Panama is a country of 4.3 million people, smaller than the city of Houston, with a soccer infrastructure that until about 2010 was basically a few amateur leagues and a national team that lost to whoever showed up. Then qualifying for 2018 changed everything — Roman Torres scored the goal in the final qualifier against Costa Rica, the country wept, the U.S. men's team failed to qualify on the same night, and Panama went to Russia as the most improbable World Cup story of that cycle. They lost all three matches by a combined 11-2. They came home heroes anyway.
Eight years later, Thomas Christiansen — the Danish-Spanish coach who had been at Leeds and APOEL Nicosia before taking the Panama job in 2020 — has built the second iteration. This squad has Marseille's Michael Murillo, Norwich's José Córdoba, MLS regulars across the lineup. They went unbeaten through CONCACAF's second qualifying round. They didn't sneak in this time. They earned it.
The group is brutal: France, Norway, and a third opponent that depends on intercontinental playoffs. Panama is the heaviest underdog of the four, by a wide margin. But here's the thing — this is a team that has spent eight years preparing for a second chance, with a coach who has actually won things in Europe, and a captain in his final tournament. They will play the matches in red shirts and they will play them like the entire country is watching. Because the entire country is watching. Schools will close again.
The 30-year-old striker who led Panama in qualifying with three goals — the No. 9 who has spent his career bouncing around Central American leagues (CD Marathón in Honduras, Sporting San Miguelito in Panama) without ever cracking a major European club. He is the face of how this Panama team operates: not a single household name, every player a grinder, all of them somehow getting it done. If Panama scores at this World Cup, there's a real chance Fajardo's the one who scores.
Marseille's right back, a Ligue 1 starter, and the most decorated club player in Panama's squad. Came up at Anderlecht, moved to Marseille in 2023, has been a fixture in Champions League nights ever since. 32 years old, captain material even though Aníbal Godoy wears the armband. He's the player who proves Panama can produce starters at top European clubs — and the proof of concept that Christiansen has been building this whole cycle.
The captain. 35 years old. 150-plus caps. Nashville SC's defensive midfielder for the back half of his career. He was on the 2018 squad and watched Panama get destroyed; he's been the leader of the rebuild for eight years since. Plays like a guy who has memorized every other midfielder's tendencies in CONCACAF. If Panama gets out of the group this summer, the photo of Godoy lifting his arms at the final whistle will be the image of the tournament's biggest upset.
Sancocho is the dish — a slow-simmered chicken-and-yam soup with culantro (the long-leafed cousin of cilantro that's the secret of Panamanian cooking), served with a side of white rice you tip in halfway through. The other essentials: arroz con pollo done the Panamanian way (the rice cooked with the chicken stock, no shortcut), patacones (twice-fried smashed green plantains, salt only, perfect), and ceviche from a coastal cart with corvina, lime, red onion, and a paper cup. Breakfast is hojaldres — a fried-dough flatbread with eggs and cheese — and it is what every other country's morning pastry wishes it was.
Real talk: there isn't a Panamanian restaurant in DFW. The only proper Panamanian spot in the entire state of Texas is Rincón de Panamá in Killeen, which is two hours south. Closest substitutes in the metroplex: Sabor Latino in Dallas (Colombian-Latin, but they understand patacones and sancocho), Zaguán Latin Café in Oak Cliff for Colombian arepas and a Pan-Latin menu, and the Empanada Cookhouse for the empanada angle. The Panamanian Association of DFW (padfw on Facebook) often hosts watch-party potlucks — that's the actual move.
A soundtrack for the matches, the pregame, and the afterparty.
Panamanian fans punch wildly above the country's weight class for noise. Red, blue, and white face paint is mandatory. The drums are a cumbia rhythm, not a samba one — slower, deeper, with a steady cowbell on top. "Panamá, Panamá!" is the standard, but listen for "La Roja" chanted in three syllables and a clap-clap-clap response. They will play típico (the country's accordion-driven folk music) and reggae en español out of portable speakers in the parking lot before kickoff. Expect Panama hats — yes, really, the actual hat — being worn ironically and unironically by the same person at the same time. They know how outnumbered they are. They do not care.
When Panama qualified for their first World Cup in 2017, the president declared a national holiday the next day. Schools closed. Banks closed. Government offices closed. The entire country took a Tuesday off to process the fact that they were going to Russia. They went 0-3 and got sent home. They are coming back this summer with a more talented squad and zero intention of being grateful just to be there.