Brazilian Fans Reassert Football’s Forgotten Power

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Dispatch: a series dedicated to immersive storytelling, where our photographers and writers journey to chosen places, combining evocative imagery with long-form editorials to uncover and share unique football cultures.

Brazilian Fans Reassert Football’s Forgotten Power

Words and Photography by Marvin Heilbronn

July 15, 2025

EAST RUTHERFORD, New Jersey — Phil Bourque, founder of the Fluminense Boston supporters group, wore a green, basketball-like jersey. The iconic clover of the Boston Celtics stitched over his heart and the words “Flu Boston” emblazoned across his chest. Phil and a handful of fellow members, all dressed in matching green jerseys, gathered their flags, banners, and drums from the parking lot pavement, packing them carefully into the trunk of their car. They had just spent over 90 minutes fueling an atmosphere for Fluminense’s opening group-stage match against Borussia Dortmund. An environment loud, vibrant, and relentless enough to remind the team itself of their home stadium in Rio de Janeiro, the Maracanã.

Flu Boston was just one of several supporter groups that had journeyed to MetLife Stadium, New Jersey to back their beloved club. The group was joined by Flu Orlando, Miami Flu, and, naturally, New York Flu. Together, they formed part of a wider network of Fluminense supporters from across the globe, and an even broader contingent of Brazilian fans who had converged from all corners of the world to support the four Brazilian clubs competing at the 2025 FIFA Club World Cup: Fluminense, Palmeiras, Botafogo, and Flamengo.

“When we heard the Club World Cup was going to be in America, it was amazing. At the time, Fluminense was in the Copa Libertadores final and we knew that if we won this, we were going to be two times as happy. Because the cup itself and for the opportunity to see the game here. It was like ecstasy, an experience of a lifetime.” - Phil Baurque, founder of Fluminense Boston.

At the 2025 FIFA Club World Cup in the United States, the noise did not emanate from organizers or marketing campaigns, it came from Brazil. The tournament, expanded to 32 teams and bolstered by a $1 billion prize fund, was conceived as a vehicle to showcase elite clubs on a commercially fertile American stage. Yet it was not corporate ambition that gave the competition its defining character. It was the supporters—specifically, those from Brazil, with fan headquarters stretching from Midtown Manhattan, N.Y. to Venice Beach L.A.—who infused life into an event otherwise shaped by FIFA’s corporate calculations.

Their presence was not simply atmospheric; it was assertive. Brazilian football, recently eclipsed by Europe’s commercial supremacy, had returned to command recognition.

“A lot of people thought we were coming here just to travel, to see New York or Miami, but we are here to show the world that not only are we the country of soccer but also we have clubs that can represent our country beautifully, as we can see here.” - Antonio, from Rio de Janeiro, before Fluminense’s match against Ulsan HD FC.

A Sporting Power, Relegated from the Spotlight, with an Opportunity to Reclaim Recognition

Brazilian football once occupied the center of the global imagination. Its names are etched into history and their skills replayed in the memories of football fans around the world—Pelé, Garrincha, Zico, Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Neymar. These icons embody not only individual brilliance, but also a mesmerizing and intoxicating style: joga bonito.

The prominence of Brazilian football has dimmed. Its once-blazing flame now flickering, perhaps in tandem with Neymar’s heartbreaking injury at the 2014 World Cup, when a spark meant to ignite a generation was suddenly extinguished. Both the nation and its star player have since struggled to match the promise they once embodied. Since their 2002 World Cup triumph, Brazil’s national team has suffered four quarter-final exits in five tournaments with its best finish, fourth place in 2014, overshadowed by the historic 7-1 defeat to Germany. Even the 2019 Copa América victory, which ended a 12-year drought, failed to fully restore the nation’s gravitas.

At club level, however, the trajectory has been different. Brazilian teams have dominated the Copa Libertadores since 2019, winning six years straight, asserting clear superiority within South America. Yet global recognition remains distant. While the Copa Libertadores holds significant regional prestige and ignites unparalleled passion, it lacks the commercial scale and global visibility that define the UEFA Champions League and major international tournaments. As a result, Europe’s gaze remains fixed inward, reinforcing the perception of South American, and by extension, Brazilian football as peripheral.

The 2025 Club World Cup was positioned to challenge that narrative. With 25 more teams, held every four years, and backed by a prize fund substantial enough to entice even Europe’s wealthiest clubs, it has drawn global attention. More than just a competition, it has become a rare platform for clubs beyond Europe to stake their claim on football’s grandest stage, casting a spotlight not only for performances on the pitch, but also for the supporters who follow them.

While vibrant supporter groups from around the world left their mark on the U.S., from the 10,000 Espérance Sportive de Tunis fans who flooded the streets of Philadelphia, to the 1,800 Urawa Red Diamonds supporters who transformed the southern end of Lumen Field, this piece focuses specifically on the Brazilian sides. It highlights the unforgettable atmospheres created by Palmeiras and Fluminense at MetLife Stadium, while also recognizing the equally fervent support that followed Flamengo and Botafogo in matches held across other U.S. cities.

