Born in 1998, I belong to a generation that never truly witnessed Brazil at its peak.

The Selecao last rose to the pinnacle of world football in 2002, when Ronaldo Nazario struck twice against Germany in the final to power Brazil to a record fifth World Cup title.

Celebrations swept across Bangladesh, yellow shirts flooded neighbourhoods and people from all walks of life joined in the revelry.

At least, that’s what I’ve been told.

I was only four years old, and I remember none of it.

Yet somehow, Brazil became my team.

I inherited my love for Brazil from my family, just like many other Bangladeshis, as in this country, football loyalties are often passed down through generations.

"Brazil was already my team before I even understood football," says Taher Mahdee, a university lecturer.

"My father constantly talked about Ronaldo Nazario's explosive pace and Rivaldo's ability to create space with a single touch.”

For many of us born in the late 1990s, these stories arrived long before we understood tactics or formations.

If these stories formed the basis of my connection with the Selecao, YouTube made me fall in love with Joga Bonito.

Hours disappeared watching clips of Ronaldo's devastating acceleration, Ronaldinho's impossible tricks and Roberto Carlos's thunderous free-kicks. But the player who truly hooked me was Ricardo Kaka.

Unlike Ronaldinho, Kaka rarely relied on tricks. His game was built on elegance. With long strides and perfect balance, he could carry the ball from midfield to the penalty area in seconds. His through balls seemed effortless and his timing was impeccable. Watching him felt like watching football played at a different speed.

That was when Brazil stopped being a team and became a part of my identity.

For decades, Brazil represented football's romantic ideal. Whether it was Pele's finishing, Garrincha's dribbling, Ronaldinho's flair or Kaká's elegance, Brazil always seemed to produce players who made football beautiful.

The burden of beauty

No national team carries as much expectations as like Brazil.

For most nations, reaching a quarterfinal is success. For Brazil, anything short of winning the trophy is considered a failure.

Five World Cups have become both a blessing and a curse as every squad is measured against legends.

The 2002 team remains the benchmark in this millennia. Since then, every generation has tried and failed to escape their shadows.

The 2006 "magic quartet" disappointed, Dunga’s men failed in 2010, Neymar's generation repeatedly promised redemption but is yet to deliver the sixth star supporters crave.

Inevitably, the 2026 team is also dealing with similar comparisons.  

Dhaka-based journalist Al Fazle Rabby believes the current team still has much to prove.

"I'm still not satisfied with Brazil's performances so far," he said, after Brazil’s 3-0 win over Haiti.

"The team's formation and chemistry are clearly lacking. If they continue playing like this, I have doubts about whether they can get beyond the quarterfinals… Brazil lacks a reliable finisher. The midfield, once Brazil's greatest strength, now looks vulnerable."

His concerns are shared by many supporters.

Dentist Shamim Reza believes Brazil's traditional strengths have faded.

"When I think of Brazil, I think of midfielders controlling games," he said.

"Kaka could split a defence with one pass. Ronaldinho could create something from nothing. Even Juninho could change a match with a free-kick from 40 yards. Today's Brazil has pace and athleticism, but I don't always see the same creativity that once defined the team."

Still hanging on to hope

And yet, despite all the disappointments, Brazil supporters never stop believing.

That faith survived the 7-1 humiliation against Germany in 2014.

It survived the quarterfinal elimination against Belgium in 2018.

It survived the penalty shootout heartbreak against Croatia in 2022.

And it survives today.

For many supporters, writing off Brazil is simply impossible.

"Brazil being the kind of team they are, it is nearly impossible to write them off, no matter what," said Nishat Tasnim, a banker and lifelong supporter.

"With a draw in their first match, people are already drawing conclusions about the team. However, football is a game you simply can't predict — unless you're an octopus.

"Like every other team at the World Cup, Brazil have their weaknesses. If they can overcome those shortcomings, anything is possible for the Selecao."

Younger fans see that hope embodied in a new generation.

For Nafis Rahman, a university student in Dhaka, Vinicius Junior represents the traditional Brazilian spirit.

"The thing I love about Vinicius is that he attacks defenders without fear," he said.

"He reminds me of what people used to say about old Brazilian wingers. Even when he loses possession, he keeps trying. That confidence and directness feel very Brazilian."

Sadia Islam, a schoolteacher from Chattogram, says style still matters as much as results.

"I know football has become more tactical and disciplined," she said.

"But when I watch Brazil, I still want to see imagination. I want dribbles, quick combinations, clever flicks and moments that make people leave their seats. That is why I fell in love with Brazilian football in the first place."

Perhaps that is the real story of being a Brazil fan.

It is living with impossible expectations.

It is carrying memories of players they have never even watched live.

It is criticising the team one day and defending it the next.

Most of all, it is believing that the next great Brazilian team is always just around the corner.

Because for Brazil supporters, hope is not a choice, it is part of the inheritance.