Football shows how belonging is built

The world game’s global appeal lies in its power to create belonging, shared experience and everyday social cohesion across cultures, reminding diverse societies that connection is built not only through policy, but through common stories.

As billions of people around the world tune in to the World Cup, it is worth asking why the game can command such extraordinary attention.

Why do people lose sleep to watch matches played on the other side of the world? Why do strangers celebrate together after a goal? Why do sporting victories and defeats evoke such powerful emotions?

The answer, I believe, lies in football’s unique capacity to create belonging.

At a time when many societies are grappling with loneliness, declining trust and increasing social fragmentation, football reminds us of a simple but important truth. Human beings need shared experiences. We need opportunities to connect with people beyond our immediate families, workplaces and social circles. We need stories that bring us together rather than drive us apart.

I first understood this as a young Bangladeshi student studying at the International Islamic University Malaysia during the 1986 World Cup.

The university television room was under renovation, so hundreds of students gathered in the canteen around a single television. Malaysians, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, Africans, Arabs and others crowded into a hot, humid room filled with noise, excitement and mosquitoes.

One evening my lecturer, Dr Sadeq, joined us. As a young student raised in a culture of deep respect for teachers, I tried to remain composed while watching the match beside him.

That composure disappeared when Diego Maradona picked up the ball near midfield against England and began his extraordinary run.

The canteen erupted when he scored. Tables shook, strangers embraced, and even my lecturer joined the celebration. For a few minutes, nationality, language and status disappeared.

That same match later became famous for Maradona’s controversial “Hand of God” goal. Yet what I remember most is not controversy, but unity. Football created a shared emotional space for people who otherwise had little in common.

Years later, while studying at Concordia University in Montreal during the 1990 World Cup, I experienced something similar.

Like millions around the world, I became captivated by Cameroon and their charismatic striker Roger Milla. His goals, energy and famous dance near the corner flag made him one of the tournament’s most memorable figures.

Inspired, I attempted to imitate his dance while watching matches with friends in student residence. The result was far less elegant than Milla’s version and far more entertaining for everyone else in the room.

But beneath the humour was something more profound.

Cameroon became the neutral favourite of the tournament. Students from every background suddenly found themselves cheering for an African team many had never considered before. Football widened imagination and stretched empathy across borders.

Then came the quarter final defeat to England. The disappointment was intense across our student community.

Around that time, I learned of a young Bangladeshi man living in Toronto who was such a devoted supporter of Cameroon that he reportedly suffered a fatal heart attack following the match.

Whether or not one follows football closely, such stories leave a lasting impression. They are a reminder that sport is never just sport. It becomes identity, emotion and belonging.

Looking back, I realise these early experiences shaped how I later understood society in my professional life.

For nearly three decades I worked across government, academia and the not for profit sector. Much of that work involved examining how communities are formed and sustained.

One lesson became clear.

Successful societies are not held together by economics alone. They are held together by trust, relationships and shared experiences.

This understanding became particularly relevant in the late 1990s when football in Australia was seeking a new direction.

Leaders such as Frank Lowy were advocating stronger engagement between Australian football and Asia. A cabinet submission seeking around $7 million in Commonwealth support came to my desk for urgent consideration.

The proposal aimed to strengthen Australia’s football development and deepen links with the Asian Football Confederation.

After reviewing the submission, I recommended support.

The funding was approved.

It was a small part of a much larger national effort, but it reinforced an important point. Football was not only about sport. It was about Australia’s place in its region and its people-to-people relationships across Asia.

My appreciation of sport’s broader significance deepened further during preparations for the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games.

As a Commonwealth officer, I was part of the broader policy and coordination environment supporting the Games. During that time, I studied the impact of major sporting events.

What stood out was that the most enduring outcomes were not economic. They were social.

Yes, there was tourism, infrastructure and global visibility. But the deeper legacy lay in civic pride, volunteerism, and community participation.

The Olympics showed that large sporting events can strengthen national identity and social connection in ways that are difficult to achieve through policy alone.

We have seen similar effects through the Socceroos at successive World Cups.

When Australia qualifies, something shifts in the national mood. People from every background come together to support a shared team. Homes, workplaces and public spaces become gathering points. For a brief period, differences recede and a sense of collective belonging emerges.

Just as importantly, the Socceroos reflect modern Australia itself.

The squad is made up of players whose family origins span Europe, Asia, Africa, the Middle East and the Pacific. In that sense, the team is not just representing Australia; it is reflecting it.

For many Australians, this diversity is not symbolic. It is familiar. It mirrors everyday life in schools, workplaces and neighbourhoods across the country.

Australia is one of the most culturally diverse societies in the world. Nearly one third of Australians were born overseas, and many more have at least one parent who migrated here.

The challenge is not diversity itself. The challenge is ensuring people feel connected within it.

Football plays a quiet but important role in that process.

Across suburban fields every weekend, children from dozens of cultural backgrounds wear the same jersey, follow the same rules and share the same goal. Parents who may not share a common language stand together on the sidelines. Communities that might otherwise remain separate find common ground.

These everyday interactions are not trivial. They are one of the building blocks of social cohesion.

Watching Lionel Messi in the current World Cup brings me back across four decades to 1986, when I first watched Diego Maradona in Malaysia.

Different generations, different personalities, but the same capacity to inspire awe.

Maradona had his moments of controversy and brilliance. Messi represents another era of mastery and imagination. Yet both have produced something more enduring than statistics or trophies.

They have created shared memories for millions of people across the world.

For a few weeks every four years, billions of people participate in the same global conversation. They celebrate together, despair together and hope together.

In doing so, they remind us of something increasingly easy to forget.

In diverse societies, cohesion is not built through rhetoric alone. It is built through shared experiences that allow people to see each other not as strangers, but as participants in a common human story.

Football provides one of those rare experiences.

That is why it matters.

And that is why it is much more than a game.