I Flew Across the World for a Sporting Event, Even Though I Don’t Like Sports
🌸 Whimsy Atlas | Editorial Essay | Mongolia
Because if you asked my friends what I watch on television, sports would be near the bottom of the list.
I couldn’t tell you who won last year’s championship in almost any league. I don’t build my weekends around kickoff times, and you’ll never find me arguing over player statistics.
Yet somehow, over the last few years, I’ve found myself intentionally traveling to some of the world’s biggest sporting events, including Mongolia’s Naadam Festival, a celebration of wrestling, horse racing, and archery that has shaped Mongolian culture for centuries.
First came the FIFA World Cup, when my hometown of Kansas City became one of the tournament’s host cities.
Then, Mongolia’s Naadam Festival.
On paper, that doesn’t make much sense.
Until you realize I wasn’t traveling for the sports.
I was traveling to understand the people.
When I arrived in Mongolia, thousands of spectators had gathered to watch wrestling, horse racing, and archery, traditions that have been woven into Mongolian life for centuries.
Before the first wrestling match even began, I realized something.
I wasn’t looking at entertainment.
I was looking at history that never stopped being practiced.
These weren’t historical reenactments.
No one was pretending.
This wasn’t a museum preserving an old way of life.
This was simply…life.
Generation after generation continuing traditions because they still matter.
One of my favorite moments wasn’t even one of the “Three Manly Games.”
It was ankle bone shooting.
Before this trip, I’d never heard of it.
Within minutes, I found myself completely captivated.
There was something mesmerizing about watching teams carefully slide polished sheep ankle bones across the ground toward a distant target while spectators quietly celebrated every successful shot.
I wasn’t fascinated because I suddenly wanted to learn the rules.
I was fascinated because this game had survived.
Somewhere along the way, thousands of people decided this tradition was worth carrying forward.
That tells me far more about Mongolia than a scoreboard ever could.
The wrestling surprised me, too.
Not because I suddenly became a wrestling fan.
Because I found myself wondering what this sport had meant hundreds of years ago.
Who first stood in these fields?
How many generations had gathered to watch before smartphones, before airplanes, before photography?
Watching Mongolian wrestling wasn’t simply watching athletes compete.
It felt like watching a conversation between the present and the past.
That’s probably why I’ve always been drawn to sports rooted in history.
I love sumo.
Not because I’m obsessed with rankings or tournament records.
Because every ceremony, every movement, every tradition carries centuries of meaning.
I feel the same way about the ancient Mesoamerican ballgame.
If I could step into history for a single afternoon, I’d love to watch the Maya or Aztec civilizations play the original version of the game, with stone hoops mounted high on the walls and rules we’ve only partially reconstructed.
It’s not the competition that pulls me in.
It’s the culture wrapped around it.
Sports become another language people use to tell the story of who they are.
“I’m not traveling for the sports. I’m traveling to understand the people.”
Looking back, I realized that’s exactly how I approached the World Cup, too.
While millions of people traveled for the matches themselves, I became fascinated by everything surrounding them.
How cities transformed.
How strangers became temporary neighbors.
How restaurants stayed open late.
How people from opposite sides of the world suddenly had something in common for ninety minutes.
The games mattered.
But the gathering fascinated me even more.
Maybe that’s why I keep finding myself at sporting events despite never calling myself a sports fan.
I’m not collecting wins and losses.
I’m collecting windows into cultures.
Because whether it’s sumo in Japan, Bökh in Mongolia, or football during the World Cup, I’m really asking the same question every time:
What does this tradition reveal about the people who love it?
Whimsy Atlas is where I chase wonder. From breathtaking landscapes and unexpected moments of delight, these stories celebrate the places that make me stop, look closer, and remember why I love exploring the world.
