New Traditions & Old Passions Dispatch

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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.

New Traditions & Old Passions
How a MetLife Parking Lot Shows That New Forms of Football Culture Can Thrive in America

Photos and Words by Marvin Heilbronn

July 2, 2025

EAST RUTHERFORD, New Jersey — When I first pulled into the vast asphalt sprawl of MetLife Stadium's parking lot, I was hopeful, but not exactly moved. As an American, I’ve grown accustomed to the subdued pregame atmospheres that haunt too many Major League Soccer matches, trademarked by plenty of empty seats and even more empty spaces. And as someone lucky enough to have experienced football in its more animated forms, from walks along the Weser in Bremen to rides on the Piccadilly line in London, the experience of quietly rolling into a sparsely populated parking lot felt like another reminder that football in the U.S. still has a long way to go.

I found myself mentally bargaining: at least I don’t have to walk far, it’s nice to have a place to leave my bag, this AC in the car is actually quite nice. Still, I couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of disappointment. What I hadn’t yet realized was that I wasn’t pulling into the dead end of another capitalistic push to grow football in America, but at the birthplace of something new.

As I stepped out of my car and began to walk toward the stadium, I noticed what I’d completely overlooked upon entry into the lot. The empty spots closest to the stadium, the ones I had initially seen as signs of a disappointingly low turnout, weren’t empty at all. In fact, they had been deliberately left open, not for cars, but for something else entirely. In the gaps between clusters of parked vehicles, small communities of fans were forming. These spaces had become hubs of energy where a new form of football culture was coming to life.

The air was filled with the unmistakable sounds of football culture in the making: the thump of a ball skipping across pavement, the burst of laughter from a juggling circle, a shout of warning as someone’s first touch sent a ball flying over a sedan. Smoke billowed from barbecues and lounge chairs formed makeshift living rooms under the New Jersey sky. The sound systems varied by car, but the vibes were all the same: this was football on American soil, reborn in the form of tailgating: a social gathering held in parking lots outside stadiums, where fans enjoy food, drinks, and camaraderie, often centered around the open tailgate of a vehicle.

“Everything starts with momentum,” said Freddie from Orangetown, New Jersey. “As you head toward the stadium, the energy starts flowing, everyone is up in a good mood and as you get closer to the stadium you connect with more people who have the same internions as you. It really incentivizes you to bring the vibes and as you get to these lots, and see other people are with you, no matter what team you support, you become united with everyone.”

What began as skepticism quickly turned into awe. Football fans in the U.S. weren't copying European traditions— they were creating something of their own. Tailgating, a ritual long tied to American sports, was being reimagined through the lens of the world’s game. In this parking lot, you could see and feel football evolving.

“I don’t think this environment is a drawback at all,” said João, originally from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and now living in Montreal, Canada. “In fact, I think it brings people closer together.”

After an hour of wandering through clusters of families, friends, and free food, the buzz quieted as the embers of the grills began to die and the ice from once cold coolers began to melt. The crowd, now energized and full, made its way into the stadium.

The match itself was a relatively uneventful group-stage encounter between Brazil’s Palmeiras and Germany’s Borussia Dortmund. Palmeiras fans packed their section with vibrant energy, cheering loudly as their team searched for the opening goal, waving flags, and creating a buzz that stood in contrast to the more subdued Dortmund support. Dortmund’s energy and performance, though far from the electrifying force of the famed Yellow Wall at Signal Iduna Park, was still felt through scattered banners and spirited chants, offering a brief glimpse of their storied fan base and presence as a team.

After 90 minutes of play, the final whistle blew, drawing an end to a relatively uneventful group stage match and restarted the lively tailgating that had been in full force before the game.

As rain began to trickle and fans emptied out of the stadium, the parking lot came back to life. Before I could even reach my car, I found myself shoes off on the pavement, juggling a ball with two kids from Westchester, New York and another from São Paulo, Brazil. Nearby, a group of fans had organized a pickup game with boxes and water bottles as goal posts and puddles as additional makeshift defenders.

