Like many California-raised Mexican Americans, I’ve lost count of the times my family has gathered to watch a match between Mexico and the United States. Whether a friendly or World Cup qualifier, the “Dos A Cero” rivalry attracts the largest crowds to my tia’s watch parties, about an hour south of San Francisco.
Each clash feels like the fractured embodiment of being Mexican American: the cheering and moaning of Mexican immigrant parents and their Americanized children alike, rife with intergenerational discord. The stakes are always high, especially since most of my relatives grew up with the sport – and aren’t shy about sharing their tactical opinions midgame. Many of them played pro, semi-pro, collegiately and, of course, at the neighborhood parks.
