling her mother "Kim" on the field. But she's grateful that soccer - just like her mother, sister and the Athenas - has "always been there."

"It's something that connects me to my mom and my sister, and it's exercising in a way that's fun and makes me happy," she said.

2:30 p.m.

The Double Ds stretched on the sidelines. Some teammates have played together for decades, supporting each other through parenthood, deaths and divorce. They can remember when Seattle's soccer fields were mostly sand or dirt, or organizing matches via online bulletin boards.

Over time, the teammates have become one another's "chosen family" - and in some cases their literal family, said Jim Guthrie, 53, of Queen Anne. He pointed toward the field and at his wife, whom he met 25 years ago at one of their weekly matches.

The team is "just my world," said 22-year member Liz Peterson, 63, of Woodinville.

3:30 p.m.

A spectator snoozed on the sidelines, their face shielded by an overturned camping chair.

Referee Inga Newberger, 63, of Des Moines, whistled to signal halftime.

Newberger started refereeing her brother's soccer games when she was a little girl because there were no girls' soccer teams at the time. She has since refereed at every level except professional.

Newberger's goals are the same for every game: for players to be safe, be happy and not feel like the referee is having "undue influence on the game."

"Each game is like a puzzle - a fun challenge," she said.

5:30 p.m.

Crillion Lockheart, 15, was in luck.

The goalkeeper showed up alone with a soccer ball, hoping to get some practice by kicking it around. Then two 13-year-old boys showed up with their own ball, hoping to make shots on goal.

They fell into an easy rhythm on the southwest corner of the field. Dylan Roy and Camden Clayton took turns trying to get the ball past Lockheart, who hopped from foot to foot, arms outstretched, ready to block.

When it came to soccer, each had his own dream.

Roy hopes to play in college.

Clayton wants to play for the Seattle Sounders.

Lockheart wants to "change the world." He admires how professional soccer players have used the spotlight to call for peace, and hopes to follow in their footsteps, he said.

"This sport has a lot of meaning and a lot of history," Lockheart said. "It feels like the right place in my heart."

7 p.m.

Francisco Simaj, 35, grinned watching his 4-year-old son chase a tiny soccer ball down the sideline.

Soccer has always been "a passion" for Simaj, who grew up in Guatemala. He and his friends worked hard cultivating fields of tomatoes and corn to support their families. Playing soccer lifted their spirits, he said.

Before this year, the lifelong player was always too busy working to watch the World Cup. Now settled in Seattle with his family, Simaj said he's excited to watch the games for the first time with his two sons.

No televised tournament can compete with what Simaj gets to do every week at Georgetown Playfield, however: watching his sons fall in love with his favorite sport, and the games he plays there every Friday night with about 30 friends from church.

"Stress was very hard in life," Simaj said in Spanish. "But when you played the sport, it disappeared immediately."

Copyright 2026 Tribune Content Agency. All Rights Reserved.