In the summer of 1997, an amiable kid from Kansas with the physique of a car antenna walked into Sports Illustrated. My new office mate came bearing a bag of Krispy Kreme doughnuts for us to share, a Kansas ball cap, a quiet confidence and an evangelist’s passion for soccer.
Grant Wahl, who died suddenly after collapsing at the World Cup in Qatar, was quick to explain that this great love—foreign to so many in the office and in his beloved home state—stemmed from an undergraduate trip to South America. He saw club teams train, snuck into stadiums, watched Boca Juniors and somehow got to write about it for credit. Little did any of us know this genial convert (with little ability to kick a ball) would go on to become the greatest soccer writer of our generation, covering the world’s biggest sport more like a foreign correspondent than a beat writer. More Nicholas Kristof—a journalistic idol of Grant’s—than a keyboard warrior in the press box.
