Walking into a local open-air tea shop in Malappuram during the World Cup is a unique experience. The cafes are covered under a beautiful canopy of miniature flags from countries thousands of miles away, fluttering in the breeze. All along the roads, the sides are lined with big flex boards of rival fans challenging each other with playful banter. The excitement is everywhere, cutting across generations. One such evening, recently, a teenager sitting behind me at the tea shop told his friends with absolute seriousness, “I cried when Neymar cried.” The next morning, a colleague showed me a photo of her 10-year-old child shedding tears of relief after Argentina scored their first goal against Egypt, while another colleague was genuinely grieving over Ronaldo’s Portugal getting eliminated. Later that afternoon, I saw an elderly man sitting at a bus stop, proudly wearing an Mbappé jersey. This passion followed me straight into the classroom, where I spent the morning teaching bleary-eyed students who hadn’t slept a wink because they were watching the games back-to-back all night. This is a place where football is an intense, shared emotion that sets the rhythm of daily life.In Kerala, we are used to discussing everything from local issues to global politics over a cup of tea. Yet, whenever I try to point out the political and capitalist agendas behind global sports, that interest suddenly vanishes. If I bring up corporate greed, racism, political bias, or the dark side of sports bodies mid-match, I am looked at like an alien who dropped from the sky. The festive mood immediately shifts to a mix of exhaustion and defence, and people ask me questions like: “Why can’t you just see football as a sport? Is there any completely politically correct player or team anyway?”Fair enough. For those who love the game, those 90 minutes on the pitch are a perfect escape from the worries of daily life. But as someone who teaches and studies these global realities, it feels unsettling to just switch off our minds for the sake of entertainment. Sometimes I wonder if all the festivities and fanfare make us completely blind towards the realities of life which are not so beautiful. And, perhaps, that is exactly what the powers running the spectacle want.I understand why people push back against these questions, because I feel the tug of it too. It is incredibly hard not to defend your favourite player or team when they do something wrong. We want our heroes to be flawless. But this internal conflict became even heavier when a colleague recently dropped a YouTube video into our informal WhatsApp group without a single word of added commentary. The video itself did all the talking, confidently arguing that racism against non-whites and Islamophobia are myths in the modern world, let alone in the pure, inspiring arena of sports. Staring at my phone, I hesitated. I tried to bring some facts to the chat, dropping a few well-documented points to counter the video’s claims.There was no response or reaction to my message. I sat there feeling incredibly awkward and lonely, watching my words hang in a digital void. Even those who I knew believed the video was wrong chose not to speak up. In that collective quiet, I felt completely isolated. It made me realise how easily our desire for social harmony forces us to conform. Speaking the truth felt like a mistake, simply because it disrupted a world designed for comfortable entertainment.The tragic absurdity of trying to pretend that football exists in a safe, neutral vacuum separate from the world hit home for me through a heartbreaking coincidence that very same day. Just as fresh global controversies regarding institutional bias and racism were breaking out over the highly charged Argentina-Egypt match, I came across two deeply moving news reports from Palestine. One highlighted the incredible resilience of an amputee women’s football team, training and playing against unimaginable adversity. The other reported the tragic death of an ordinary local sports official named Mohamed al-Wahidi in Gaza, killed by an airstrike while trying to screen that very same Argentina-Egypt match for displaced families in a civilian tent camp.Read that again. A man was killed while trying to set up a screen, so ordinary people can watch a football match. When you see a truth like that, there is simply no way to unsee it. I can no longer sit quietly and pretend to remain neutral. It is clear that people in both places share a deep love for the game – from the vibrant, flag-lined streets of Malappuram to the makeshift civilian camps of Palestine. Yet, while we have the luxury of viewing the sport as just a festive celebration, for others, clinging to a 90-minute broadcast amidst rubble, or taking to the pitch on crutches is an act of dangerous defiance and a desperate link to a normal life. My struggle is no longer just with the world outside, but with my own complicity – with the temptation to look away just to stay comfortable and avoid that awkward silence.Yet, my internal struggle shouldn’t be viewed as a hopeless criticism of the game, but rather as a necessary space for reflection. History shows us that individuals and powerful institutions rarely develop a conscience on their own; they correct themselves only when ordinary people choose to confront them and disrupt the quiet. Realignment happens because someone cared enough to break a comfortable silence.Football is a beautiful game that brings people together, from the local clubs of Malappuram, to the displaced camps of Gaza, and beyond. The tears of a child over an Argentine goal are completely real. For fans in a politically conscious society like ours, refusing to be silenced does not mean we love the game any less. Instead, it allows us to participate in its growth. By choosing reflection over blind defence, we ensure that the sport we love remains a force for accountability, honouring the resilience of marginalised people worldwide for whom kicking a ball, or watching a match against all odds, remains a basic assertion of their shared humanity.Sherin K. Rahiman is an Associate Professor of English based in Malappuram, Kerala.