How to survive World Cup mania in the UAE when you don’t even like football

Every four years, I discover what it feels like to be a vegetarian at a barbecue festival.

The FIFA World Cup arrives, and suddenly the entire nation transforms into one giant stadium. Offices become fan zones. Cafés replace background music with match commentary. WhatsApp groups that once discussed deadlines, school runs and dinner plans now overflow with tactical analyses, injury updates and heated debates about formations. As someone who cannot tell the difference between a false nine and a false alarm, I enter survival mode.

At home, the warning signs begin weeks in advance. My family starts discussing match schedules with the seriousness usually reserved for flight bookings and wedding invitations. The living room furniture is rearranged for “optimal viewing angles”. Snack inventories increase dramatically. There are chips, dips, wings and mysterious beverages that only appear during major tournaments.

The television, usually shared democratically among family members, becomes occupied territory.

“Who are you supporting,” someone asks. I make the mistake of answering honestly. “I don’t know who’s playing.” The silence suggests I have confessed to not knowing my own blood group.

Soon, I develop coping mechanisms. I learn to nod wisely whenever someone mentions a team’s midfield strength. I master neutral phrases like, “That was unexpected,” and “This group stage is really competitive.” These sentences work remarkably well because, apparently, every result during the World Cup is either shocking or completely predictable.

The real challenge begins at work.

Normally rational colleagues turn into part-time sports analysts overnight. Morning meetings start with discussions about last night’s match. Productivity graphs fluctuate depending on whether a favourite team won or lost.

Those who stayed up watching late-night games arrive looking sleep-deprived but strangely energised.

“Did you see that goal in the 87th minute,” a colleague asks excitedly.

I haven’t.

Instead, I spent the evening watching a crime documentary and sleeping at a sensible hour. But admitting that feels socially risky. So I respond with my trusted formula: “Absolutely unbelievable.”

This answer works because football fans often use the same phrase regardless of whether the goal was brilliant, controversial or completely avoidable.

Office conversations become linguistic obstacle courses. Everyone speaks in abbreviations and references I don’t understand. VAR. Pressing. Counterattack. Expected goals. At one point, I genuinely thought xG was a new social media platform.

Then come the social gatherings. World Cup invitations are cleverly disguised.

“Come over for dinner,” friends say casually. What they really mean is, “Join us for four hours of emotional chaos centred around a giant television screen.” I arrive to discover everyone wearing jerseys, waving flags and discussing permutations involving goal differences. The atmosphere resembles a stock market during a financial crisis. People celebrate, despair and negotiate wildly within minutes. Someone inevitably turns to me. “Who do you think will win?” This question terrifies me. Supporting the wrong team could trigger a lengthy lecture involving player statistics dating back to 2014. I usually choose the safest response possible. “I just hope it’s a good game.” Apparently, this is the football equivalent of diplomatic immunity.

Yet, despite my complete lack of sporting knowledge, something unexpected happens during every World Cup. I find myself drawn to the excitement. The collective joy when a team scores. The friendly rivalries. The spontaneous celebrations echoing across the UAE long after midnight. Even non-football people like me cannot completely resist the energy.

By the final week, I know a few player names, understand basic tournament rules and have accidentally developed opinions about penalty shootouts. I still don’t understand the offside rule, and at this point, I suspect nobody truly does.

But perhaps that’s the beauty of football season in the UAE. You don’t need to love the game to enjoy the experience. You simply need good company, a sense of humour and a reliable collection of neutral responses.

And if all else fails, just say, “The referee got that one wrong.”

Trust me, everyone will agree.