SEATTLE — At 1:48 p.m. on Monday, a street performer on the edge of Occidental Avenue played a piano and wore a blue stars and stripes blazer. He faced the northern end of an entry line that already extended from Pioneer Square to the tip of T-Mobile Park, belting a pitchy-yet-appropriate rendition of Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the U.S.A.”

Appropriate because this was the biggest, most American sports party Seattle has ever seen.

Bigger, by scale, than NFC Championship Games and Super Bowl parades. Bigger, by ratings, than a retractable roof-rattling grand slam in Game 5 of the 2025 American League Championship Series. Bigger than All-Star Games and Husky games and heavyweight title bouts.

Too big, it turns out, for the United States men’s national team.

In a 4-1 FIFA Men's World Cup belly-flop loss to Belgium in the round of 16, the party ended early.

For U.S. men’s soccer fans, this is a familiar feeling, new uniforms slamming into the same ceiling. Though the current tournament featured an expanded field, the Americans have now fallen in the round of 16 in the past four World Cups for which they qualified. The red-card suspension, then suspended suspension, of star U.S. striker Folarin Balogun didn’t matter. Nor did the deafening U.S. national anthem inside a sold-out Seattle Stadium. Nor did the swaggering magic of coach Mauricio Pochettino. Nor did the party that preceded the pain.

“We knew what kind of impact we would be able to have (nationally), as long as we played well and the performances were there and we were winning games. Obviously, that all comes to a halt now,” U.S. captain Tim Ream said. “But I don’t think the conversation changes.”

The conversation, like the ceiling, has endured for decades. This was another sobering, unmistakable reminder of where United States men’s soccer stands.

In the ninth minute, Belgium opened the scoring, when Charles De Ketelaere darted between defenders to collect a cross, tap it home and unfurl a flying fist pump. He added a second before halftime, scaling Ream’s back to send a header past diving American keeper Matt Freese. Insurance arrived in the 57th minute, when Freese misplayed a pass and midfielder Hans Vanaken knocked it past Ream’s whiffing left leg. Romelu Lukaku completed the quartet in extra time, then raised a hand to his ear to tease a silent stadium.

The only American reprieve was provided by midfielder Malik Tillman, whose free kick caromed off a Belgian defender in the 31st minute to momentarily tie the score.

But most won’t remember the ray of sunshine. They’ll remember the monsoon. They’ll remember the 38-year-old Ream standing in place, a devastated statue, after Freese’s bumbled punt yielded Belgium’s third goal. They’ll remember Lukaku, a 225-pound tank who also scored to bounce the U.S. from the round of 16 a dozen years ago, delivering an unnecessary exclamation point. They’ll remember Balogun, whose availability may have further motivated Belgium, covering his face with his jersey when the party ended.

In Seattle, the party is all but over. This city hosted six matches in the past three weeks, with watch parties stretching from the waterfront to Pioneer Square to Pacific Place and Seattle Center. It was a smashing success by most metrics, a shimmering showcase. Millions gathered together to bask in a global game.

I hope that becomes this World Cup’s local legacy. I hope you remember the party more than the pain.

Me? I’ll remember riding a bus from Ballard to the stadium Monday, as more red, white and blue boarded with each successive stop. I’ll remember the patriotism pouring out of Pioneer Square. The temporary televisions installed in restaurants and alleys and art galleries, suddenly soccer bars. The man whose sign read, “Let’s Make a Deal,” offering three nights at his Stevens Pass mountain cabin in exchange for two tickets so his grandkids could go. The bald eagle onesies and revolutionary wigs. The scarves and flags and beads sold on the street. The pride a collective belonging can bring.

I’ll remember the pride of so many people, from so many places, draped in different colors, waving foreign flags, Seattleites all the same. I’ll remember standing in the only unoccupied corner of a bar named Skal in Ballard on Sunday, with the National Nordic Museum mere blocks away, while mead was poured and patrons banged drums and rowed imaginary boats. While Norway, which waited 28 years between World Cup appearances, beat Brazil — which has won more World Cups than any other country.

I’ll remember standing outside Seattle Stadium on June 26, after victory was ripped from Iran via VAR review. Though a controversial offside call negated the 93rd-minute winner, sealing a 1-1 draw against Egypt and denying Iran a spot in the knockout rounds, their fans still celebrated. They formed an informal dance floor on Occidental Avenue, sitting on each other’s shoulders, whistling and waving flags FIFA tried but failed to ban.

Of course, I’ll remember the controversy. The inconsistent red card that temporarily benched Balogun. The phone call FIFA president Gianni Infantino fielded from U.S. President Donald Trump, who not-so-subtly applied pressure to free Balogun against Belgium. The inevitable blowback. The politicization of a uniquely unifying soccer spectacle.

Ream said Trump’s intervention, and the resulting uproar, “had no impact (on their performance). We’ve done a good job with this group of allowing outside noise to be outside noise. It’s got nothing to do with us as players and getting ready for games. That’s the world we live in.”

It ended in a repetitive pain. But I’ll remember the party most of all. The three-week, six-match celebration. The captivating carnival that came to town. This beautiful, flawed, frustrating, exhilarating, unifying, dividing, hopeful, helplessly human thing.

On the street, and inside the stadium, Monday’s performance was pitchy and imperfect.

That’s no reason not to sing.

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