A Flamengo flag hung from a nearby trailer, and when a loose ball rolled across the road, a man emerged from behind it to ping a 30-yard switch back into play as if he was playing in the Club World Cup himself. I later learned that he and his crew had driven cross-country to watch Flamengo’s group stage match later that week, making a stop in New Jersey to catch their Brazilian rivals before continuing on to Philadelphia. “We’ve been out here for hours,” the man said, grinning. “The games are great, but this”, he gestured to his trailer and a small group of people gathered under the awning, “this has been the best part.”

In another section of the lot, two fans huddled under an umbrella playing FIFA on a screen nestled in the back of their trunk. A security guard had pulled over to watch the tightly contested game while doing his rounds of the parking lot. A few spots over, kids had turned the lines of parking spaces into their own soccer tennis courts, while parents relaxed nearby, sipping drinks and watching their children play on the cement. One toddler wobbled through it all, somewhere between his first steps and his first dribble.

“With the parking lot, there’s a lot of positives,” said Victor, a Rio native who had come down from Montreal to watch Palmeiras’s group stage matches alongside his son. “At Maracanã, our home, and in a lot of other places, you can take the train or a cab but there’s nowhere to park. To have an environment like this, for us, makes it much easier."

Alongside the accessibility, ease, and space for community-building, a few frustrations surfaced as I spoke with fans after the match.

“The traffic getting out here was pretty bad, and how much they are taxing on the freakin’ parking really pissed me off. I think it was $60 just to get in here. I feel like that’s a rip-off— if you’re paying to get into the game, you should be able to park without having to pay such high prices,” said Sevari, pausing from his pickup game to vent. This was a fair critique, one of the few clear drawbacks in an otherwise vibrant matchday experience. If this emerging culture is to continue growing, and as attendance increases as the World Cup returns next summer, making parking more affordable or bundling it with ticket prices could go a long way toward keeping it accessible for everyone and enhancing the experience.

But even with those complaints, the mood was hard to sour. Sevari quickly shifted gears, sharing how much he’d enjoyed the atmosphere and the unique energy of the scene unfolding around the stadium.

“After the game, one of our friends brought out a ball and started making teams. At first I thought he was crazy— but we’ve been playing for a while now. We came here to watch the game we love, and we got to play it as well.”

With each game I attended that week, my arrival time had shifted further and further from the time of kickoff. I was now showing up hours early, like everyone else around me. Not just to find a good spot or beat traffic, but to wander. To share food. To juggle. To talk. To experience a beautiful and unexpected new form of football culture.

This parking lot, gray and unremarkable at first glance, had become a proving ground for a distinctly American expression of football tradition. A place where the game was not only watched, but lived. As the Club World Cup rolls on and the 2026 World Cup looms on the horizon, the doubts will return: Does America really deserve to host two international tournaments? Does it have the culture to cultivate an unforgettable World Cup experience?

But the truth is: football has always grown through contact, with new people, new places, and new ways of living. The U.S. might not have century-old clubs, terrace chants passed down for generations or cities that shut down on matchday. But what it does have is something quietly powerful: an international mosaic of people: immigrants, travelers, second-generation fans, and lifelong locals who carry football in their hearts and bring it to life in every corner of the country. That love is tucked away in neighborhoods across every city, and it's already been on display throughout the group stage of this summer’s Club World Cup. Countless games have felt like a home game, not because of location, but because of presence. Immigrant communities, traveling supporters and fans of the game who are just excited to be able to witness a competitive tournament in their backyard have come together and recreated the spirit of their home countries across the United States, from East Rutherford, N.J. to Pasadena, California.

While the critiques of American football are bountiful and important to reflect upon, to truly help the growth of the game it is imperative that we uplift the sport at every possible turn. And rather than pointing out its flaws and measuring it against football abroad, we must take time to highlight what it is doing well, embracing its unique path and the meaningful strides it is taking forward.

Moments and traditions such as these pre-match gatherings, though imperfect, makeshift and sometimes soaked in rain or put on hold because of lightning, are more than tailgates. They’re the early chapters of a uniquely American football story still being written. And as the Club World Cup rounds into its final stages and the 2026 World Cup looms, what’s happening in the lots outside the stadium is just a glimpse of what’s possible.

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