An Organic Expression that Meant More than a Game

While Brazilian clubs and their supporters were eager to display their strength and unity, what took place on and off the pitch was not a performance designed for external validation. It was an authentic expression of what football represents in Brazil: a deeply rooted, communal experience that transcends the game itself. For many, these matches offered something deeper than football: a connection to home.

A Fluminense fan, standing amid the crowd outside the stadium, explained the remarkable sense of community: “The main thing that brought us together is the will, the drive. Because we live overseas, far from where we grew up, Fluminense is one of the ways we have to connect with our roots.”

In conversations before and after the group stage matches of Palmeiras and Fluminense, the same sentiment surfaced repeatedly. Fans spoke less about the significance of the tournament and more about the rare chance it gave them to feel close to their roots.

“Here in the U.S., we don't take going to the games for granted. People did all kinds of stunts in order to attend these games because many of us don't have the proper papers to go back to Brazil,” said a Palmeiras fan who preferred to remain anonymous. This statement comes amid an increasingly tense and uncertain immigration climate, where travel and border crossings have become more dangerous and anxiety-ridden for immigrants than at any time in recent memory.

Apart from serving as a connection to home, these matches were connections to family. Victor, a Palmeiras fan from Montreal, explained “I used to take him to matches when he was little,” nodding toward his son. “Now he’s the one teaching me the songs.”

That reversal, where sons and daughters became guides, spoke to how football functions as both inheritance and anchor. In the chants and rituals, there was continuity.

For others, the moment was marked by loss rather than reunion. One Fluminense supporter, clad in a white tank top with his late father’s name inscribed in sharpie, leaned against a car with friends who were among the last to leave the parking lot. He explained his father and him had planned to attend the matches together, his voice steady yet laden with emotion, as his friends offered quiet gestures of solidarity and knowing smiles.

Whether attending matches with their children or finding comfort in the knowledge that their parents watched from above, these games preserved cultural memories across years of migration and separation.

The Journey

While many supporters gathered at MetLife had not set foot in Brazil for years, others were stepping onto U.S. soil for the very first time.

A group of more than 35 Fluminense fans, spanning over 10 families, organized a collective trip to give their children the opportunity to witness the team their families have supported for generations compete on an international stage. They booked flights and Airbnbs together and catered food for tailgating before the game, even offering fresh drinks and churrasco to passing fans. While they had carefully planned this experience for themselves, they had no problem sharing it with the rest of the MetLife community.

Other journeys, though less strenuous, were neither simple nor spontaneous. Supporter groups such as Flu Boston and Miami Flu spent weeks coordinating logistics—securing Airbnbs, connecting with other fans for accommodations, and organizing carpools to the New Jersey area.

“It was awesome to build a community, one made up of both locals and Brazilians that came together. What we lived as fans - and went through at the Club World Cup - it’s more than soccer. It is a feeling that transcends a simple sport.” - Phil Baurque, founder of the Fluminense Boston.

Inside the stadium, their presence was unmistakable. It resonated through their movements—the way they greeted strangers like old friends, the seamless start of songs hours before kickoff, and the unbroken rhythm of chants that carried through all 90 minutes and lingered long after the final whistle.

Bringing Brazilian Fandom to a U.S. Stage Unaccustomed to It

Challenges to creating this phenomenal atmosphere were considerable. Weather conditions were harsh. American stadiums, designed for controlled environments, imposed restrictions unfamiliar to many Brazilian supporters. Security procedures limited entry of flags, drums, and banners. On top of this all, stadium locations were often isolated and kickoff times were dictated by television schedules rather than supporter convenience.

Nevertheless, Brazilian supporters adapted—and prevailed.

After a dominant 60 minutes from Palmeiras against Egyptian powerhouse Al Ahly—two goals to the good and surging with momentum, one of the lengthy weather delays that has plagued countless games at the tournament, interrupted the match. Fans were instructed to take shelter in the stadium concourse. However, rather than dispersing and independently exploring the countless concession stands, they regrouped. Within minutes following the announcement to leave the stands, drums echoed through the interior of the stadium, flags waved in the air and chants were sung with full force. Each fan showed, through their own instinctive actions, that it wasn’t about the occasion or even if a match was taking place. The atmosphere they created exceeded football itself; it was something innate, something that came from within and made them feel at home, joyful, and alive.

After the lengthy rain delay, fans poured back into their seats with even more energy than before. On the brink of their first win at the tournament, one of two coordinated tifos unfurled across the lower tiers of MetLife Stadium. Waves of green and white plastic tarps were passed hand to hand from the front row to the back, each ascending column of fans tasked with lifting their portion skyward and waving it with fervor. From beneath, one could feel it: the hum of collective energy, the sense that you were part of something larger than a match. From above, one could see it: the stadium’s jumbotron showcasing the unified display pulsing with motion.

