Written by: Harsha Hazarika
Let’s be honest for a second. When FIFA expanded this World Cup to 48 teams, the high-minded purists recoiled. We were warned about diluted quality, logistical nightmares, and a general loss of tournament prestige. But if this sprawling, three-nation caravan across North America has proven anything, it’s that the soul of a World Cup does not just live in top-corner screamers or tactical masterclasses. Sometimes, it is found in a roll of garbage bags and a box of baklava.
For years, Japan owned the monopoly on tournament etiquette. We have all seen the photos: a pristine locker room, origami cranes on the table, and a spotless floor after a heartbreaking exit. It was lovely, it was unique, and it felt uniquely Japanese. The tradition became one of the tournament’s most admired cultural exports and demonstrated that respect for a venue can be as memorable as performances on the pitch.
At this World Cup, the contingent from West Asia did not just show up to compete on the pitch; they effectively transformed the often-forgotten spaces beneath the stadium stands into showcases of hospitality, gratitude, and collective pride.
Take World Cup debutants Jordan. They did not just leave their dressing room in California looking immaculate; they turned it into a cultural exchange. Alongside a bilingual handwritten note thanking the local organisers and FIFA staff, they left behind boxes of traditional Arabic sweets and heritage gifts. FIFA later highlighted the gesture, noting the team’s appreciation for the tournament organisers and their desire to share a taste of Jordanian hospitality with the staff who had supported their historic World Cup journey.
It is one thing not to leave a mess. It is another to treat the people who work behind the scenes as honoured guests in your own home. It is smart, it is classy, and frankly, it makes you root for them.
Then you have Iraq. Playing in Boston, a city not exactly known for understated football culture, the Lions of Mesopotamia did not simply gather their equipment and move on. They left their dressing room spotless and accompanied it with a heartfelt "Thank You Boston" message written in both English and Arabic. The gesture drew widespread praise and reflected a team culture built on gratitude as much as ambition. For a nation making a historic and emotionally significant return to football’s biggest stage, that level of deliberate humility tells you everything you need to know about the values within that camp.
Further south, Saudi Arabia demonstrated a similar commitment to respect and responsibility. After an intense and physically demanding encounter, the Green Falcons ensured that their dressing room was left clean and orderly. No fanfare, no cameras, no grand speeches. Just a simple act of consideration for the people who would arrive after them to prepare the venue for the next match.
What makes these gestures particularly noteworthy is that they are no longer isolated acts by a single team or nation. For years, Japan’s dressing-room tradition stood as a unique symbol of tournament etiquette. At this World Cup, however, similar acts of gratitude and responsibility have appeared across different cultures and continents. Jordan’s gifts and handwritten note, Iraq’s spotless dressing room and message of thanks, and other comparable gestures suggest that good habits, much like good football, can be contagious. The World Cup has always been a stage for the exchange of ideas. This year, one of its most valuable exports may simply be respect.
It is easy to view such actions through a cynical lens and dismiss them as performative public relations. But anyone who has spent time around professional sport knows that after ninety minutes of high-stakes tournament football, the natural human instinct is to think only about yourself. You want a shower, a meal, and a chance to switch off from the pressure.
To overcome that impulse, to pause for a few extra minutes and consider the stadium worker, cleaner, volunteer, or organiser whose shift will continue long after the players have left, requires something deeper. It requires a culture that values respect even when nobody is watching.
West Asia’s teams may not all leave this tournament with the trophy, but they have already left behind something of lasting value. In an age when football is often measured through rankings, revenues, and silverware, they have offered a reminder that the game is also about respect: respect for opponents, respect for hosts, and respect for the many unseen people who make a World Cup possible.
Long after the final whistle of this tournament fades into history, those spotless dressing rooms, handwritten notes, and simple gestures of gratitude may remain among its most enduring images. After all, sportsmanship, like football itself, travels far beyond the pitch.
The author can be reached at Insta ID: Harsha_Hazarika