I was nine when I first watched Brazil fall silent on a screen, tears mixing with the yellow-green glow of Rio at dusk. That 0-1 loss didn’t end our hope—it rewired it. In Brooklyn, my mother whispered in Portuguese, "O futebol é vida." This is not just a game. It’s how legacies transcend time. Here’s what I learned: loss can be sacred. And for young women like me, fandom isn’t about winning—it’s about belonging.