Unlike traditional ultra sections that often guard their space tightly, FIFA regulations meant that this was a mixed crowd. Palmeiras ultras stood shoulder to shoulder with curious locals and casual attendees. But instead of division, there was choreography. New Jersey families, first-timers, lifelong fans were welcomed into a performance they didn’t expect or know much about but were thrilled to join.

As the match neared its conclusion and all that was left to seal the victory was the whistle from the referee, a second display rose. A massive cloth swept across the southern section of the stadium, hoisted by those on its edges while the fans underneath erupted in song and celebration. From beneath, the faint outlines of Palmeiras’ iconic green pig mascot and sweeping tonal patterns came into view. Though the display itself etched an iconic image into the memory of the Club World Cup, its true power was in the coordination behind it. From the sweat of those who hand-painted the sprawling canvas to the joy of supporters who turned the placid cloth into a surging ocean wave, every detail reflected collective devotion. Together, these tifos transformed MetLife’s concrete bleachers and plastic seats into a living tapestry of identity.

Fluminense fans faced more direct confrontation. Before kickoff in a crucial Group F meeting with reigning K-League 1 champions Ulsan HD FC, Fluminense fans attempted to bring a piece of their history to the New Jersey stadium, performing the pó de arroz ritual.

Fluminense’s pó de arroz tradition dates back to 1914, a time when Brazilian football was still dominated by the aristocracy and largely inaccessible to Black players. That year, Carlos Alberto applied rice powder to his face—an act whose exact motivation remains debated. Many attribute it to racial pressures to appear lighter-skinned; others suggest more mundane reasons. Regardless, rival fans from his former club mocked him as his sweat caused it to melt away, with chants of “pó de arroz!”—a phrase that many contend carried both racist and homophobic undertones. But instead of yielding, Fluminense supporters turned the taunt into a celebration. To this day, Tricolor supporters throw rice powder in the air when the team enters the pitch, creating a beautiful visual effect in the stadium.

As fistfuls of rice powder met the air, security immediately intervened. Despite frustrated claims of prior approval, the fans responsible were escorted from their seats. However, before they stepped out from their seats and into the aisle, Fluminense’s Jhon Arias scored a stunning opening goal from a freekick position to give them the lead. One supporter, still under the watch of stadium staff, flashed a cheeky smile, locking eyes defiantly with a security guard and returned to the now erupting crowd. A perfect portrayal of what was taking place throughout the entire tournament, an unapologetic and powerful display of Brazilian fan culture.

Elsewhere in the stands, disputes continued. The leader of the Fluminense ultras, sporting a vintage Reebok manufactured jersey, sunglasses and backwards red had stood proudly on one of the seats. Facing away from the match, he orchestrated unwavering chants that filled out with the supporting beats of drums. As he continued to unite the crowd, hoping to inspire Fluminense to a comeback, now surprisingly trailing by one goal, a security ignorantly and irritatingly gestured for him to sit down.

To the average football fan, one could quickly tell this would be losing a battle. This man was not going to let a single security guard, obediently attempting to enforce an American set of fan behavior rules and restrictions, get in the way of his responsibility to do everything in his power to create an atmosphere powerful enough to lift his beloved team to a vital three points.

As Fluminense’s Nonato's right- footed shot found the bottom right corner of the net, equalizing the score, the frontman of the fans shouted back to the security guard. “You can’t do that, man! This…,” he yelled, pointing to the crowd, “is football”.

Not Nostalgia or a Surpise—Assertion

With both Flamengo and Botafogo making it to the Round of 16, Palmeiras bowing out in the Quarter Finals and Fluminense fighting all the way to the semi-finals, this Club World Cup stands as more than a brief surge of Brazilian strength or shock to the European status quo. It functions as a reminder: Brazil remains a footballing force, not only in talent but in cultural gravity.

For these supporters, the match itself—however competitive—was only part of the story. The deeper purpose was in the act of showing up. In asserting their belonging and making visible their connection to home and to the game itself. Football, for them, was not a spectacle to be marketed. It was a thread, binding them to their origins, to their families, and to one another. And in this tournament, that bond was impossible to ignore.

Over the last month, Brazilian fans have shown us that football isn’t just about what happens on the pitch and which teams are headlined in the media. They have demonstrated that football’s heartbeat does not reside exclusively in Europe. The heart of the game beats all over the world, under the relentless sun in São Paulo and outside the furans of Tangier. But it is too often overlooked as terminology now cemented in the mental dictionaries of football fans across the globe, such as “Top 5 Leagues” or “Big Six”, result in an innate fixation on European football. A fixation that needs to be shattered and thoughtfully rebuilt to highlight what makes football so special. It’s a universal language that connects generations across seven continents. A language Brazilians have spoken for decades, and one they cheered in proudly, passionately and unapologetically throughout for the last month at the Club World Cup. —

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